What is there to say

My stomach hurts. And my thighs feel unused. The blood is stagnant. My mind sees me racing on a bike through the streets here in Milton, it felt good to do so before, but there is nothing out there for me at this moment. It will come though, I do believe. There is still this bridge down in Oakville where I want to write, "The best lack all conviction, and the worst are filled with passionate intensity." It will have to be soon though. I have a white paint oil based marker... maybe I will have to buy some white acrylic to do the job, but I don't want to. I also want to be a bit drunk, but I can't, because I live in Milton... and I will be in wanting to drive. It takes only an hour and a bit to bike down, my legs itch for it, but the bike doesn't have lights. It seems like my mind silences my body for most of the time.

Well I could do it in Milton I suppose. That way I'll be able to just be and bike. I won't be able to put the saying back where I found it, but I will be able to make it legible for those to read it again. Why though? Why does it matter.

The best lack all conviction and
the Worst are filled with passionate intensity

There's just something about it.

Anyways, no more beer tonight. My bod's got some thirst above this.

Goodnight

Good night. Had beer, that was nice. I got drunk, but a good drunk. Feeling a bit slow today. Didn't even need to sleep that long. Waking up is kind of nice. It was a kind of nice night. Nice things were said, which always gets me happy. I knitted during class yesterday, during the slide show. Gonne keep my little bro's neck warm with this scarf. Lookin forward to it. I sat in between two guys who both had girlfriends, they wondered how I was single. I don't think I am, I said. But my mind was going. Fantasy land, fer shur. We spoke about art history, such frucking art school kids. I have lists of things to do, that i made last night. To become a lawyer, and or doctor, and give money back to the school, and then to get Sunscad's knowledge. Soak it up from their brains. The only thing I have to do today is write out my thoughts on Queer THeory in that orange book. Then to go and get some ingredients for some spiced ginger or rum cake. Maybe fruit sticks.

I gotta go.

This is it

http://astrofix.net/2011/07/19/venuschiron-aspects/#.UMJhna50vEc

Wow. Read that, and you read me. Fuck.

Phuck, fuck, fyuch. It's phechoung (fucking) creazy.

Just words you say..

Just astrological nonsense..

The internet.. full of lies, you say.

Well.......... p h u c k

the privilege of believing in your shit

Holy shit friend.

It's the one day before it has to be done. The only day is including the eight hours sleep.. so it's only 12 hours of work. Can it be done? I eat my breakfast (sardines and rice) with chopsticks. Thinking this will slow me down and I should enjoy my meal. But I rush through and create a blockage in my throat - what is this? Spaghetti? Thank you for the rice, the pot, the stove. The friends, the love, the time. The breathe, the life, the metal. The music, the weather, the air.

I slept well, and woke up early. Today is a day for business. & wine.

I have the right to get angry.

Too Much of a Good Thing

Starting ones day with their inquiries of astrological synastry - is a plodding start to a day's tasks at hand; or rather an efficient way for one to reorder their priorities.

I have a disposable camera here, I might even get that sent out today. This plus another one I have lying around. And then maybe a few more too. Because it if is 9$ + 3$/roll afterwards.. this means.. I'll do ten rolls? 30$ish. Hmm.. I wonder if that is for doubles too, eh. There is that photo copying center at Superstore as well..

And then I will have photos. May this be considered a present to myself? Hell, I'll even give these photos away too.

I don't even think I have 10. Which is awesome. Okay. So today is Friday. The only thing I need to do at Port is grab my xacto knife, and that chainmail torso. maybe also the remainding springs to cut. Tonight Mareena works, so I can develop some photos there. I'll bring this laptop too? or no? Hmm..

I can do my semiotics paper until, let's say 2. So I have 4 hours? pfft.. let's say.. 5. So I have 7 hours. Then I'll run over to port, grab my shit. While I'm at the photolab, I can put that one colour film roll back into the camera, because I think that it's still got some photos on it unused (!). Um, so yes.

FEeling good? I got some coffee into me, I'll take some vitamines later.

The astrology just sets my head straight in terms of synastry. I use it to calm myself down really. When I just start reading 'textbook' 'explainations' of the flow of energies between me and another person, it'll say something which hits the head of the nail in terms of how I feel, or how I've been acting/thinking, with respect to others and stuff. And possible better ways in which to see the situation.

I think it's done good. So much good.. that it's time to start this paper. Whish me lhuck.

Oh no, you'd be right.

The timer went off, I guess it's time to go now. So soon. I just got here.

"refill it and then be on your way."
"grab some oranges, make it look... in conspicuous."

I'm always .. past where I wanted to be. Past. Late. Delayed. But here,
alas.
I delay me'sef.

okay, then

5 minutes for things that .. are of happiness.

drinking vitamin water / washing pots / wearing long blouse from Mom / printing off an essay that took a damn long time / feeding someone and they say that it tasted good / someone just taking food one cooked because it is good and it is comfortable enough to just eat without direction / a reeeally good hug / pushing oneself to get up and do something and actually doing it and thanking yourself after / hot showers / cold showers / extremely mild temperature showers / waking up beside someone who is warm / soft skin / beautifulness / eating grapefruit and thinking, you know what, this ain't that bad / getting things out from the skin; ingrown hairs, pimples, black heads.. / folding laundry right after it is done / warm laundry / petting cats / picking up a guitar and making some sweet amateur sounds / seeing friends / seeing friends and going all excited just because you see them, and not even caring or thinking about anything else outside of that moments of just being blessed by seeing them / maple smoked salmon / smoked oysters on hummous / fresh oysters all the time, really / feeling beating hearts / liking some one / liking yourself as you like others ('you' 'I' 'one') / feeling the sun / sunlight through windows / writing because it feels good / talking / listening / someone does a friendly touch to the arm after just meeting them - comfort / large blankets / cool winds / smoldering hot days too / favourite movies / heavy breathing / faucet-like sweating / watching someone smile because they thought of something goood / seeing a beautiful smile / large voluminous laughs / oh, and smoothies.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKing sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.

Evacuate

I had an intention on coming on here.. the turn I took though, was going onto Facebook first. What's up with that? That... action? I think of it as a little reward, "Oh I'll go on here for a second." Reward? A little thing. But then it extends itself to moments and pages onwards.

But I think I came on here to describe... my day? I hesitate now, because I remember I made this visible for those whom wish to go to my Dreams blog via facebook, then profile, then to my other blogs (aka here). And this is terrifying.

Fuck,

I've been found.

Dictionary-anxietee

It's might not literally be the only reason, but the only reason why I want a new computer, is so my dictionary will be upgraded. This OS is from 2007, I feel stunted in the world of linguistics.

o k

Sometimes, or rather most times, or rather at times, I want to write stuff that is amazing and poetic. Where someone will have read it, or amidst reading it, their head will just blow off, their heart will sink. At my use of cliches.. whaddya think?

I'm filing away with a metal file
my aluminum casts of my fingers
i'm a foundryphile
not really
i've only been once
hence the fingers, covered in dust
metal dust
maybe it's bad to breathe

in.





yhup.

May peace b'wit'ye

Oh I had my first Sculpture critique today. And a thing has stuck to my gut... I had started to say about another person's piece, "I like how your light bulb didn't break off of your thing" I might have added, .."because plaster is fragile." But my teacher wrote on the board "I LIKE" with a slash through it, and I asserted, "Well regardless of your dislike of the word 'like', I still like how Bree's light bulb didn't break off because plaster is fragile and is easy to break." Or something.. and he backed down saying how he shouldn't have hit that nail on the head because I had explained myself afterwards. And my face went red, or I could feel heat on my face, because I didn't want my words to be used against me. Of course, I am word sensitive.. from an external standpoint, my teacher just wanted elaboration, but even know I am unsure if I had elaborated. He affirmed that I did after I restated myself, but originally, I don't even know. I feel bad because I feel like I was disrespectful for a teacher. Well, how I idealize how a teacher should be treated.. but then.. sometimes I see that they are just people, and I can't get past how they are just people, and I don't see them as a teacher. Until I do.

Oh, I just felt aggressive. My teacher has bad hearing, and when I had started to speak once, he put his hand to his ear, signaling me to raise my voice, so I did. But as I became more pronounced, the guy sitting beside me jolted. Holy shit, I made him jolt with my voice. His bodily reaction made me feel like I had yelled. This instance and the one above, made me feel like I was being angry or something.. presentably.

There is something that Thierry had added during my critique though.. it was that I shouldn't cater to the viewer. I like that.. but then.. outside of how I put my sculpture on the table. I'm going to use that for later on..

Critiquing was weird though. There were some things that I thought were just what they were.. a lack of attention or care. Other things were really ingested with things trying to say something. Like a piece of writing that has so many words that needn't be there to express what the overall written work is to express. Sometimes I don't feel to open to receiving the works of others. And then, I wonder if I am just bias on whether or not I like them.. you know. I get silent for the good ones, or the ones of people I like. But for .. a lot of things.. I don't know if I speak out my compliments of people a lot, but it's not like it's not there. Whether or not I say something is adequate, or convincing.. it still is. Hah, but fuck that eh.. is that me claiming my subjectivity as objective? Who fucking went overboard and claimed me captain, eh.

I feel shame in that.

But, what I do know is that it is really windy out. Someone got killed by flying debris apparently in Toronto.. I'm behind in my readings. All I want to do is sleep. If I could.. I would sleep for a while actually. But I still have a lot of readings to do. I want to get an alarm clock as well.. but when? I should get my phone fixed? But the thing about the phone is.. I am less anxious.. I think.. because I wait and I want for people to text me. Desperate for that talk. Without the phone it is quite nice.. because I will go to see those whom I want to see, or I'll make talk with just about anybody. I feel like I feel more free. But right now I am paying for a phone that I do not own.. I just have a plan without a phone. Fuck. I guess Wednesday or something. This will be.. a week an a half then.

What does it matter, any of this.

I feel like I'm stressing myself out with out a reason.. like a personal reason for gain, fame and glory. All I want to do right now is read some semiotics.. and maybe some queer theory. But I might only want to read semiotics.. because it is not imperative I do so. But Queer Theory.. and Art History.. yheup. Those classes are tomorrow.

.. Peace.

Nap times at Clifton

Julian is sleeping on the couch right now. I had been looking at the computer, then glanced up and saw his one eye open and looking at my figure. But then I think that he is in sleep paralysis. So then I continue on the computer for some short moments, looking up again and seeing that his eye is still opened but looking up into its lid.

I wonder if he notices.

I think that my hang over is done.

But I think that I will be in need of some food. It's 6 o clock, and I haven't been home yet. I think to recharge back there and stuff would be nice. Today is a day of no work. I guess this is an awesome idea, because I feel like I've been studious for quite some time. Last night I drank so much that I didn't remember some parts of the night.

I bit the head off of one of Barrett's venus fly catcher plants. Did I swallow it too? I only heard of this as I returned back to clifton and Julian told me how Barrett told him that morning. Shit fuck. Hah.

I like drinking, but there is also this little bit of shame with it. Well.. I get rambunctious and then I want to wrestle. I feel like I might be too aggressive? Just, shit eh. Yeah, I feel bad for hitting now. Maybe I should join boxing?

Other than that it's been a good slow solid day. Of doing nothing but having it seep through. Waking up was fine too. It was fucking difficult and my head hurt, so it was fine in the sense that I wasn't pushing myself to go anywhere or do anything. Sometimes it's nice to just chill.
I can see the moisture in the air, the lightest colour.. moving around. So fucking cool. It's like seeing the wind.

[imagine the sentences that I type out, that are then deleted.]

Okay, I'm going to go home now. I just want to veg out. Maybe grab a .. naw, I got pasta ingredients at home I can just have.

Now.. to walk, or to bus?
Love. Whatever that means.
Or actually, what it means, and not what it says.
Or, a kind separation right now from me to you.

Every day is exactly the same

Especially when you're going through the nostalgia field a'dreams. Because. I don't know if I would say it feels the same quite exactly, yet it's getting there.

I like feeling distant, when I do. It's like, I get to show myself, yeah man, even though you feel distant, people recognize you. So later on this week, I'd like to work on stretching my ears, I'll think of that come next week. (HOW!?) hah. I guess I have to make my own taper? Should I buy my own tapered earrings? And then I want my top ear cartilage thing pierced.

I guess this is the thing. I don't want to have to show that I feel a certain way, maybe I want my face to say that.

I need to work on this acne stuff too. It's happening at the hair follicles, what the fuck is up with that? I'm stopping coffee today. I've already had 3 glasses. It's 4pm on a Sunday. The next coming week will be fun.

What will I do instead of coffee? I don't know.. maybe some.. fruit? Fuck's sake.

Anyways, I think with distance, gives me the change to assume control. Or to give the illusion of it. It's like, what do I want to do? What do I want to look like. Even though today, I don't know if it's been like that really.. but hey. Whatever. I have to do a lot of studying.

Today, Art history, the last few bits of my queer theory.
I've done my semiotics, (YUHESSS!) and then sculpture will be tomorrow too.

Create charts for art history.
Read Queer Theory.

If I want to I can do some carving later on today.

Maybe that's what I'll aim for. That'll be closer to 9 o'clock tonight or something, because, no way I'll be going there before then. Less than 4 hours to do this written/reading stuff? Well sure, only one way to try.

I've been feeling empty lately. I don't know what this means, but I like how it feels.

I feel like having magma poured over my body.

Fuck this keyboard is dirty

i hate how I have to touch this shit. And .. well.. only one shift button works, but it'll be OK, I'll get over .. it?

I'm going to type out my queer theory paper on here, because it's how I do. I don't even know whether or whether not to worry about capitalization. looking at the clock, nope.



there are so many questions i have about this identification process. this identification process i speak of, is how we get to know the world around us. it's how we get to know. it is our cognition.

We are all full of meaning and purpose, in so far as we mean to pursue.
We are us our bodies to express meaning. Some times this meaning is symptomatic (like a sneeze from dust), or it is taught (like dressing nice for a job interview). our bodies are vehicles with which we use as signs. Meanings of different signs change over time, especially when generations counteract the other, and when cultures (a collection of people within a system of shared and similar influential values/beliefs) interact with other cultures.

But how is meaning first established? Knowledge for the most part, is established through experience (emotional), or through methodological theorizing (mathematics &c). When experiences are shared, they become theories.

For this, i am going to explain how one self-constructs themselves with intentional and unintentional meaning(s):
1. There is first an establishment of meaning through auto-experience, or shared down the grape vine.
2.  the development and appropriation of signs which represent meanings; and their use to communicate to an audience, and to incite a response.
3. how meanings become lost in translation through their contradictions of: self presentation, language, and actions (materialization of behavior). this incongruity revolts against the hierarchic construction of what is complete representation of an identity, in any adequate form.

First, there is the individual sentient being. All sentient beings i will speak of shall be within our species of homo sapien sapien. they are exposed to the objects (animate and inanimate) of their environment, as much as their environment is affected by them as an object. it's a web of interaction. What's great about being a child, and going through the stages of experiencing the world through its senses, is that it is free from bias. they will learn their preferences through their experiences. zero prejudice, because they have yet to judge. For instance, if a child is exposed to a chair, they put their hands on its seat, bite the arm rest, climb and stand on it, whatever.. they're exploring this chair. Who knows what they would do with it later on, if they were left without being instructed about the chair's purpose. yet, most things we're exposed to, come with instruction. An individual may communicate to the child that chairs are meant for sitting in. So the child sits, and associates the chair with the act of sitting. thereafter, whenever brought to the presence of a chair, the child will behave in such a way to perform out this action. What carries out this system of interacting with objects is the perception of the object, the 1st or 2nd degree experience of the object, and the production of a specific behavioral response.

if one substitutes the inanimate chair, with another sentient being, then it gets tricky. this process of interacting amongst individuals is subject to limitations of the expression of either of the individuals. this is where the sensitive components of how the treatment and judgment of each other others develops into more political and ethical discussions. But not here. for i do not wish to explore how we should treat each other. this becomes the stigma of our cognition of each other.

 As a species, we are able to recognize differences in our physical appearances. prejudice based on visual cues occur, especially when an experience of a single person includes any with a similar appearance.

Now, what i love is teaching and learning, but like how Gregory Scofield said, "the moment when you record a memory, it is fictionalized." We all experience our own lives, and come up with our own empirical knowledge, interpreting the world through what is familiar, and what is taught.

there is no need to pretend that we might know each other based on visuals, limited are we by the availability of grammar are we able to understand/know the other. Who are we joking.

it is nice though, when onei nteracts with another, and a need/desire is expressed, and it is met with satisfaction by the other, with and/or without the use of spoken language.

Communication is hard. Especially when one does not even understand to what degree or how they might categorize themselves within their own learned and communal language.

We are brought up in a group of people, wherein there are as many of us in numbers, each looking a bt different from the other, and being able to communicate to the other, sometimes accurate expression is difficult. or precise, rather. But it all is relative to the language being used in communication.

Did you know from the grape vine, that the there is no linguistic differentiation between the colours blue and green in japanese? the ability to identify objects within the world might not even exist within a language/category. in some reading that i read, a lady was researching for her second book on something, and in midst of her research, she read of records of same-sex sodomy being acted out in the 17th century military, somewhere. But these acts were not taken as our contemporary understanding of what is homosexual behavior. the concept of homosexuality and other categories of sexuality have not been set in motion since "the beginning of time." i shouldn't open up into linguistic loop holes just yet, but i just wanted to address the fallacy of the expectation that for every thing there exists a word, and for every word, it represents a thing.

=========

Conversely, as from what they said in MANSOME, we present ourselves to get sex. i couldn'y possibly explain or attempt to give light on to why we as a species could want to attract another of our kind. i don't want to perpetuate the myth that reproduction is the only drive behind the act of attracting a sexual partner. Sex is not linked with reproduction conclusively, and neither are some folks even attracted to things that may reproduce. There are people who are attracted to inanimate objects, and there are even other species wherein they just have sex because it feels good. it's like saying people only get a massage to relieve back pain, sometimes, people just get massages because massages feel good. Living within a feeling body, what feels good on the surface, feels good on the emotions. i am quite sure??  So, i do not think it is a fair part of the study to sexuality, to remain purist in the presumption that all sexual acts are linked with a species need to reproduce offspring and establish a continuum. there are many people who have sex, with a lot of effort put into the assurance that no reproduction occurs. And there are folks who link up with other folks, with whom there is a biological incapability to reproduce, but still, they attract the other for the cause of sex.

I feel like I am able, well, I'm ablizing right now, but I am able to fucking think about this stuff, but it's always just a matter of letting it get out and stuff. I'm sitting at a cafe now, it's a different day than what i've written above. The next day actually. My teacher was like, "hand in your papers, and if you don't have them, hand in a sheet of paper saying when you're going to." I said tomorrow, thursday. so voila. Another day. Another fucking shugar coated day. I'm pumped, it's just.. the anticipation. Well, if I want to go to the movies, and read my art history shit, I best be doing this shit now. Fuck, maybe I shouldn't go to the movies. Put it all on one day. I shouldn't miss what I don't have right now. ("have"). I like this paper, because it gets me to put my thoughts onto paper, for another to read. It practises my ability to communicate via spoken/written language. Combining words to form concepts, that I hope... are interpreted with least loss of information as possible.

I guess above I was talking about how we're attracted to material things. Okay, I'm going to substitute love partners with food. There is a celery and a brownie. Both are material objects, and both carry their own charactertistics. Person A may look at the celery (sorry if this is a horrid analogy) but one may look at the celery and be like, yeah, I'm going to eat this, because the outcome will be health and weight loss. Person B looking at the brownie, is like, man, I'm going to eat this because it tastes really good right now. Give Person A a brownie and they're like, I'm going to eat, though it is denser than the celery, but with the unhealthiness, and weight gain at the back of their mind. Person B eats the celery and is like, mm, this is a nice break, but it is not satisfying me right now.

People are focused on outcomes, maybe. Longterm and short term. Some people marry because they only want kids. Some people don't love the person they're with, but the idea they present. Some people just want to attract a good fuck, and be on with their lives right after. There is no common inevitable path someone's sexual life takes. Likesay, there might be some folks who are just not attracted to any person, but they might be attracted to mathematics. I'm thinking about Rainman, the movie. And it's not the same sexual attraction, but it is an attraction. I say sexual, because it has to do with interaction between two objects (person + inanimate, or person + animate) We are all in bodies. We use the body to get what we want. It's our vehicle through life. A person like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman, uses his body to attract patterns + numbers and what've-they. The brain is apart of the body.

I think sexuality consists of chemicals that influence and might even conduct our body's behavior, even mental too. And then, insofar as we may be conscious of our thoughts, sexuality is control and limited. I'm not going to affirm by everyone, but fuck, everyone limits their own sexuality.

As soon as we categorize ourselves through the limited concepts words hold, we limit our own experiences. I was thinking about "what is a human" and I thought it'd be a simple win to say, well, holy shit, I can't even answer that. Because what if we find out how to synthetically make and construct dna. Then, the.. none constructed by metal tongs in  a flask method of reproduction.. holy shit. where am I going with this?

Okay okay, talk about identities, fuck.

There is no way that there is denial, that the ways in which we see the world, is structured by our grammar, and its concepts. I believe .. we perceive our world through our senses.. we think about them, but not think about them through, and dependantly on words.. words are .. secondary, but they are closely linked. But so.. to visualize thoughts, or to see relationships between the things we see. Words do not form thoughts. Words communicate thoughts, because we're not able to do so telepathically via a less filtered mode of communication.

I'm talking about fucking language now. Where the fuck is my queer theory paper? haha

BUT IT'S HERE!

The trouble is, as we categorize ourselves with the structured and limited concepts in the meaning of a word, we limit ourselves to these concepts. As soon as I say that I am a man, I am not a woman. If I am a human, I am not a bear. There is a specific concept that is embedded into a word, words are in use to communicate things (thoughts, physical objects). If one picks up a strawberry, bites into it, and says, it tastes like GRASS! It's like, shut the fuck up. That tastes like a strawberry. It's like.. you can be all poetic and bend the structure of grammar and combine different (and usually separate) concepts to create metaphorical meaning. You create new meaning. The strawverry tastes like grass because the earth's rooted energy tastes the same, from when you're birthed to when your die, the energy remains. It's like, what the fuck are we talking abou--ohh. It's deciphering meaning. But is it open to interpretation? Well.. that's the only thing about it, it is only for others interpretations. Until their once new meanings, become used repeatedly to create a pattern, and thus a new concept bound to a construct. Like..butch and femmes. It's kind of poetic how meanings are shifted onto different characters (words, persons, objects). The word Dad is (I don't know further than what I've lived) but the word is for a male human, whose gametes formed half of the zygote, that developed into a child. So the Male human is dependent to being a Dad in specific relation to this offspring. But then there's the symbolism behind "Dad" that pertains to a male who has a certain behavior and influence (pretty much culturally constructed) around some one his junior (or senior). Then the word "Dad" is adopted by butch lesbians, because they were still within a culture by a generally composed of gender binaries. So the pairing of two persons, disregarding their anatomy, behaved in the concept of "Dad" and "Mom". A component of their identity is conceptually perceived through culturally tinted lenses. But it's poetic! It's using the constructs of a culture, to establish new meaning. This use of words to broaden conceptual understandings, is wonderful. Wow, my use of wonderful is lame.

But it's, not wonderfully received at times. It's frustrating when someone is trying to tell you something, but you cannot understand them. If someone is speaking a foreign language to you it's like, C'MON BUD, JUST FAKIN SAEIT! When the concepts behind words start to not fit those objects in which they were once bound to, new meanings are formed by combining these words with other words. And if repeated enough within a culture, then it becomes nestled into that culture's grammar.

It's like in Vietnamese (and other languages, i believe in wikipedia) there is no linguistic differentiation between the green colour of tree leaves, and the blue colour of the sky. In English we'll distinguish their lack of distinction with "grue". So they differentiate between the colour of each of the objects by saying it's leave grue, or sky grue. But its not to say that the "greenness" of the leaves is the same as the "blueness" of the sky (in English ways of speaking) but the conceptual objects (perceived objects) are categorized in different ways, and with other categorizations.

Butch Lesbian, (and please, there are going to be exceptions always to every word that I use when categorizing some one with an identity) the combination of the words describing someone who self identifies under the sex of female, who identifies their sexuality under lesbian, who acts out the cultural predisposition of gender roles/behaviors for males..oh man.. and self identifies as male.. so many things are being recognized as transparent categories. None that make sense when combined with the other. But, they only make sense maybe because I'm not looking to decipher their poetic use of codes.

I love shakespeare. He speaks of love and shit, fucking tragedy and death, but it does so in unconventional ways of language. He's made up words that we use today. And all words we spoke of , were made up by someone.

I fucking love it. At the beginning of September I was looking out on the street, and I saw a human (if they were not a robot or a non-human), who had the morphology of a male. They were holding hands with another human of smaller stature, let's say it was their offspring, pfft, I guess. The larger male, let's call them the Dad (because they were male, with a little one) and they were behaving in what I conceived of Dadness. They were toss the child up and down in the air, and swinging their littleness to do all such simple yet extreme areodynamics. I looked to my roommate and said, it must be awesome to be a father. I specified to a father, because I was imagining seeing a female specimen doing the same tossing to their offspring on the street. I conceived it to be out of the familiar, to see a mother (another jump to conclusions, yes) tossing their non infant, more like 8 - 10 year old child up in the air. And because I conceive myself to fall under the linguistic category of female, which feeds into the definition of mother, which substantiates the relationship between me and my imaginary infant.. I thus came to the mental and spoken conclusion that it would be culturally inappropriate to my understanding of this culture, for me, as I am recognizably seen, to be tossing my 8 year old child into the air. But please, I do push ups. But man, that was like a.. "ahh man, I can't have that." Where CAN'T, is highly inappropriate. Because I have the capability to do so physically, and as it is apart of my desire, but SHAN'T because it is a matter of will, and social boundaries of what is permitted for "specific" persons.

I hope this falls under the categories of the class's course materials.
Maybe I should add more stuff from the readings.

Okay. So now sexuality. Why must we categorize ourselves? Well.. we're not truly open to experiences. The limits of what is comfortable, is determined by what is marked safe, not threatening, familiar, and enjoyable. Of course one doesn't know until they try. It's not like we're programmed to know instantly like in the Matrix (unless we are.. ) But we get results after performing a task. Saying it is one thing, and it doesn't necessarily make it real once it was said. "I love my Mom so much, I would rather my life be taken than her cry." You can not validate this until it has been done. This is where, "take it with a grain of salt" comes into focus. PROOVE IT.

So to stick with people, and them carrying messages on their bodies, intentionally and not; their self presentation comes with a specific message in mind, sometimes it is only readable to them.. But so, to use Mansome's understanding of why we present ourselves, that being for sex, then.. if we categorize ourself.. if we say that we know what we like, we want to attract that specificity to us. We want to self advertise to the right audience. We are flowers, and we don't want to attract goats to eat us, but hummingbirds to suck us off. (I didn't want to say flowers.. because I feel like the flowers might only want to reproduce, but then again, maybe flowers are sentient and they like the feeling of the bees hairy legs.. hmm hmm hmmm..)

There are some behaviors that I do not like. It does not make me comfortable. All of my desires/moods/behaviors are temporal.. but for instance, on days when I do not want to talk, I do not ask people how their days were or anything, I remain silent. I may translate my thoughts out onto my blog or paper, but I will not search for interpersonal dialogue. If it comes, so be it, but my mood will be my social filter. Some days I want sex, some days I want to drink 4 cups of coffee, some days I want to figure out how gravity exists - but I do not want sex to reproduce, or to drink coffee to fuck up my sleep, or to understand gravity because I am fearful of floating away.

I'm open insofar as I let myself, I'm no Jim Carry from "Yes Man", but there are things that I expect to happen to me in a given day, because of what my limits are, whether or not they are consciously being decided, or they are just felt whether or not the situation is safe (depending on different situational factors). If someone handed me a cookie in one of my classes, I would eat it. If someone handed me a cookie while we were using chemicals to extinguish rodents from a building, I'd pass.

Ok okay, tie it into the paper.

Because of messages that are already constructed through modes of behavior, self-presentation, the use of speech, combined with the messages that are already our bodies are predisposed to due to their morphology.. we use these modes, these building blocks of meaning, these specific forms, to communicate. I want sex, I groom with the removal of hair and body odour, and I find and go market myself to my audience. It's just good business man. Sex, and other shit, communicate, there is a business all about it. Yeah, and my laptop dictionary says some thing that business is how one occupies themselves.

We occupy our selves with various things. It's not all about sex. If someone knows what it's all about, well.. feel free to share. Because, none of it matters.

This is me trying to communicate my understanding of what is sex. How it is categorized. Sexuality/Sex is a theatrical production. There is a ploy or series of plots, and this might be ones sexuality, a synopsis of their "Sex Act." The characters, animate or not, and stage props, the materiality of the play is the materiality of the body, or of other non-corporeal materials, or the lack thereof. (Mental images are conceptual objects.) So our bodies are vehicles to communicate our synopsis. Like Movie Posters. We want those to be interested in our Sex Act. We want to attract. Us as signs, designate our identites through our behavior/performance/and presentation, without a direct description of what it is we are signalling (most direct and commonly mode of understanding is the spoken/written word)(in our culture at least).

Before, when I was first asked the question why does it matter what gender a person is, I understood gender coincide with ones sexual organs. Their anatomy was significant. Their anatomy was significant to me and my understanding of how to behave when around them. Forget from where I learned how to behave around certain individuals.. but my first impression to answer was in the direction of, well.. do I flirt, or do I not flirt? Because I understood that if it were a female, someone with a vagina (yes, so many meanings that contradict each other between female and a vagina owner) but if they had a vagina, then I would not need to flirt for sex. If it were a male, another series of behaviors would unfold, that are distinguishable from my behavior to females.

I would think that I knew how to act for what I want, but then I realized that I limit myself on what I want, conceptually. Every time I get a milk shake, it'll probably be strawberry. I fucking love strawberries. Why don't I get chocolate? Because I probably won't enjoy. At least, not as much as strawberry. But every time I have strawberry, is it that I reprogram myself into this strawberry addiction, or is it that my favourability of strawberry is determined outside of external (or mental) pressures. Hmm, I can't even delve into that right now. The energy behind the action.

Holy shit, where am I going with this paper?

After reading Adrienne Rich's "Compulsory Heterosexuality" it's like someone unplugged me and I reacted with, "Holy shit, was I apart of the Matrix?" Undoubtedly, there are a pattern of signs we see consistently in our culture's production of its cultural self. being so dependent on the other, we are, that the concept of exile from your own kin and be ones own kind is frightening. To not be found attractive or to be treated insignificantly, is offensive. This is our fear. But this is also the fear we've been taught. Remain and stick together, either wise how will you live? Quality of life is so much better with us and everyone here together. False optimism being understood as realism. A culture has its own perception of what the world is like, how reality is formed is through a culture's understanding of reality. And anything that threatens reality, as a binary opposition at first (if it's not one thing it's the other), then it is what is UNREAL! If what is Culture=Real=Safe=Sane, then What is NOT CULTURE=Unreal=Threatening=Insane. It's not a ridiculous way of understanding. It's feeling things out from what we have experienced/know, against what we are not familiar with/do not know.

How can I end this.

HAH, by "this" I mean the paper, not "this" our cognitive process.

A lot of issues I find, is when things that are limited, bloom, and there is a restriction on this happening's occurrence. With my parents, fuck. It's a fight to want anything out side of a male as a sexual partner, and even still, to have a partner in itself is an issue. I can feel anger starting to burn in my body, because I do not like restrictions. I have a lot to express. I'm not saying more than anyone else, but fuck, I have a lot to fucking express. A lot of energy.. yes, behind this expression. An expression of my life, holy fuck, and any one who is going to restrict it... They have received a lot of my anger, because they have held onto their ideas, and I am as stubborn as they are. They are (but not limited to) structuralist, and I am (but not confined within) post-structuralist. Hell, maybe the world is as it is because we need structure, or fuck, maybe we're "progressing" to the ultimate realm of life, aka, when we fucking die.

But the issues of a post-structuralist world coming out into a world full of structure parents, is a lot of "teen angst". Which is fucked, I mean, way to create an ageist understanding of a counter-culture of generational concepts.. But.. in hopes of trying to connect this back again to the general topic of my paper, is well.. I like how Judith Butler said it, "I may only communicate my identity through the availability of grammar." I don't know how to end a paper on language and culture.

Did we get it? Do we get that we all communicate poetically? Queerfully (oddly). Using the structure of language "inappropriately" to create new meanings. Metaphors becoming literal. Life in itself is an abstract-existence. I have searched up so many words in the dictionary, more and more I find, because I want to ensure that I am communicating with most accuracy, and adequacy, to those concepts with which I would like to communicate to you. I don't want to give up by simply ending with "c'est la vie". But fuck, mother fucking fuck. ceci est la seule vie ce que je sais.

The forgotten pile

Reading titles about Fiona Apple's rape.. has me.. just glimpsing over it. Like I don't really feel what she felt when it happened. How fucked it was, to realize that you're there in that moment, and your vaginal canal is just.. pursued and entered without any want.. and the flesh remembers. Like the snitch in Harry Potter man, the flesh remembers. It's.. communicating.. realizing some other things. Whatever you have to do really.

Sometimes it's weird to separate yourself from your memories. And then, I wonder, if whatever I'm going through now, will be put in the trash pile, the keep pile, the I love it, Pile, the I am so fucking embarrassed i'ma forget about it pile... of piles in the memories log.

Paradigms of thought. How I categorize things.. I guess it's different from others, but I'll never know, I only 'knoe' myself. But.. it's freaky man. What do I mean? Well, I don't really know to be honest. Wait. Lemmetry. Will I be ashamed of myself right NOW in 5 years? Will I love it? Fuck? Will I remember me looking at this screen, with my hands typing slowly but carefully like Nightmare before Christmas Fingers (although I am no skeleton).. ?

I love life. In the way, that's it's like being in the ocean. It's so full of fun, and a bit of death, that when a giant wave comes towards you it's like.. C'MON FUCKER, BRING IT!

You let the wave take you up, to see if it scrapes you on the sea floor, or just nozzles your hair, or if you float above it, or surf it, or tunnel it. Or whatever it. You make the shit up. Or it makes the shit up on you. Whatever. you are in its zone, and you are made up of it, at least a lil bit.

Oh man. To die and to beg for more time. That's fucked.

Ohhhh man. To be youthful and want to die.. that's fucked too.

nothing is possessed

im still focusing on the temporality of our meeting. it wont last, does either of us care? i dont know what will become of anything past next tuesday, does anyone have to care about that. why do i care that you plan on leaving?  i take two steps back. because then i know not to care, but then it effects me right now. but only because i let it effect me. today i pictured my mothers funeral, and then pictured me going alone at the edge of a cliff, sitting on a branch that dangles from its edge. i sit on it like a swing and i scream. i scream out into the mass of water. people look to me and they know that no one could ever match my grief. they wonder how such a nice Kim could yello so loud, with so much pain, and anger. and then they realized, "fuck she must have loved her." hell, i always will. life takes things that you do not own away. i own nothing, so it feels like someday it will take it all away. hmm. fuck that noise. that kind of has a negative connotation from it, but  really, it could have a positive one. "Hi, I take things." is that positive? no? not yet? well maybe it will be, or could be. Am I bitter right now? or am I just tired. pfft, not just tired. I dont know whether to cash all my coins in, or to go all out. well it depends on how you want to play the motherfuckin poker game, because anyways, you dont even own your own shit. that possessive there in grammar is a lie. fuck that syntax. his, hers, their, ours, all that shit, a fucking illusion. nothing is mine.

Haha, yesterday I was eating an apple around 430pm, and I ate the sticker that was on it.
This morning, at 730 pm, I pooped it out.

I was laughing so much; now I know disgestion rates! (Of that one just passed)


GOod Morning.

I do my homework on my blog

Fuck this shit. I'ma rip this assignment a new ass face, hah. Disregard that, if you can!


Six Species of Signs, holy crud eh. Do I really have to write a response for this, it was so fucking.. bland. Or not. Or you know what, maybe it was.

I didn't get much from it, only that the terminology from different semioticians in the past, actually serve as synonyms.

The Bifacial sign is fairly simple to understand, there is the physical sign (spoken or written word, or visual) that is paired with its meaning (the concept).

Zero signs were a bit more tricky to understand. They used silences as an example, so I guess from what's not said, a lot is said. Like those awkward silences after someone farts in an elevator. The sign is the sound and smell of the fart, maybe even its detonator's blushing cheeks. Which would then signal that it was them. The reactions of the others trapped in the elevator signal the scent-disgust reactions, and also the social taboo of farting in public. But is that a zero sign? The look of disgust that one would probably give to the farter, or even the non-look, focusing their eyes to the ground.

Token/Type, Denotation/Designation. Token is the recurrence of a sign that denotes, and the type is the sub-categorization of what each of those signs designate. Words on a page; each word on a page denotes that it's going to be a word for some concept. And the Type is what concept each word designates. The type, is a designation of value (incorrect word), but of meaning.

And now for the actual six species of signs.

Well the signal is fairly obvious also. It is the object (visual, spoken/written word) that is trying to communicate its linked information to whomever is perceiving it. These interactions may be within systems of organisms, or machines.

The Symptom. Oh, so to reuse the analogy of the fart in the elevator... the blushing of the cheeks would be the Symptom of the farter, maybe even the non-farters, because blushing would be a symptom to signal embarrassment, which comes from the connotation of how we must react to farts in public.

Icon. Like how on washroom doors in public areas, there is an image of a 'man' and of a 'woman' to denote the sex of the persons whom are designated to enter each washroom. The black figures are icons, because they have a similarity to what they are representing.

Index. Again, using the above analogy.. The indexical sign in the elevator situation would be the smell and sound of the fart. Enough said? Enough said.

Symbol. So our middle finger is an obvious symbol in our culture of the word 'fuck', in an aggressive and offensive manner. (There are many connotations to the word 'fuck', but in this instance, I trust it is known what it means.) The middle finger is just a finger, but when it is singled out and pointed up, with its knuckle facing out, due to its social reoccurrance, it is a symbol and message of aggression and disrespect to whomever its knuckle faces, from its displayer.

Name was interesting. Because I never thought of the name as a sign, it was merely just present. But it is a sign! Even though there might be a cultural, or social meaning to a word, to a name ( ex. Gwenith Paltrow's daughter, Apple) a name is just a way to linguistically refer to an object, that in no way is to serve as a description to what that object is.

Will I post this?

Maybe I won't. I don't want to bore you with my reading responses. Well the queer theory ones really started up something, but this one, maybe it's because it's my first assignment I'm actually doing, I'm quite apprehensive about it. And I also want to have dinner at Shaun's house, but I have to do this. I have to do two. Hmm, fuck?

Anyways.

The reading for my Semiotics class (fuck I have to do this, just gotta :I ) is "Culture, 'Nature' and Everyday Life" by David Inglis. We only had to read the introduction, which is nice. I wonder if I have to do two pages for each reading, or two pages for both readings. She said 1-2 pages too. pfft, fuck I'm alright. It's just having to have to think about something. Yesterday was all semiotics, I shudda done this. Nope, I shuddn't have that attitude.

Anyways, it's actually quite interesting. (Changing attitude). Because, we are submersed into our culture. Exactly like a fish in water. Exactly like us existing in space. The truman show quote, "We accept the world which we are given." Or something like that.. is it. The use of arbitrary is a bit off putting, I've heard it a lot in semiotics, it's kinda like when people are using the term 'juxtapose' for their art pieces in NSCAD. Or at least the classes in which I've been. I'ven't yet ben able to keep on writing thoroughly.  I find this stressing me out a bit. Especially that Marena came home, and I don't know why it bugs me. Well it doesn't, I'm just on edge.

The culture around me tells me how I should be, right from when they saw that I was a girl. Right from when they saw my parents and gave them their jobs and their house. Right when they would treat my mom as an immigrant (did they?). Right when they saw that I looked asian, chinese, japanese, no Korean. I've read readings of feminist valour, and since I'm a chick, they're talking to me, I'm inclusive in their use of the word "us". Even as I will talk to my peeps, my friends, ma crew, it's "How's your day going?" (first off, the first form of cultural greeting) (hell, I'm even writing this on a blog, this is new culture(ish) too, North American dominated I'd guess?) But when I will be talking to my friends too, its quite organized. What we talk about to the other isn't even surprising. My friend, Barrett, and I, speak of school mostly. We speak of 'intellectual' stuff. Our dimeanor is even hoity toity.

There is a predisposed position on how me/we in this culture are even suppose to look at and treat those on the streets. Pan handlers. "Spare change" askers. Even how they're of popular subject. In my photography class last year, 4 people out of the 12 or 16 had used the 'homeless' as subject matter. What does the word 'homeless' even mean? Do they actually not have homes? Where do they go in the night? If it is in shelters, could they not just be living freely in community housing? Is it public housing? Would I be able to stay there if I wanted to? Is there a permancy for its regular goers?

"Sociology is in the business of stereotyping" is what Inglis says in his introduction. And it is. Bless it. Stereotyping, and openly stereotyping is a touchy issue to. It connotes a limited experience of individual expression. Or if they do not fit into the linguistic categories into which society has predisposed them, they are labelled as Queer. Because I don't know if we have many Shakespeare running about now, making up words. (Maybe I am/could be one?) Man I'm interested in language right now, or at least today.

It's like we're in our own triadic relationship/web/triangle of life. Or of culture. I don't know what to name it. But it's where culture and society and everyday affairs effect the other. After learning about Black History, or the Holocaust, I act differently, or black Slavery or anti-semitist topics come serging through my head when my eyes perceive coloured folk, or jewish folk. Hell, it's even difficult trying to explain what I want to, because there are so many negative and sensitive pairings that go with the words, "black person" or "jews". Or is there not? I don't want to hurt anyones feelings, and I'm kind of trying to be careful, I say kind of because I don't feel like being Shakespeare right now, all I want to do is get it out. Fuck, I'm already defending myself.  Society has taught me to behave cautiously this way, around these sensitive topics (black slavery and holocaust). I'm personally interested in them, because I am not apart of them, I guess, in the same way some one else who is removed from that living culture as Inglis put it, but who is still "black" or "jewish" living today. But am I not apart of it? Like, I'm no black jew, hell, I might not even be a woman. Whatever to these ideologies. there is a tie though, with this inside feeling that one, or I guess, empirically (if this word fits) I feel connected to those representations of dead people in piles I've seen for pictures of the holocaust. I receive visceral reactions when I hear of black slave ships, and how those conditions more than the word suck could ever connotate.. but still I am removed from their group, or kin, because I am.. Asian? Although my father is White? I am .. not Black and not Jewish.

Sensitivities man, sensitivities. How does one defamiliarize themselves from the Holocaust? Why am I using this as an example even. On the outside, trying to speak of what's in. In society, everyone is an outsider, I swear. And I am neither informed well enough, or know greatly, the boundaries of sensitivities of social groups, or of cultures, and of the languages they use to speak amongst themselves. It's like constantly learning a new language everyday, but all you seem to say are profanities.

I have been on the inside with outsiders talking to me too, and no matter what they said, I took it offensively - their language though! How could they not know. Do not use Asian jokes to joke about me, or joke about the 'academics' of art school. Now whenever these topics arise, I turn into a great defense, with a pinch of aggression. Is Culture and Nature one thing? How are human activities not natural? Does it mean, would it exist outside of the existence of humans? Like Beaver Dams? Are beaver dams natural then? Or are they not.

And I don't agree with Inglis' use of the word arbitrary, to explain culture. Arbitrary means, according to my dictionary on my laptop, which is my reasoning for all my definitions, something that is without reasoning for its manifestation. Then we go into some sort of cultural history lesson (which is subject to fallibilism for shure!), but then it's black slavery happened, because some folks found some boats.. well, I don't even know how to reason that one. But where reactionary steps formed from prior steps. I feel like that is reasoning. Reasoning does not mean what is truth, or scientific. It is merely that if one cultural idea formed as a reaction to something that had effected that culture, then yes everything is and was contingently made upon its prior existence. Everything that has not happened is relativistic, yet once it has happened, it is determinism. So I guess the point of this would be to ideally form what is future and relative, into a more widely acceptedly culture where everyone's happy, if we all even want to be happy..

and sex begot them

my pet peeve, or mild fear is when ill be laying in bed, writing out what i want to say in my head. it gets lost. how I started this blog in my head moments ago was entirely different than now. for one thing the tense of time is totally different, because i nwas thinking i would write it in the morning, nut it is now. what was i even going to write. ive spent a lot of the day in my head i feel. but then i remember that the days been longer than the time ive spent reading. i read my horoscope for twenty minuted in the mirning, and when i go to bed. why two times? i dunno, to foresee, then to recapitulate. or to check. but i do it. mine and some select person at a time, or many, it varies if they're even aaprt of it. today i took breaks from reading by doing pushups, how productive. i was trying out the ones where your hands form the suit of spades because your fingers touch. now , for the first time ever, s'was able to move my one pec muscle on my right side. cant remember if the left was too successful or not. i decided that Im going to make a bra sometime next week. my breasts feel neither good in bras or just chilling. well, i dont mind thembraless, i just would prefer apple tits i guess. but i shouldnt think like that. i like my breasts, just sometimes, i dont too. ill have visuals of a saw cutting through them, its like nails on a chalkboard for me. and i dunno, the serated edges of the blade, with the chillin skin-what would it look like in the inside? i wish i could make a paragraph break, im on my phone, so welcome to this format. i havent even said what i wanted to say yet. im feeling very selfconscious, i connected this blog to my profile, so that more people may read it. espec if they go thru my facebook profile, go to the dream blog, then to my profile, then to this. its all very frightening, as much as it means shit. ive been reading my queer theory readings today, done all but one short one (tomorrow morning) and the last one i read was super compelling. "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence," by Adrienne Rich. i really recommend it, i read pg 620-660 or something, but how women are born into this heterosexual dominated world. i was connectung with this because i dont know how some girls meet girls. i dont want to have to dress the dress to symbolize a stereotypical lesbian to acquire a date, or to have someone ask me, because i sure as hell know that right now i havent the least bit of courage to ask a girl out. there have been a couple i would like to, but that rejection would be hard. but why? in another one of the readings they were saying how therez a sexual hierarchy, and being a promiscuous lesbian is fairly low. now, i dont know what a lesbian is, but i know i feel like i know how a girl should be physically and maybe in all other respects loved and treated. maybe not tho, i could be vile and rude, at times i fer shure feel like it. i remember hanging out with chelsea and it felt surreal, or at least it does now. the further i am pulled away from its nearness to me, the more idealized i see it. we werent ever even together. i reference to her as my gf sometimes, or i would, i dunno.. to say that there was something, that i had whatever. fuck, im twenty one and still talking about it. so. i talk about the past, its only what i know to have experienced and thus to know. is this empirical knowledge? did i just use a term correctly, which i have just learned from the readings.. exciting.  mt body is tired, especially my eyes. tomorrow i hang out with shaun, but right now i feel devoid of aby certainty. all the new info ive picked up makes me questions whether or not i am who i am because it is who i am, or if i am subsequent to the choices made for me without my say, ive never given love to a man, but i have to chelsea. i have more desires to please a woman than i have with men. i like male bodies and how they stimulate me. but i havent yet had the satisfaction of a woman. god bless lesbians, or girls who are currently doing what they want to do. i want to ask a girl out, or be in a femme relationship, but i wouldnt know how to start. i want it to be right. i want friends really, but that is the same as love and lovers.  but i also want everything, except for a small appetite.  oh, thinking brings more questions than answers.

the only way out is through

be in a relationship, knowing it will end. it's kinda like eternel sunshine of the spotless mind. i have a significant uranus influence over me, and it days any relationship I start under it will surely end by its passing, aka, march 2013. i mean, i know life goes on, and there will be better people, i tell myself, there is always a positive renewal of things, but damn, i sure do enjoy him. the horoscope thing said that they're there to satisfy a certain need or purpose and then they will be off, k, i get it. why do i listen to this stuff anyways eh. sometimes I cant remember his face. i can, but not really. i feel like his expressions shift so much, im still calculating how they relate to one head. each time i see him he looks different. i should try harder to fall asleep.

Crystal Crescent.

I'm nervous and I'm lying down on my carpet, anticipating the final movements to get onwards with the biking trip. Now, I believe I'm a confident biker and whatnot, I got good stamina and a go at this, but I did honestly feel a bit underpowered, as my bike was a different bike to ride than what I was use to. But all that shit aside, it made it there, and back. Of course with some hiccoughs along the way. First of all, how fucking fun it was going down all the hills, especially the first one on Quinpool, as it turns into the rotary. Going up from the Rotary was fucking saweet too, because it was the first muscle stretch, and I did it with no walking. But I need momentum, so stop and going is exponentially more difficult than just going fast down then mildly quick up. My back tire, the hub gearness, started its first noises of doom. Squeaking and erching, metal was scraping metal on the inside of the back tire's axel, but Shaun brought some lube, (bless him,) and so we did the deed and kept on keeping on.

The sky grew dark, and the noises weren't there. The cars sped by, slowly passing us night riders with caution. The road was fucking saweet in the night. It took, or at least it felt long to get there, I stopped and walked maybe three times for a bit. The first time, Shaun honestly and encouragely exclaimed, "Noo." I did the disappointment. Because it made me knew I had to try harder, you know. My outlook was great, my internal one was mildly so, but still great. I'm going to say great. Focusing on the white line would help going up the hills, because I wouldn't really see the length, I would only be seeing the moment to moment process. Anywho, we got there, and took a wrong turn. We hadn't got there yet. It was dark in Sambro, and doughnut tread marks could be seen on the road. Friday night in Crystal cresent, where da peeps at? We asked for directions, and went back a bit, continued along.. a road. Went and found ourselves at the beach. We were carrying our bikes along the sand (Fucking champions I felt us to be), and found a trail on which we continued. We were walking along for maybe 20 minutes, or half an hour, and with Shaun's doubt, and my pre-trip blog reading, we deduced that we were indeed walking and carrying our bikes along a 10 km hiking trail. So we turned around and went back to point A. The first point A, the entrance of the park itself. From there Shaun was able to find, amazling, a small entry point between trees, which was his initially intended trail to enter. Following this in the dark, our little bike lights as guides, walking and stumbling, tripping a bit over the larger of the irregular rocks, we found ourself the shore. We had been biking, and hiking for a bit, so with doubt Shaun mentioned a more awesome and cooler camping ground just a bit ways and hassles ways away, but after giving said option, he settled for the camp spot upon which we trodded first.

The area was soft and moist under the foot. It was a really foggy night, which was super cool, as both of our glasses ended up fogging right well. Shaun had set up our tent and stuff, I was perfecting my squat (motherfucking tired legs may we say), but hey, I was the honour'd flashlight shiner. This set up was done right quick and then we came to gathering firewood. Being foggy and right next to the Atlantic Ocean, shit was moist, nothing dry. But so we snapped off the small twigs sticking out from some of the trees, and made a new fire pit on the beach itself. Tossing some rocks and creating a circle, we dug a hole in the ground and made the shit happen. The fire was a bit tidious. Shaun had to make two more wood trips by himself as I continued to cook the weiners (he got Sausages before we went!). Impulsively actually, we stopped at the Superstore right at the beginning of the expedition and grabbed weiners, and 4 newspapers (kindle). All these things came in handy. We got the fire going long enough to cook 4 weiners for each, eat the fucking delicious and well welcomed trail mix I packed, and to chill, warming our exposed shins to the warmth. It was pretty fucking late. This was the second time I saw the milky way, and we got to talking and chilling, as we do. We sacrificed, or gave as a gift, as long with the package (in distaste for the mythical threat of the bear which might appear), the single remaining sausage a la mer, ou preferablement a l'ocean. Puis, we set aflame to the remainder of the newspapers and grass and other quick burning things, chilled (warmly) there for a few more minutes, then set a sandy end to the well survived fire. Shame, but it was late.

Going to bed with no fly on the tent, and with no pants, only shorts and skin, I was fearful of waking up by the mythical and threatening cold. But hey! It was fine. It was actually too warm at times. Well no, not too warm (at least during the night), but when the sun rose, fucking by god it was awesome to be able to see it. During the night, Shaun and I kept on getting stirred up by our dreams or our first nightmares, but it was a well intuitive and orchestrated sleep. The sun came up, and as it's unshielded rays hit our face and bodies, it was a bit warm, quite warm. Thinking of biking in this made me a bit nervous. I thought I was awake and ready to wake up right maybe after a half hour after sunrise, but seeing as Shaun was sleeping, and knowing of the returning trip, I encouraged myself to sleep longer.. until we both had risen.. whenever later; around 10 most probably certain I am. We heard laughter twice from around where the trail is, and being at the entry point between the trail and the beach, we were apprehensive for having sex in an exposed area, but hey, the world is your oyster, and you have nothing to fear but fear itself. So, to quote Austin Power, we hopped on the good foot and did the bad thing. Fuck it like utopia.

When we were leaving his place at the beginning beginning of the trip, he asked, "Oh hey, did you bring your bathing suit?" I responded with, "No, because there's a nudist beach?" "Okay, so I won't bring mine then." Bam. Plans were made.

We showered and pissed and swam in the ocean, hahah!! I fucking loved pissing in that big old la mer! C'etait absolutement awesome. Je le recommend pour toutes les personnes qui peuvent les faire. Parce que, avec une bladder tres grosse, c'est fer fucking shure relieving just a l'avoir cette experience. Magnifuckinfique.

We air dried - cool. Had breakfast - sweet. Snap peas, globe grapes, cara cara oranges, mandarins, sesame/flax creakers, carrots.. Mmhmm. It wasn't substantial, but it was mineral and wateriful satisfying. We chilled for a bit, lying down in the sun. It was so cool. Because, it really did feel like this was the home, you know. Like, this was our land in those moments spent within it. With him, I feel more carefree, in an adventerous, yet not so ignorant or irresponsible way, hell, I don't even think I know the meanings of those words entirely right now.. It's like, I don't want to spend any time worrying on anything that needs not be worried over with him, because it feels so temporal and real, that I want quality, rather than quantity. So, I had my first outdoor sex, that wasn't polluted with deviant behavior, or the night. It was free and exposed. It was.. very fucking nice.

We had our second dip in the water, this time, it was beyond belief less cold than the first morning's go.  Confessions of current realizations, and hurdles over past anxieties were made, whilst uniting with the undulating waters. It was nice. Fuck, it was only yesterday, but it feels far away, if this makes sense. Unreal that right now, or moments before right now, I was doing homework. And after this, I will be grocery shopping.

I like being with him because it makes me appreciate the moment. As much as he is with me, I know he will not be. Or could not be. Gracious, very fucking gracious.

Turning back in from our second dip, after all the worried glances Shaun had made practice to look, he hadn't saw the neon yellowed shirt of a girl and a young boy, walking along the beach, only a hundred metres away. I laughed and called and motioned to Shaun to look towards his right, and a smile thus ensued on his face. Our heads were just like, "ah fuck, hah, there's the people." For a really fucking fine Saturday, at a popular beaching area, these are the first people we've seen. But, in all honesty, the beach was filled with seaweed, and having such a small and sacred and secret entrance, I believe it was only most known to locals, rather than the popular population.

We dried up. I stood to air dry in the sun a bit longer, and Shaun used his shirt to dry off with a dash of haste. I put on my clothes with moist skin, to keep up with his clothed body I guess. Who wants to be a naked one in a room, eh? Heh. But so we were started to talk about sexual experiences. None I shall go into now, but as we were talking I shared with him the last grapes, and the last Cara Cara orange. He had gone to shit into the wild, and I had went to rinse my hands of fruity sugars for a conversational break. As I was walking back, the girl on the beach, close to my age, stopped me, inquiring as to whether we camped there the night prior. I had said yes, and she had wondered if we had heard any coyotes. Laughs ensued, as I told her Shaun and I came bearing no weapons, both having nightmares, yet heard no animal life whatsoever. I didn't want to tell her that the howling she might've heard last night, was probably Shaun and I whilst riding on our bikes, enthused for the happenings of the trip itself. When I returned, Shaun was like, "Hey so I didn't know you had left, so I came back being like, 'so, Red Wings, eh.'" Red Wings, I was saying to him, is when one is eaten out during their period, thus  having residual traces of blood on each cheek. I had said a past lover wanted to try this on me, rest assured, I disagreed with any foregoings of such a thing. Mmhm, whatever floats ones boat.. but anyways..

We packed up; the two people left, so as passing we quad said goodbye. It felt a bit, ah.. to leave. But meh I suppose. One must goeth and they cometh. Exiting the trail was neat, seeing all the things off of which we tripped the night prior. Getting along the road, we put on chapstick and started up again. We continued talking about sex for a bit whilst on our bikes, but as soon as the road became busier, we maintained a single-file'd position. It started to get difficult for me to ride a bit, out of breath on this one hill, a man out tended to his lawn said to me, "it's all up-hill from here." What a realist, I admire this. So at the next mid-top of the next hill, I asked Shaun if he wouldn't mind trading for a bit. I felt a bit, weak? I guess for asking, but it was for the good of the go I believed. After showing me his ways of his bike, we got along to it. His bike was smooooth to ride. Even more awesome was the usage of the gears (which I got to understanding and using better a bit more km's a way). He passed me whenever, and going down the hills was sooo awesome, and a bit more terrifying on his bike too. Terrifying because it's not my bike, it's significantly higher, thus I have less control over it, and the distance from my hands to the handle bars in relation to my feet my ass and the seat and pedals. But all was good! Until.. I could see him going up this one next steeper hill and was thinking like, "Yeah! Fucking right Shaun! Use em legs of metal!" I was so stoked seeing go at it more fluidly than I. His fluidity and metallic strength was so much of itself good that the pedal came off, laughmyfuckingass off. HAH. As I came up he looked at my with a face of defeat and anxiety. Conclusion - hitch hiking. It was a bit nerve racking because we didn't have the proper tool for this quick fix. I had a wrench that could slightly work.. but we needed an allan key of thicker dimensions. He gave option to using a rock of the same size, and I laughed and said, "if you can find that rock!" I quickly said sorry, because I felt I had said that far too firmly. I do believe that it was a cheese grater to the skin sort of remark. But anyways. We settled on trying to hitchhike. Settled further on it being a better idea if we separate our closeness, because I was the only in need of a ride, but being a driver seeing the two of us might  miscommunicate our intentions. Not the two, only the one. So I was prepared to try to hitchhike alone, or walk uphill and levelhill, and/or to coast downhill. It was only.. what.. a 5 hour walk from where we were to the city, and I would arrive pretty much at Sundown if all things continued onwards...

No pick ups. No slow downs. But one..

A police! I hitched my thumb at him, and Shaun recommended not to because hitch hiking was illegal and Police cars can't do that. But the officer stopped and I had called to him from the opposite side of the road, "My bike broke down and I'm wondering if there's any way in which you could serve me in this need of aid?" "Hold on as I come back and turn around." We waited for a couple minutes, and he had arrived.

I liked being there with Shaun, I felt that it was all possible, as much as it was unknowable. The officer spoke of the Irving Gas Station being only 5 km up further from where we were, and offered to give me a lift there with my bike (if it could fit). Luckily, and fucking gratefully, the bike fit in the back seat (WHICH HAS NO CUSHIONS BTW!) and Shaun gave me a kiss, and I gave him a smile of "I don't know what the fuck I'm doin'" with a large dash of nervousness, and we were off. Small talk happened in the police car.. but more importantly.. I arrived at the Gas Station. The cop was fucking nice too. He w a n t e d to be a good guy. The rise of his eyebrows and openness of his eyes said so. And the corners of his smile would twist and turn into sympathy. But anyways.. it was nice that I had gotten that ride there, and in waiting for Shaun's appearance (go lad go!) I went into the gas station and asked the clerk if he had any tools. His face was full of certain sympathy as he said, "nooope, ain't got no tools here miss, sorry." Mm.. but there were cookies, bread, and bananas.. what could I get for Shaun and I. No.. not yet.

I went out with grief. Thinking of my options.. a lot of trucks were coming into the gas station so I could ask them for a lift to the city, if it was possible. Or maybe tools! I could go to the neighbouring houses on the street and see if they themselves had any tools.. or maybe a lift as well! The sun was starting to get lower than before (how obvious), but the winds started to pick up and have a cool tinge to them - rain would come sometime in the night - so in desperation I started again to use the wrench as an allan key substitute. Out from no where, as my back was turned, an angel came, "Do you need any help with your bike?" Oh hell YES I MUTHA FUCKIN DOOO! I told him what was up with my pedal, and he did a little poking around with the mechanical situation. "Hey, Tommy!" (I don't actually remember the name) He's calling back to the other guy in the truck. "Do we got any allan keys?" "I unno, check the tool box over here." Hold on, lemme check he says. Oh sweet jesus, I'm feeling a bit fine. Like some diamonds are being fluttered on my chest, like iron is being taking out of my lungs, my soul is starting to glitter like that Edward from that Vampire series. I'm looking at the pedal, back turned to the road, when another angelic voice calls to me, "Oh, ah - WOW." It's Shaun. He's came and smiling and I'm smiling. I give him the low down, on how the gas station has no tools, but that the shirtless guy over there came up to see if I was having bike problems, and is now currently searching for the tools. Better much than fucking luck he returns with larger allan keys. The first one doesn't fit, but the neexxttt onnee DOES! He does the good old righty tighty, and I send him words of love, which fit in my actual words of, "FUCKING SAWEEET!" As he's walking away, he's feeling like a really good fucking guy. And how not? I'm fucking excited. My bikes fucking fixed. I don't need to hitch hike, nor walk. And we're so much closer than before. We're more than half the way home. It went from a 5 hour journey of doom, to a half hour of jolly joy wholefulness. We buy a loaf of banana bread, and gingerbread cookies, and eat and drink and as soon as I lay down we get up and go. But not before I fill in the air to my two tires. Blessed bike, how I count on thee.

Ah damn, So good to be back on the road again. How am I happy about it now? How? Because it fucking felt awesome. My pannier bags got caught on my back wheel, and Shaun behind, I could hear calling out with surprise and a smile, "WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH!" Travelling on the road along side with passing cars, on a bike that's broken down a bit, I mean.. c'mon bags, let's not get caught in my back wheel and potentially ruin it's rim, or have me tossed onto the road.. or life-forbid, the bike.

But it was cool. Just fixed that bag, and we kept on. We found ourselves as a wrong turn though. Well not wrong turn, but a different turn. Kinda felt like a labrinyth in the way.. in theory and logically it felt like the correct way, simply so - but some road did something, blah-da-yadda-yadda, we got some directions at a Subway and off we went. Finding ourselves ons Herring Cove, we did a dive thru the rotary turning right, and right quick and hard. Shaun later said to me he knew I would be nervous going down it, but he knew if he just went fast, that I would too. Fucking right he was. I thought he was crazy for going that fast down into the rotary. But I had little knowledge of the road's lay out. I had thought that we would need to turn into the rotary, but we didn't, it was simply just a keep-to-the-right sorta deal. I knew the people in the cars behind us were going, "man, I wish I was on a bike right now, going down this." Because the wind was flowing through our hair and flapping on our loose clothing, and so fucking quick and fast we were zipping, our bodies were angled forwards with our heads down, we were zipping by. Fucking fuck it was fun.

Going up the hill was aight as well. I got off and walked it up a bit, whilst Shaun was going on his low gear, which was walking speed. I got back on the bike before the top of the levelout, and it was strangely difficult. Hmm, was I tired? Or was the bike just frictiony right now? Even stranger was the distance that Shaun was behind me. But, whatever to that mystery of life. He caught up later and shouted to me that he had wanted to go to Quinpool, and asked if I had wanted to come with. Pfft, fuck no, you think I like spending time with you?! Mm.. But it was a quick turn left from the opposite side of the street, and opening had occurred on the Quinpool street. We went in, left the bikes as is (I was a little apprehensive, for my cellphone was in the bag) but we quickly grabbed pizza and boxes of almond milk and were out. The bags and helmets and shirt still on the bike! Good feelings all around!

I ended up seeing the beautiful Olivia, HI OLIVIA! On the street. And it just always makes my fucking day. It's like having a dose of shugar, being offered a free slice of mango. Finding a ripe 5 dollar bill in an old pair of jeans, it's like.. side walk hallelujah. But Shaun still had things to do and our day's plans were dividing us apart, but not really... and we separated. With NSCAD, work, pretzels, potlocks, and sleep in mind.

Shaun was worrying for a while about how much time for himself he would have to accomplish the things for which he intented initially to follow through. But I had reminded him, that there was a moment he said whilst standing in the Atlantic ocean for the second time, that that was where he wanted to be, and so thus, regret not what is happening now.

It all is turning out swell for right now. All is going along as all would.

We had pizza, and separated at the Citadel hill. "Love love" and "Love you too" being the last words of separation as he cycled up to the top of citadel, and I along the side :)

I slept for 12 hours that night, having a movie playing to keep my ambient company.

Give me a biketh, I shall rideth.

Old Dependable, The Stallion, Luck.

I found The Stallion in the trash some time ago. 2 years? 3? It was in March, and I was on Mdma. Since then it's had many jobs done to it, each time by a different person, all cursing the person before, and all saying, "it needs more help." Never perfect. But never far from perfect.

Right now the hub gear, which is apart of the back wheel is messed up. Internally, pieces of metal are catching onto it, and riding it, says Ideal Bikes, is iffy. I took it once around the patio of my apartment building, and it's done enough for me to be okay with it. I will have two wrenches, two socks, and a good pair of shoes. My shoes won't even have shoe laces in them. It's on the fence, it's very much so on the fence. Will it work or won't it. I know I will be riding it, and I know I will be going on this trip. Another thing that worries me is driving on the road on a friday night on illfully lit countryesque roads. They're country esque, because it's along the shore south of Halifax, no ways we're going inland.

I'm excited.

I don't even know where to go.

But I will.

In one hour and a half is when Shaun gets off work.

I have a single gear bike, and I usually don't switch gears anyways (or I wouldn't before) but I believe that the tension isn't too good. Why? Why..

Anywho, time to poo

Over a cup of Coffee

Marena went out last night on her own! I don't even know with whom. I feel satisfied. I don't know if being a social butterfly is cool with her, but boy do I recommend it to people. Either-wise, you're krept up alone talking to yourself, or only to those few with whom you already know, and the tiny bubble that you leave for yourself gets agitated, quickly. No release. No different things are happening.. and you can't always depend on the same people. So I felt satisfied.

Shuan and I yesterday spoke about us. It was nice, and frightening. As I was sitting on the toilet this morning, moments ago, I was reflecting on those instances that have occurred between someone and I that shoots up a red flag in my head. For Robin, he said while we were having sex that he gets possessive and jealous- umm, not now please, and not ever for that fact. Sam was filled with red flags, but the largest was his incapability to socialize comfortably. Jake didn't want to share his eggs one morning, got no consideration, and his bed sheets were god fucking awful dirty. It's not like these things in themselves are reasons, but they stem from a source in their personality, which doesn't grow well with a source from mine.

I always covet the ability (with great ignorance of all else this brings) to be all knowing. To partake in something that will end, to live life dead, to be in a relationship already broken up. As a finite being, with barely the comprehension of a second, I only exist in the present moment. And this is frightening because, I think that I want to know where things will go. The illusion I feed myself is that this will bring me emotional security. But hell, I can't even stick with eating the same thing three days in a row, where things are planned.. mm... I don't know. Not only would my emotions be different, that's for sure.

With Dylan I had no cringe of, hey let's be together forever. Because I knew where my direction was, east, and his was to stay. Rationality was highly strung in that meeting. If both our daily lives were proche a l'autre, puis, nous pourrions see each other. But there even was a tiniest of a red flag that came up with him too. He was very much an equal leader, and that's good, but I had a vision of him being a wife beater. But I think I see everyone as a beater.

I'll look into the faces of the people I know, and I have them wear their anger. Their, 'WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!" face. I am fairly much scared of people getting angry at me. I of course get angry at people too, but I wonder if someone "starts it first." I'm unsure if it is me that does something that correctly incites anger in another person. Now read that sentence as, I'm unsure if it is me that does something that understandably incites anger in another person.

Words are fucked up. And their meanings are made up of chance I feel. Whatever I'm trying to say too. It's either that at this moment right now, as I can see the characters taking optical shape on the screen, it's either that I want to understand, or I want to be correct with another person.

Live life dead
Love with loss
Smile knowing Anger.

Are any of those passable as truths? Does any one really want to think about how someone could freak out on them, hit them, (the physics are there + the uncertainty), to know that their anger could so rightfully and instinctually be exposed. I am on this boat on the reverse to others, and I know at times I wouldn't mind, given the opportunity. But, well I guess it's passable if one passes, "accept others, all of others," sort of understanding. Only in as much as it doesn't hurt you. But also don't have things hurt you where they don't need to, don't let things affect you personally (most times they mustn't be by your presence. Y'know.) But also take things with a grain of salt. And no one controls their life, or the people around them, so only let opportunities be seen. Of course the 'choice' is always there, as you may choose to interpret my usage of choice with or without the single quotation marks..

If I am to stick by to my thoughts, or the thoughts that I've read, you only live in the moment, and I don't necessarily want to be anxious, or only made up of molecules that want something that just shouldn't (i.e. waking up married with kids, what the fuck?) not tarnishing the value in that experience, but I am not there, I am here. Only here, I think. So.. I'll put that away for when it manifests around me, instead of within me. aHm. Live in the moment, I m in the moment. At this moment, I just want to meditate and wander..

But within the moment. :p

As if a title could be adequate

When you're so excited about someone that you don't tell them and then you solidify. A diamond of joy. But I'm more like a crystal, I don't know what the hardness relationship between a crystal and a diamond is, or if a crystal is on the way to becoming a diamond or something.. but I mean. How I feel right now about someone is a crystal, but it has not withstood the amount of time and pressure to technically be classified as a diamond. "Technically."

It makes me not want to paint, not want to wait. Neither to menstrate or to hate.
Makes me wanna have hands outstretched, makes me wanna have no breath.

Breathe breathe, relax and just please.
Don't go so fast, make it last.
The best, is the oldest cheeeeeeeeseee.

We'll wine and dine and next time you'll know you'll be mine.

Say yes to opportunities and lose control.

The silent yeller

I've spent a lot of time away from the homestead in the last week or so - which has been very nice. Like very nice. I've heard stories of other people's difficulties that echo mine that I keep in - that I don't plan on giving them light here - which is very nice.

I was thinking about how much I listen to others, or have been in the past week, and a couple of times they have cut me off whilst I was saying something. And I was.. wondering about this. What does this mean in particular, if anything? Or if I dare even try to construct assumptions out of this?

At this moment I've had some fleeting moments, here and there, thinking lowly on the act of listening. Am I merely a silent sack of shit following other people, listening to them, so that I am not left alone? Do people listen to me? Well, in all fairness, I don't spew out words to folks - because it's nerve racking really. I've found safety (in a way) when it comes to me thinking and typing out to myself (although this is public), but I am still capable of using offensive language about myself. So the apple hasn't even fallen off the tree..

And you know what, I am sure that people don't mind listening, I have... one, two, 3, 4 - 5 (?), I'm going to say 7. Seven people who I feel comfortable.. or... if it's comfortable, maybe 5.5, fuck eh.. 5.5 people I feel comfortable just talking to, when I do.

Which isn't all too bad, I mean, I didn't even include myself there (hah-hah.)

I've always been perplexed about the reactionary energy I've received from others - in terms of the things I've made. Do they not believe that I could have done it? Do I not look like one who would not construct such imagery & things? And then while walking I fell into the thought of, "Haha! Fuckers, yeah! There's another thing - don't fucking assume who or what I am capable of based on what I look like to you." And I had this bubble of rage from them. They're calling me asian and shit, and oh man.. openning that bottle of past-mm..-distaste. Fucking distasteful. But I mean.. Maybe I've done it too.

Then I thought, maybe they think that I'm not able to put out contrasty and whatever such descriptions may be made to the things I make, because I am .. kinda passive. A listener (at recent times at least), just a .. silent observer at times. That as soon as I use neon it's like, "what the fuck?" From where did it come?! And I can get behind that - sure.

I've never fasted, ever. My body is weak and tingling, and shaking. It is the end of the day.

I'm going to try sit ups.

Wow. 50 sit ups, by 40 i took a quick pause then was like, naw, break even.
Then 50 crunches, and by 30, I counted backwards. Holy, I am just realizing, I did maybe 60-70 crunches. I lost count and didn't count for a bit, so then out of doubt I just made sure it was extra, but it was already extra after 50.

My hands are shaky. But that makes me type quick I do believe. Because, I guess, more blood is flowing through them now so I may guide this energy.

Tomorrow is going to be a glorious breakfast. For now, I go to bed, and give it rest.

Much love

itinerary.

8:30, wake up - boil water, brush / wash, coffee. Berry & RiceMilk blend.

Drink a tall glass of water

100 sit ups + 1 for the King +1 for the queen +1 for me.

10:30 probably recording myself reading in french. Or typing out notes from two semesters passed. Netflix plays in the background. In between notes or chapters, get up and read. Or do some yoga flows.

Whatever I do next, it's 4:30 and I have an early supper. I haven't gone outside all day. Makes me feel .. like the door is closing and I'm pretty much late and have wasted the sunshine. Continue doing the inside-tasks. Today was painting.

Painting was highly satisfactory - I like that shit. I go out and mail a card and a package - it's sunset.

I finally get to walking today by 7:30. Talking by 8:30. Chill, eat, talk. Talk. (really nice).

Walk home, 12:30. See Sean (really nice). Re-continue to walk home, 1am. 2:oclock/now.

I will have 2nd glass of water for this sit, then my eyes will rest. I wonder why I am up late, seems pointless. I wonder if this night will be remembered later on, or if when I re-read this post in the future, will it have seemed to have slipped out of my mind. I think it was important.

Today, I accomplished, even when it was so bored, and I wanted to buy a beer.. maybe rum? I did not, and I feel really good inside for this. It is my second day of not drinking. I like it.
(correction: 2nd day of not spending money on drinks [all the same I'ven't dranken anything, it's just about the money])

swt-gdnght

There are just some girls that I would like to eat out forever. To give and give and give to, fr'ever.

Finish two, pick another up. Finish two, pick another up.

I got woken up twice last night from being bitten from some bugs, most certainly they are bugs, having a varied cascading effects of miniature mountain ranges over my body.

I have finished recording me reading "Why Our Decisions Don't Matter" and now it's only to figure out how to make an event out of it.

I have done all that I can do about OSAP today, maybe more may be done later on. My printer is now ever more so low on ink.

T'was suppose to go out for lunch with a friend, no reply, equals Kim puts to use the leftovers found in the fridge.

I am torn between buying soymilk, and having more coffee today, or saving money and waiting tomorrow. Of course I'd take the opportunity to buy some wine and liquor.

I feel loads better after having completed OSAP and that book reading. Hell, the painting I even got ot yesterday is looking loads better too. Maybe a reward.. Wine? Heheh.

I even did laundry, I hope I will have no bugs tonight. I'll shower again just in case. Maybe they're in my hair..

I'm going to record me reading "Vivre Jusqu'au Bout"... because I want to read aloud en Francais.