Long ago, in the days of the First Kingdom, a beautiful heron lived by the side of a pond. She was a lazy creature, and one day she devised a plan that would allow her to get a supply of fish to eat without doing much work. She went to the side of the pond as the sun rose in the sky, and there she sat with a gloomy face all morning. She sat there so long, without attempting to catch any fish, that she was eventually noticed by an old crab, which also lived in the pond.
Seeing the heron’s gloomy face, the crab asked her what the matter was.The heron said, “Alas! I overheard a group of fishermen talking about catching all the fish in this pond, leaving it empty. I am worried, for I also depend on the fish in this pond for food. I know of another pond some little distance away, where all the fish could continue to live in safety, and I would gladly carry them there, a few each day, but I fear they will not trust me.”
“That is indeed terrible news,” the crab replied. “But do not worry! The fish will certainly trust me, I will tell them of your plan.” And the crab scuttled away to inform the fish. Hearing of their imminent peril, all the fish were eager to make use of the heron in reaching a safe destination.So everyday thereafter a small number of fish would volunteer to go with the heron, who would take them gently in her beak, and set off toward the new pond she had described. However, each day, on reaching a large rock that stood not far from the fishes’ own pond, the heron would gobble up the fish she carried, leaving the bones there where they could not be seen. And thus she was able to get a continuous supply of fish with no effort at all.
But curiosity got the better of the crab, and one day it volunteered to go with the heron to the new pond. “The fishermen you told me about have not appeared,” it said, “and I am eager to see how my friends are enjoying their new home.”
At first, the heron protested, but when she saw that the crab would not be refused, she consented to take it with her.
When the heron and the crab approached the rock, the crab saw the bones of the fish all scattered on the ground, and it realised the horrid trick the heron had been playing on the poor fish. Enraged, it tightened its claws around the long, slender neck of the heron and snapped her wicked head off. Then it hurried back to the pond and told all the fish about the lies the heron had been telling. The fish wept at having been so deceived, and the crab wept with them, for it was the one who had convinced the fish to trust the heron in the first place, and it was full of remorse.
And so, dear children, be careful that you do not believe the lies of those who would hurt you, and be content where you are, whatever your situation, lest a fate like that of the foolish fish should befall you also. And remember also those that deceive, that lie and cheat from laziness, will come to a bad end eventually.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Servant and the Serpent
Once upon a time there lived a poor but wise Brahman. He worked hard in his fields all the days of his life, until his feet were blistered and his back was bent from toil, but all his efforts did not bear fruit. Many nights he lay awake, wondering how he had offended the gods, that they should choose not to reward his labour.
Then one day he discovered an anthill in a corner of his field and there, coiled upon it, he found a beautiful green serpent. As he gazed upon it, he realized that it was the guardian deity of his field, and that he had not paid respect to it. “Surely this is why my labour is fruitless,” he said to himself, and bowed himself down to the serpent. Feeling that this was not enough, he ran to his house and fetched a saucer and a jug of milk, and returned to the anthill with them. There, he filled the saucer with milk and set it before the serpent, then he bowed again, and returned to his house.
The next morning, the Brahman went back to the anthill, and there, sitting upon it just as it had the day before, was the serpent, looking pleased. The saucer he had left there was now empty, and so with a smile the Brahman again fetched the jug of milk from his house, and refilled it. Then he bowed to the serpent once more, and returned to his work in the fields.
From that day onward, the Brahman placed a saucer of milk before the anthill every morning to atone for his discourtesy. He slept easily at night, knowing he had discovered his error and was making atonement, and soon his crops began to grow. This made the old Brahman joyful, and so one day when he visited his neighbours he told them of the change in his fortunes, praising the guardian deity of the field.
The following morning, when the Brahman returned to the anthill with milk, he found a gold coin sitting in the empty saucer. Overjoyed, he bowed himself low to the serpent, praising it exceedingly, thanking it for its great generosity. Then he took the coin, and refilled the saucer, and went back to his house. He did not return to his work in the fields that day, but sent his servant to bring his neighbours, and he prepared a feast in honour of the serpent.
Every day thereafter, when the Brahman replenished the saucer of milk by the anthill, he found another gold coin. His crops grew well, and very soon he was the richest man in the district. All was well, but still the Brahman was not completely happy, for he was lonely and becoming very old. He began to think about getting married, but as there were no suitable brides in his district, he would have to travel to a town many miles away.
Eventually, having made up his mind, the old Brahman made preparations for the journey, but before he left he summoned his servant before him. “You must not forget to honour the serpent by feeding it milk every morning,” he instructed the boy. “I will not be gone for long, but it is very important that you do as I ask.”
The servant promised to do as he had been told, and so the old Brahman saddled up his mule and set off on his journey smiling, knowing his house and fields would be well looked after in his absence.
But the boy was greedy and he thought, “Surely, this anthill must be full of gold coins. What good is just one coin a day? I will get the whole lot, and then I will be rich, and will run away.” And so, instead of taking milk to the anthill the next morning as he had been instructed, the servant took a rod and struck the serpent, hoping to kill it. But the serpent could not be killed, and it attacked the wicked boy and wounded him fatally. The servant died before he could even return to the house, and fell in the field, holding the rod with which he had struck the serpent. The birds came and plucked out his eyes and picked at his flesh.
Thus did the Brahman find him when he and his new wife returned some weeks later, and so the old man knew what had happened. He cried out in alarm, and went immediately to the anthill, but the beautiful serpent was no longer there, it had departed in anger, cursing the Brahman’s fields forever.
And so do not be greedy, dear children, for you risk the anger of the gods, and they will take their vengeance upon you and all in your household. Instead be thankful for what you have, and honour those to whom you owe respect.
DannyR
Then one day he discovered an anthill in a corner of his field and there, coiled upon it, he found a beautiful green serpent. As he gazed upon it, he realized that it was the guardian deity of his field, and that he had not paid respect to it. “Surely this is why my labour is fruitless,” he said to himself, and bowed himself down to the serpent. Feeling that this was not enough, he ran to his house and fetched a saucer and a jug of milk, and returned to the anthill with them. There, he filled the saucer with milk and set it before the serpent, then he bowed again, and returned to his house.
The next morning, the Brahman went back to the anthill, and there, sitting upon it just as it had the day before, was the serpent, looking pleased. The saucer he had left there was now empty, and so with a smile the Brahman again fetched the jug of milk from his house, and refilled it. Then he bowed to the serpent once more, and returned to his work in the fields.
From that day onward, the Brahman placed a saucer of milk before the anthill every morning to atone for his discourtesy. He slept easily at night, knowing he had discovered his error and was making atonement, and soon his crops began to grow. This made the old Brahman joyful, and so one day when he visited his neighbours he told them of the change in his fortunes, praising the guardian deity of the field.
The following morning, when the Brahman returned to the anthill with milk, he found a gold coin sitting in the empty saucer. Overjoyed, he bowed himself low to the serpent, praising it exceedingly, thanking it for its great generosity. Then he took the coin, and refilled the saucer, and went back to his house. He did not return to his work in the fields that day, but sent his servant to bring his neighbours, and he prepared a feast in honour of the serpent.
Every day thereafter, when the Brahman replenished the saucer of milk by the anthill, he found another gold coin. His crops grew well, and very soon he was the richest man in the district. All was well, but still the Brahman was not completely happy, for he was lonely and becoming very old. He began to think about getting married, but as there were no suitable brides in his district, he would have to travel to a town many miles away.
Eventually, having made up his mind, the old Brahman made preparations for the journey, but before he left he summoned his servant before him. “You must not forget to honour the serpent by feeding it milk every morning,” he instructed the boy. “I will not be gone for long, but it is very important that you do as I ask.”
The servant promised to do as he had been told, and so the old Brahman saddled up his mule and set off on his journey smiling, knowing his house and fields would be well looked after in his absence.
But the boy was greedy and he thought, “Surely, this anthill must be full of gold coins. What good is just one coin a day? I will get the whole lot, and then I will be rich, and will run away.” And so, instead of taking milk to the anthill the next morning as he had been instructed, the servant took a rod and struck the serpent, hoping to kill it. But the serpent could not be killed, and it attacked the wicked boy and wounded him fatally. The servant died before he could even return to the house, and fell in the field, holding the rod with which he had struck the serpent. The birds came and plucked out his eyes and picked at his flesh.
Thus did the Brahman find him when he and his new wife returned some weeks later, and so the old man knew what had happened. He cried out in alarm, and went immediately to the anthill, but the beautiful serpent was no longer there, it had departed in anger, cursing the Brahman’s fields forever.
And so do not be greedy, dear children, for you risk the anger of the gods, and they will take their vengeance upon you and all in your household. Instead be thankful for what you have, and honour those to whom you owe respect.
DannyR
Monday, April 21, 2008
Remembrance
There is no going back
It's a thing you come to learn,
As much as you might wish it
You know there is no return.
People change, affections fade,
We all move on with our lives,
That once held dear's forgotten -
Feelings swept out with the tide.
We find ourselves bent double
By the burden of the years,
We drag our feet in weariness
But still there come no tears.
For we know to just keep going
Never pausing to reflect,
Grievances we cherish look
Different in retrospect.
No, there is no going back,
All we have is what we feel,
And the bitter recollection that
Some wounds go too deep to heal.
DannyR
It's a thing you come to learn,
As much as you might wish it
You know there is no return.
People change, affections fade,
We all move on with our lives,
That once held dear's forgotten -
Feelings swept out with the tide.
We find ourselves bent double
By the burden of the years,
We drag our feet in weariness
But still there come no tears.
For we know to just keep going
Never pausing to reflect,
Grievances we cherish look
Different in retrospect.
No, there is no going back,
All we have is what we feel,
And the bitter recollection that
Some wounds go too deep to heal.
DannyR
Friday, April 18, 2008
TAGGED!!
First, post the rules:
- Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves.
- Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules.
- At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names.
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1) The first girl I ever fell head over heels for was the biggest bitch I have ever known. She was stunning, her hair was straight and snow-white blonde (not from a bottle, either), it fell to her waist (she never wore it up) and it bounced and swayed as she walked. She was a dancer, so she moved gracefully and was incredibly slim. She was taller than me, and she had freckles across her nose. Her name was Charity, which was kind of ironic, really, because she was unrelenting in her cruelty. Not that she ever swore at me or anything like that, no she was always smiling, and her voice was like honey. Her evil power was in her unerring ability to detect what people were most insecure about and draw attention to it in front of everyone, again and again, smiling sweetly as she did so. She humiliated me all through my teenage years, by saying things like "What on earth possessed you to wear that, sweetie?" and laughing gently at my stature and... other physical attributes... in front of her friends. And I was so smitten that I stumbled over myself trying not to look silly, and making more of a laughing stock of myself in the process.
2) The last time my dad came to visit me in Wellington (a few years back now) I heard him knock at the door and immediately hid under my bed where he wouldn't see me if he looked through the window. I stayed there for nearly three hours, listening to him banging on the door and swearing, hearing him walk around the house and look in through all the windows. Why didn't I just let him in? Because he annoys the hell out of me, showing up unannounced, talking about me to my flatmates as if I wasn't there, saying what he thinks is 'wrong with' me, insulting his hosts and saying every racist, homophobic, chauvanist thing that comes into his Christ-polluted head. Don't get me wrong, he's not saying these things like an ordinary Christian would... he's ANGRY when he says them, and when he gets angry he scares me half-to-death. Ordinary Christians would be horrified, I think, to hear him talking. And he's a minister. Go figure.
3) I cannot save money for the life of me. It's not even that I spend it on stuff, when I look at my bank statement it all seems to have gone on food, rent, power etc. But there's never any left over, and it doesn't matter how much I'm getting on a weekly basis. I think I eat too much.
4) I often fall asleep fantasizing about not waking up, wondering who would find me, what they would find, how they would go about packing up my stuff and distributing it among my family and friends or disposing of it. I wonder if anyone knows me well enough to work out what sort of commemmoration or service I'd want, and who would show up.
5) I had a secret world as a kid, more in my head than anywhere in my real life exactly. It was modelled on a quiet inner-city park I'd found one time when my mum had taken my little brother and me to visit my aunt Thelma and her husband Roy. It was over their back fence, and screened off on all sides by tall trees (I think they were poplars). In the middle of it was a fallen tree trunk, it was thick, hollow, and crawling with spiders and bugs, but I sat there on it enjoying the sunshine until I heard my mum calling for me an hour or so later. Aunt Thelma moved when Roy died, and I never found the place again, but it's still there in my head, I can picture it perfectly, and I escape there whenever I just want 'me' time.
6) I always wanted to be a writer... I still do. I have, under my bed, a good 300 pages of a couple of stories I've partly written. One of the main ways I waste time instead of doing my study is by typing what I've got so far. I think I'm very good at coming up with ideas, but quite poor at taking them to their conclusion, and so I guess I'll never write a book. I think it's because on some level I feel like it's not 'real work' and it would be selfish of me to pursue it.
7) I'm really ashamed of the fact that I did dance classes as a kid... ballet, tap, contemporary, jazz... and I got high marks in the exams. I absolutely hated it, but I loved being on stage, and I knew it made my mum proud so I kept up with it until I was fourteen and was just getting hassled too much by other kids my age. I got bullied a lot for it in primary school, so all through intermediate and high school I tried to hide the fact that I had done it, but it wasn't much good. I was getting called 'faggot' 'poof' and 'queer' before I even knew what the words meant. Retrospectively, I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with who I actually turned into.
8) I once pretended to have lost my wallet and driver's license at a party at someone's house, just so I could ask the guy who lived there to look for it and get back to me. He was one of the most attractive guys I've ever met, and of course I knew he was WAAAYY out of my league but it didn't stop me from obsessing over him for months.
9) I feel like I've lived enough, in that many different places, as that many different versions of me, that the one thing I want in all the world is rest, to not have to be anyone or anything, to not have to think or care or feel anything anymore. I'm feel exhausted, worn out, "thin, like butter spread over too much bread," to use Bilbo Baggins' expression.
10) If I could crawl inside a story, it would have to be 'The Last Continent' by Terry Pratchett, or in fact any of his Rincewind stories. I'd love to be just swept away in the insanity, it would be something new, vibrant and interesting. Rincewind's world conforms to no rules, nothing has to make sense, the only certainty being that you don't piss off The Luggage, or you get eaten. 'The Last Continent' is, I think, Pratchett's most ridiculous story, and it always makes me laugh my socks off.
- Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves.
- Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules.
- At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names.
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1) The first girl I ever fell head over heels for was the biggest bitch I have ever known. She was stunning, her hair was straight and snow-white blonde (not from a bottle, either), it fell to her waist (she never wore it up) and it bounced and swayed as she walked. She was a dancer, so she moved gracefully and was incredibly slim. She was taller than me, and she had freckles across her nose. Her name was Charity, which was kind of ironic, really, because she was unrelenting in her cruelty. Not that she ever swore at me or anything like that, no she was always smiling, and her voice was like honey. Her evil power was in her unerring ability to detect what people were most insecure about and draw attention to it in front of everyone, again and again, smiling sweetly as she did so. She humiliated me all through my teenage years, by saying things like "What on earth possessed you to wear that, sweetie?" and laughing gently at my stature and... other physical attributes... in front of her friends. And I was so smitten that I stumbled over myself trying not to look silly, and making more of a laughing stock of myself in the process.
2) The last time my dad came to visit me in Wellington (a few years back now) I heard him knock at the door and immediately hid under my bed where he wouldn't see me if he looked through the window. I stayed there for nearly three hours, listening to him banging on the door and swearing, hearing him walk around the house and look in through all the windows. Why didn't I just let him in? Because he annoys the hell out of me, showing up unannounced, talking about me to my flatmates as if I wasn't there, saying what he thinks is 'wrong with' me, insulting his hosts and saying every racist, homophobic, chauvanist thing that comes into his Christ-polluted head. Don't get me wrong, he's not saying these things like an ordinary Christian would... he's ANGRY when he says them, and when he gets angry he scares me half-to-death. Ordinary Christians would be horrified, I think, to hear him talking. And he's a minister. Go figure.
3) I cannot save money for the life of me. It's not even that I spend it on stuff, when I look at my bank statement it all seems to have gone on food, rent, power etc. But there's never any left over, and it doesn't matter how much I'm getting on a weekly basis. I think I eat too much.
4) I often fall asleep fantasizing about not waking up, wondering who would find me, what they would find, how they would go about packing up my stuff and distributing it among my family and friends or disposing of it. I wonder if anyone knows me well enough to work out what sort of commemmoration or service I'd want, and who would show up.
5) I had a secret world as a kid, more in my head than anywhere in my real life exactly. It was modelled on a quiet inner-city park I'd found one time when my mum had taken my little brother and me to visit my aunt Thelma and her husband Roy. It was over their back fence, and screened off on all sides by tall trees (I think they were poplars). In the middle of it was a fallen tree trunk, it was thick, hollow, and crawling with spiders and bugs, but I sat there on it enjoying the sunshine until I heard my mum calling for me an hour or so later. Aunt Thelma moved when Roy died, and I never found the place again, but it's still there in my head, I can picture it perfectly, and I escape there whenever I just want 'me' time.
6) I always wanted to be a writer... I still do. I have, under my bed, a good 300 pages of a couple of stories I've partly written. One of the main ways I waste time instead of doing my study is by typing what I've got so far. I think I'm very good at coming up with ideas, but quite poor at taking them to their conclusion, and so I guess I'll never write a book. I think it's because on some level I feel like it's not 'real work' and it would be selfish of me to pursue it.
7) I'm really ashamed of the fact that I did dance classes as a kid... ballet, tap, contemporary, jazz... and I got high marks in the exams. I absolutely hated it, but I loved being on stage, and I knew it made my mum proud so I kept up with it until I was fourteen and was just getting hassled too much by other kids my age. I got bullied a lot for it in primary school, so all through intermediate and high school I tried to hide the fact that I had done it, but it wasn't much good. I was getting called 'faggot' 'poof' and 'queer' before I even knew what the words meant. Retrospectively, I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with who I actually turned into.
8) I once pretended to have lost my wallet and driver's license at a party at someone's house, just so I could ask the guy who lived there to look for it and get back to me. He was one of the most attractive guys I've ever met, and of course I knew he was WAAAYY out of my league but it didn't stop me from obsessing over him for months.
9) I feel like I've lived enough, in that many different places, as that many different versions of me, that the one thing I want in all the world is rest, to not have to be anyone or anything, to not have to think or care or feel anything anymore. I'm feel exhausted, worn out, "thin, like butter spread over too much bread," to use Bilbo Baggins' expression.
10) If I could crawl inside a story, it would have to be 'The Last Continent' by Terry Pratchett, or in fact any of his Rincewind stories. I'd love to be just swept away in the insanity, it would be something new, vibrant and interesting. Rincewind's world conforms to no rules, nothing has to make sense, the only certainty being that you don't piss off The Luggage, or you get eaten. 'The Last Continent' is, I think, Pratchett's most ridiculous story, and it always makes me laugh my socks off.
TAGGED!!
Post the rules:
- Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves.
- Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules.
- At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names.
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1) The first girl I ever fell head over heels for was the biggest bitch I have ever known. She was stunning, her hair was straight and snow-white blonde (not from a bottle, either), it fell to her waist (she never wore it up) and it bounced and swayed as she walked. She was a dancer, so she moved gracefully and was incredibly slim. She was taller than me, and she had freckles across her nose. Her name was Charity, which was kind of ironic, really, because she was unrelenting in her cruelty. Not that she ever swore at me or anything like that, no she was always smiling, and her voice was like honey. Her evil power was in her unerring ability to detect what people were most insecure about and draw attention to it in front of everyone, again and again, smiling sweetly as she did so. She humiliated me all through my teenage years, by saying things like "What on earth possessed you to wear that, sweetie?" and laughing gently at my stature and... other physical attributes... in front of her friends. And I was so smitten that I stumbled over myself trying not to look silly, and making more of a laughing stock of myself in the process.
2) The last time my dad came to visit me in Wellington (a few years back now) I heard him knock at the door and immediately hid under my bed where he wouldn't see me if he looked through the window. I stayed there for nearly three hours, listening to him banging on the door and swearing, hearing him walk around the house and look in through all the windows. Why didn't I just let him in? Because he annoys the hell out of me, showing up unannounced, talking about me to my flatmates as if I wasn't there, saying what he thinks is 'wrong with' me, insulting his hosts and saying every racist, homophobic, chauvanist thing that comes into his Christ-polluted head. Don't get me wrong, he's not saying these things like an ordinary Christian would... he's ANGRY when he says them, and when he gets angry he scares me half-to-death. Ordinary Christians would be horrified, I think, to hear him talking. And he's a minister. Go figure.
3) I cannot save money for the life of me. It's not even that I spend it on stuff, when I look at my bank statement it all seems to have gone on food, rent, power etc. But there's never any left over, and it doesn't matter how much I'm getting on a weekly basis. I think I eat too much.
4) I often fall asleep fantasizing about not waking up, wondering who would find me, what they would find, how they would go about packing up my stuff and distributing it among my family and friends or disposing of it. I wonder if anyone knows me well enough to work out what sort of commemmoration or service I'd want, and who would show up.
5) I had a secret world as a kid, more in my head than anywhere in my real life exactly. It was modelled on a quiet inner-city park I'd found one time when my mum had taken my little brother and me to visit my aunt Thelma and her husband Roy. It was over their back fence, and screened off on all sides by tall trees (I think they were poplars). In the middle of it was a fallen tree trunk, it was thick, hollow, and crawling with spiders and bugs, but I sat there on it enjoying the sunshine until I heard my mum calling for me an hour or so later. Aunt Thelma moved when Roy died, and I never found the place again, but it's still there in my head, I can picture it perfectly, and I escape there whenever I just want 'me' time.
6) I always wanted to be a writer... I still do. I have, under my bed, a good 300 pages of a couple of stories I've partly written. One of the main ways I waste time instead of doing my study is by typing what I've got so far. I think I'm very good at coming up with ideas, but quite poor at taking them to their conclusion, and so I guess I'll never write a book. I think it's because on some level I feel like it's not 'real work' and it would be selfish of me to pursue it.
7) I'm really ashamed of the fact that I did dance classes as a kid... ballet, tap, contemporary, jazz... and I got high marks in the exams. I absolutely hated it, but I loved being on stage, and I knew it made my mum proud so I kept up with it until I was fourteen and was just getting hassled too much by other kids my age. I got bullied a lot for it in primary school, so all through intermediate and high school I tried to hide the fact that I had done it, but it wasn't much good. I was getting called 'faggot' 'poof' and 'queer' before I even knew what the words meant. Retrospectively, I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with who I actually turned into.
8) I once pretended to have lost my wallet and driver's license at a party at someone's house, just so I could ask the guy who lived there to look for it and get back to me. He was one of the most attractive guys I've ever met, and of course I knew he was WAAAYY out of my league but it didn't stop me from obsessing over him for months.
9) I feel like I've lived enough, in that many different places, as that many different versions of me, that the one thing I want in all the world is rest, to not have to be anyone or anything, to not have to think or care or feel anything anymore. I'm feel exhausted, worn out, "thin, like butter spread over too much bread," to use Bilbo Baggins' expression.
10) If I could crawl inside a story, it would have to be 'The Last Continent' by Terry Pratchett, or in fact any of his Rincewind stories. I'd love to be just swept away in the insanity, it would be something new, vibrant and interesting. Rincewind's world conforms to no rules, nothing has to make sense, the only certainty being that you don't piss off The Luggage, or you get eaten. 'The Last Continent' is, I think, Pratchett's most ridiculous story, and it always makes me laugh my socks off.
DannyR
- Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves.
- Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules.
- At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names.
- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
1) The first girl I ever fell head over heels for was the biggest bitch I have ever known. She was stunning, her hair was straight and snow-white blonde (not from a bottle, either), it fell to her waist (she never wore it up) and it bounced and swayed as she walked. She was a dancer, so she moved gracefully and was incredibly slim. She was taller than me, and she had freckles across her nose. Her name was Charity, which was kind of ironic, really, because she was unrelenting in her cruelty. Not that she ever swore at me or anything like that, no she was always smiling, and her voice was like honey. Her evil power was in her unerring ability to detect what people were most insecure about and draw attention to it in front of everyone, again and again, smiling sweetly as she did so. She humiliated me all through my teenage years, by saying things like "What on earth possessed you to wear that, sweetie?" and laughing gently at my stature and... other physical attributes... in front of her friends. And I was so smitten that I stumbled over myself trying not to look silly, and making more of a laughing stock of myself in the process.
2) The last time my dad came to visit me in Wellington (a few years back now) I heard him knock at the door and immediately hid under my bed where he wouldn't see me if he looked through the window. I stayed there for nearly three hours, listening to him banging on the door and swearing, hearing him walk around the house and look in through all the windows. Why didn't I just let him in? Because he annoys the hell out of me, showing up unannounced, talking about me to my flatmates as if I wasn't there, saying what he thinks is 'wrong with' me, insulting his hosts and saying every racist, homophobic, chauvanist thing that comes into his Christ-polluted head. Don't get me wrong, he's not saying these things like an ordinary Christian would... he's ANGRY when he says them, and when he gets angry he scares me half-to-death. Ordinary Christians would be horrified, I think, to hear him talking. And he's a minister. Go figure.
3) I cannot save money for the life of me. It's not even that I spend it on stuff, when I look at my bank statement it all seems to have gone on food, rent, power etc. But there's never any left over, and it doesn't matter how much I'm getting on a weekly basis. I think I eat too much.
4) I often fall asleep fantasizing about not waking up, wondering who would find me, what they would find, how they would go about packing up my stuff and distributing it among my family and friends or disposing of it. I wonder if anyone knows me well enough to work out what sort of commemmoration or service I'd want, and who would show up.
5) I had a secret world as a kid, more in my head than anywhere in my real life exactly. It was modelled on a quiet inner-city park I'd found one time when my mum had taken my little brother and me to visit my aunt Thelma and her husband Roy. It was over their back fence, and screened off on all sides by tall trees (I think they were poplars). In the middle of it was a fallen tree trunk, it was thick, hollow, and crawling with spiders and bugs, but I sat there on it enjoying the sunshine until I heard my mum calling for me an hour or so later. Aunt Thelma moved when Roy died, and I never found the place again, but it's still there in my head, I can picture it perfectly, and I escape there whenever I just want 'me' time.
6) I always wanted to be a writer... I still do. I have, under my bed, a good 300 pages of a couple of stories I've partly written. One of the main ways I waste time instead of doing my study is by typing what I've got so far. I think I'm very good at coming up with ideas, but quite poor at taking them to their conclusion, and so I guess I'll never write a book. I think it's because on some level I feel like it's not 'real work' and it would be selfish of me to pursue it.
7) I'm really ashamed of the fact that I did dance classes as a kid... ballet, tap, contemporary, jazz... and I got high marks in the exams. I absolutely hated it, but I loved being on stage, and I knew it made my mum proud so I kept up with it until I was fourteen and was just getting hassled too much by other kids my age. I got bullied a lot for it in primary school, so all through intermediate and high school I tried to hide the fact that I had done it, but it wasn't much good. I was getting called 'faggot' 'poof' and 'queer' before I even knew what the words meant. Retrospectively, I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with who I actually turned into.
8) I once pretended to have lost my wallet and driver's license at a party at someone's house, just so I could ask the guy who lived there to look for it and get back to me. He was one of the most attractive guys I've ever met, and of course I knew he was WAAAYY out of my league but it didn't stop me from obsessing over him for months.
9) I feel like I've lived enough, in that many different places, as that many different versions of me, that the one thing I want in all the world is rest, to not have to be anyone or anything, to not have to think or care or feel anything anymore. I'm feel exhausted, worn out, "thin, like butter spread over too much bread," to use Bilbo Baggins' expression.
10) If I could crawl inside a story, it would have to be 'The Last Continent' by Terry Pratchett, or in fact any of his Rincewind stories. I'd love to be just swept away in the insanity, it would be something new, vibrant and interesting. Rincewind's world conforms to no rules, nothing has to make sense, the only certainty being that you don't piss off The Luggage, or you get eaten. 'The Last Continent' is, I think, Pratchett's most ridiculous story, and it always makes me laugh my socks off.
DannyR
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The First Two Poems I Ever Wrote...
Ode To A Pea
O little pea, so small and round
No greener vege can there be found!
You and your friends sit, small and neat
Between my pumpkin and my meat.
I know, O Pea, you are not odd
For you came from a small green pod
I'll eat you but don't think I'm mean
I know it's not easy, being green.
- DannyR (age 14?)
Lunch?
A plate, a fork, a knife, a spoon
A shame to be eating soup at noon.
I'd rather have sliced banana on toast
Or gravy and dumplings, and succulent roast.
I'd like chocolate cake, or strawberry jam
Icecream, or gherkins with cold juicy ham -
But alas, alack, this soup I slurp
This tasteless slop I gargle and burp
What was I thinking? Why did I try it?
This goo's enough to make me diet.
How I long for something remotely like food,
With a colour less like chicken poo.
Something fresh, not stale and old
Not reeking like a gangrenous mould.
Can't I have something hearty to munch?
(God give me a meal that deserves the name 'Lunch').
- DannyR (age 14?)
O little pea, so small and round
No greener vege can there be found!
You and your friends sit, small and neat
Between my pumpkin and my meat.
I know, O Pea, you are not odd
For you came from a small green pod
I'll eat you but don't think I'm mean
I know it's not easy, being green.
- DannyR (age 14?)
Lunch?
A plate, a fork, a knife, a spoon
A shame to be eating soup at noon.
I'd rather have sliced banana on toast
Or gravy and dumplings, and succulent roast.
I'd like chocolate cake, or strawberry jam
Icecream, or gherkins with cold juicy ham -
But alas, alack, this soup I slurp
This tasteless slop I gargle and burp
What was I thinking? Why did I try it?
This goo's enough to make me diet.
How I long for something remotely like food,
With a colour less like chicken poo.
Something fresh, not stale and old
Not reeking like a gangrenous mould.
Can't I have something hearty to munch?
(God give me a meal that deserves the name 'Lunch').
- DannyR (age 14?)
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Matt
Sometimes when I see him
The word 'Love' springs to mind
There are few who speak to me
In tones so sweet and kind.
His wavy hair, his generous smile
His eyes as black as coals
That voice, so deep and rich and warm
It melts my very soul.
But then, I hardly know him so
Maybe 'Love' is not the word.
I'll ignore my heart's insistence -
Best develop a resistance,
Maybe get a little distance?
And reap the cost incurred.
The word 'Love' springs to mind
There are few who speak to me
In tones so sweet and kind.
His wavy hair, his generous smile
His eyes as black as coals
That voice, so deep and rich and warm
It melts my very soul.
But then, I hardly know him so
Maybe 'Love' is not the word.
I'll ignore my heart's insistence -
Best develop a resistance,
Maybe get a little distance?
And reap the cost incurred.
Gentle Punishment, Administered daily
I myself am quite surprised
How masochism took me,
I never would have dreamed that I'd
Debase myself so freely.
And yet it's not in bruises
That I count the wounds received,
My punishment and prize is in
The words you speak to me.
For when you look my way
And call me by my name,
I want to run, I want to die -
Beside you I'm ashamed.
You are so very beautiful,
So poised and clear and calm
You, the candle, I, the moth,
The flame will do me harm.
Yet I cannot break away, for
By you I'm hypnotised.
I find my sweet destruction
In the blackness of your eyes.
To you I'm but a passer-by,
Not worth a second glance -
To me you are salvation,
Just beyond my grasp.
When you speak to me,
The painful thought, unbidden
Springs to mind that I
Must slink away, alone, guilt-ridden.
For if you knew the way I melt
At each and every word
You'd shy from me,
Your smile, you see
Is more than I deserve.
Wanting that I cannot have-
The touch I am denied -
I dream of being whole again
Instead of one defiled.
My self respect in tatters,
Crying in the bathroom stall
I wish that I was someone else
-Anyone at all.
DannyR
How masochism took me,
I never would have dreamed that I'd
Debase myself so freely.
And yet it's not in bruises
That I count the wounds received,
My punishment and prize is in
The words you speak to me.
For when you look my way
And call me by my name,
I want to run, I want to die -
Beside you I'm ashamed.
You are so very beautiful,
So poised and clear and calm
You, the candle, I, the moth,
The flame will do me harm.
Yet I cannot break away, for
By you I'm hypnotised.
I find my sweet destruction
In the blackness of your eyes.
To you I'm but a passer-by,
Not worth a second glance -
To me you are salvation,
Just beyond my grasp.
When you speak to me,
The painful thought, unbidden
Springs to mind that I
Must slink away, alone, guilt-ridden.
For if you knew the way I melt
At each and every word
You'd shy from me,
Your smile, you see
Is more than I deserve.
Wanting that I cannot have-
The touch I am denied -
I dream of being whole again
Instead of one defiled.
My self respect in tatters,
Crying in the bathroom stall
I wish that I was someone else
-Anyone at all.
DannyR
Friday, April 11, 2008
On Limerance
Limerance, or 'fallen-in-love-ness', (in German, Verliebtheit), is directed at a Limerant Object, it is the experience of having a crush on or being infatuated with someone for days or even years, and is characterised by
(i) intrusive thinking about the Limerant Object,
(ii) a pronounced sensitivity to external events that reflect the disposition of the Limerant Object toward the individual,
(iii) a shyness around the Limerant Object and intense fear of rejection,
(iv) the ability to focus only on the Object's positive traits and/or turn their negatives into positives,
(v) an acute longing for reciprocation, without necessarily thinking of the Object's own welfare, and fleeting relief through fantasy of fulfillment, and
(vi) the ability to devise reasonable explanations for why the Object is 'hiding' their reciprocative feelings.
It is experienced as intense joy or extreme despair, putting other concerns into the background, it tends to increase as barriers to togetherness increase, it demands reciprocity but oddly enough often evaporates after reciprocity is established. Not for nothing was this rather bizarre set of feelings called 'Love Sickness', and indeed, throughout most of Western history, that's exactly how it was perceived. We tend to think of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet as the ultimate story of love and devotion in this day and age, something perhaps to aspire to, and yet to the Elizabethans for whom it was written it was a cautionary tale, a tragedy, warning of the dire consequences, the sheer madness, of pursuing love.
According to Dorothy Tennov, there are three basic types of relationships:
Affectional: Neither partner is limerant, they do not report intrusive, continuous thinking about the spouse or feel intense need for exclusivity, rather, they emphasize compatibility of interest, mutual preferences in leisure activities, ability to work together and a degree of relative contentment. They are often characterised as the "Old Marrieds".
Limerant-nonlimerant: The majority of couples, characterised by unequal reciprocation, these relationships tend to last a fair while then fall apart.
Limerant-limerant: Inherently unstable, lasting only a short while.
Before the 1950s, having sex with the Limerant Object was pretty much a guarantee of reciprocity, as almost nobody was doing that before marriage and one only entered marriage when the sensible aspects of a relationship had all been worked out. These days, however, since the Sexual Revolution and the decline of marriage in the West, having sex with the Object of one's affections is no end to the uncertainty, and the majority of couples live a state of neurotic fear of abandonment. With this goes a tendency to seek to control one's partner, to dictate with whom they can spend time, in which activities they can engage and for how long. 'Prove to me that you love me' has become the mantra of the modern relationship, where once it was taken as self-evident, the ring being on the finger.
How the world turns.
- DannyR
(i) intrusive thinking about the Limerant Object,
(ii) a pronounced sensitivity to external events that reflect the disposition of the Limerant Object toward the individual,
(iii) a shyness around the Limerant Object and intense fear of rejection,
(iv) the ability to focus only on the Object's positive traits and/or turn their negatives into positives,
(v) an acute longing for reciprocation, without necessarily thinking of the Object's own welfare, and fleeting relief through fantasy of fulfillment, and
(vi) the ability to devise reasonable explanations for why the Object is 'hiding' their reciprocative feelings.
It is experienced as intense joy or extreme despair, putting other concerns into the background, it tends to increase as barriers to togetherness increase, it demands reciprocity but oddly enough often evaporates after reciprocity is established. Not for nothing was this rather bizarre set of feelings called 'Love Sickness', and indeed, throughout most of Western history, that's exactly how it was perceived. We tend to think of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet as the ultimate story of love and devotion in this day and age, something perhaps to aspire to, and yet to the Elizabethans for whom it was written it was a cautionary tale, a tragedy, warning of the dire consequences, the sheer madness, of pursuing love.
According to Dorothy Tennov, there are three basic types of relationships:
Affectional: Neither partner is limerant, they do not report intrusive, continuous thinking about the spouse or feel intense need for exclusivity, rather, they emphasize compatibility of interest, mutual preferences in leisure activities, ability to work together and a degree of relative contentment. They are often characterised as the "Old Marrieds".
Limerant-nonlimerant: The majority of couples, characterised by unequal reciprocation, these relationships tend to last a fair while then fall apart.
Limerant-limerant: Inherently unstable, lasting only a short while.
Before the 1950s, having sex with the Limerant Object was pretty much a guarantee of reciprocity, as almost nobody was doing that before marriage and one only entered marriage when the sensible aspects of a relationship had all been worked out. These days, however, since the Sexual Revolution and the decline of marriage in the West, having sex with the Object of one's affections is no end to the uncertainty, and the majority of couples live a state of neurotic fear of abandonment. With this goes a tendency to seek to control one's partner, to dictate with whom they can spend time, in which activities they can engage and for how long. 'Prove to me that you love me' has become the mantra of the modern relationship, where once it was taken as self-evident, the ring being on the finger.
How the world turns.
- DannyR
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Coitus Interruptus
Ok, so me and Mr B have, for some time now, had outside our kitchen window a fairly impressive spiderweb. I mean, it's massive. And it has a pretty big common Orb-Web spider in it, we sometimes see her sitting waiting in the middle of her sparkly web, waiting for her lunch to drop in. I'm assuming it's a girl, because it's quite large and is quite pretty, for a spider.
Well, I was making a coffee just now, and I looked up and out the window, and there she was, sitting in her web, as usual. I smiled. And then I noticed she was entertaining a guest... another spider that I'm assuming was of the male persuasion, being that much smaller than her, and given what it was doing to her. And then I noticed what she was doing to him. She was eating him - I could see her stuffing his head into her gob and chewing him up.
I watched, utterly disgusted, but intrigued. The funny thing is, this didn't seem to be stopping the little bugger, he was going for it! Now that's what I call determination!
This intriguing little drama was unfortunately interrupted when from nowhere a dirty great wasp buzzed up behind her, and, as I watched, just stung her on the back and flew away again! That bastard!! I know it stung her because she stopped eating her boyfriend, dropped him, and started to spasm and dropped off her web. It was pitiful to watch.
Needless to say I was a bit traumatised by all this. I don't know if the wasp's sting would be enough to kill her, but I hope not. It was kind of nice seeing her there every morning... sort of like having a creepy cannibalistic monster for a neighbour, someone to say hi to over the fence as we each go about our business.*tear*
- DannyR
Well, I was making a coffee just now, and I looked up and out the window, and there she was, sitting in her web, as usual. I smiled. And then I noticed she was entertaining a guest... another spider that I'm assuming was of the male persuasion, being that much smaller than her, and given what it was doing to her. And then I noticed what she was doing to him. She was eating him - I could see her stuffing his head into her gob and chewing him up.
I watched, utterly disgusted, but intrigued. The funny thing is, this didn't seem to be stopping the little bugger, he was going for it! Now that's what I call determination!
This intriguing little drama was unfortunately interrupted when from nowhere a dirty great wasp buzzed up behind her, and, as I watched, just stung her on the back and flew away again! That bastard!! I know it stung her because she stopped eating her boyfriend, dropped him, and started to spasm and dropped off her web. It was pitiful to watch.
Needless to say I was a bit traumatised by all this. I don't know if the wasp's sting would be enough to kill her, but I hope not. It was kind of nice seeing her there every morning... sort of like having a creepy cannibalistic monster for a neighbour, someone to say hi to over the fence as we each go about our business.*tear*
- DannyR
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