I want to kill myself.
My flatmate has a new boyfriend, who's a head nurse at Welly hospital, and drives up here to see him every week. It's pretty rotten of me to be unhappy that my flatmate's happy, but, well, I am. Also, Hunky, one of the guys I've loved this many years now, has graduated and has a motorbike, so all's looking rosy for him, and his ex, who I also loved, is heading this way for a visit, and he hates me, even though I miss him. Lezzer #1 is torn between the ex-girlfriend and a new girl who's interested, my most recent ex seems to be reconnecting with his family and is happy enough, my other recent ex is engaged to that trollop faux-lesbian of his. The straight guy I have a crush on, and have done for ages, Mister P, ignores me, my own family is getting all close etc, and I can't because I'm just so angry with them, and I'm falling behind majorly at Massey and don't think I can make it up in two weeks... TWO WEEKS!!! That's all that's left of Semester One. I don't think I can handle another semester. I don't think I can handle being alive.
I want to die.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Possibly
Possibly.
We'll have to see.
But you don't know
What's best for me,
You don't know
What's in my head
The dreams that haunt
Me in my bed.
I get scared,
You don't see why
There are feelings
That I hide.
Medicate me,
Numb the pain,
Turn off the lights
Within my brain
Leaving me
In darkness, here
Alone to face
My silent fears.
Leave me to
This 'misery'
Is it wise?
Well,
Possibly.
- DannyR 23/05/08
We'll have to see.
But you don't know
What's best for me,
You don't know
What's in my head
The dreams that haunt
Me in my bed.
I get scared,
You don't see why
There are feelings
That I hide.
Medicate me,
Numb the pain,
Turn off the lights
Within my brain
Leaving me
In darkness, here
Alone to face
My silent fears.
Leave me to
This 'misery'
Is it wise?
Well,
Possibly.
- DannyR 23/05/08
Thursday, May 22, 2008
On Love, And Other calamities (Part One)
The feelings we experience through different stages of love are due to chemicals that we produce within our bodies, hormones that wash over our brains, compelling us to act in ways that are mistaken for fate or folly. Ask any old married couple, and they'll tell you that the excitement of initial infatuation becomes deeper attachment with the passage of time, but inevitably the excitement fades to little more than memory.
There are three stages of what we call love: Lust, Romantic Love, and Attachment, each different, but all in the service of the biological imperative to successfully reproduce. Lust gets us hunting for potential mates, Romantic Love narrows our focus down to just one individual, and Attachment encourages us to stick with this partner long enough to raise children. Each of these stages is characterised by the presence of different levels of certain hormones in a person's circulatory system and neurochemistry.
Let's look at Lust first. We're all aware of this initial stage of love, that jolt of excitement and piqued curiosity when we are in close proximity to a person to whom we are mysteriously attracted. Lust would seem to be a primarily visual phenomenon, and certainly our cultural heritage deals with it in such a way. The words of Jesus were that "anyone who even looks at a woman with lust in his eye has already committed adultery with her in his heart," and further that "if your eye offends you, pluck it out" (Matthew 5:28-29), hence the Religious Right's almost fanatical vendetta against pornography and infidelity.
We now know that it's quite natural to 'keep an eye out' for potential mates, but increasingly scientists are discovering that Lust is fundamentally a chemical phenomenon.It has been found that women are more aromatically susceptible than men - that is, they have a better sense of smell - perhaps because they have evolved to regard smell as a significant indicator of a partner's suitability, being the one stuck with the most work in reproduction. Not only is a woman's sex cell, the gigantic egg or ovum, more biologically costly to produce than the man's millions of tiny sperm cells, she has to carry the developing embryo within her body, nourishing it at her own expense, and this duty does not cease when once the offspring is born, she then has to breastfeed, and gather foods for her infant for years afterward! The man, by contrast, has the option of disappearing after the act of copulation, no further expense incurred.
Smell is indicative of the state of an individual's immune system - we're programmed to seek partners with different immunity to our own so that our offspring will have the strongest immune system possible and thus a better chance of surviving. Heterosexual couples with similar immune systems have higher incidence of spontaneous miscarriage during pregnancy, and frequently have more trouble conceiving in the first place. Interestingly, the Contraceptive Pill confuses a woman's sense of smell to prefer a partner with a scent similar to her own. Consequently, perhaps, among the top complaints heard by divorce lawyers from women is "I can't stand his smell." But on the lighter side, once two people are emotionally attached they're disposed to see (and smell) each other in a more positive light.
Lust is also characterised by a surge of testosterone in both men and women. It is a common misconception that testosterone is the 'male hormone,' but this simply is not true. While it certainly is responsible for the development of male anatomy and secondary sex characteristics (body hair, deeper voice, sperm production) at specific points in the individual's life, it is by no means a chemical exclusive to men. Testosterone, it seems, arouses an individual, be they male or female, in readiness for copulation. Men have more interest in sex, (and in having sex more often, at that) because they have a set of glands that are devoted to full-time production of testosterone. A woman's sexual response is tempered by which stage she is at in her monthly menstrual cycle, as testosterone production waxes and wanes.
Romantic Love is the (far from inevitable) next step in the process, and is quite distinct, introducing the major chemical player in romance, a hormone known as dopamine. Dopamine and norepinephrine levels surge when a person is confronted by the unknown. These are the same chemicals responsible for addiction - and for experiencing elation, hope, despair and rage.In the initial stage of Romantic Love, they cause such exhilaration that we forget to eat or sleep. This is commonly referred to as 'lovesickness,' for indeed throughout history it has been regarded as a sort of madness or illness. It is only comparatively recently in Western societies, in the last two hundred years roughly, that being 'In Love' has come to be seen as a good foundation for marriage and the raising of children.
This wave of dopamine, however, eventually subsides, and is followed by vasopressin and oxytocin, hormones that lead to long-lasting Attachment. These are 'Cuddle Chemicals,' released during sex; they give us the 'warm fuzzies,' making us want to stick together. They condition both partners so that they will maintain a pair bond for the successful rearing of offspring. Oxytocin, in particular, may actually subdue levels of unruly dopamine and norepinephrine, taking away that 'high' of initial infatuation, effectively 'squashing' Romantic Love.
There is something about the way our society is structured - our Western 'rules of propriety' - handed down through Christian tradition and surviving today in secular form - that creates and bolsters the conditions to capitalise on the natural high which accompanies the initial dopamine and norepinephrine surge. We commonly believe that 'dating' is a sensible practice put in place so that we may 'shop around' to find a good match, but perhaps it serves a further purpose. The rules of propriety that accompany dating (no sex before marriage, no sex on a first date and so on) are a restriction or barrier when you have found that one 'special someone,' they serve to frustrate the natural impulse and prolong the 'romantic high,' until marriage and consummation, for it is well known that when it comes to romance, you always want what you cannot have.
This delay may in fact bring about an even more powerful wave of Cuddle Chemicals than would otherwise be the case, leading to even longer-lasting attachment. Gay and lesbian communities in the Western world largely lack such societally-imposed restrictions, and indeed consummation of the natural procreative impulse, though directed at a partner of the same gender and thus confounding its biological imperative, follows swiftly in these communities. It is perhaps unsurprising that gay and lesbian relationships generally do not last nearly as long as 'straight' partnerships, when the conditions for lifelong partnership are largely a product of rules designed to frustrate the urges of 'normal' heterosexual mating pairs.
The problem with the 'Cuddle Chemical' stage is that it too begins to wane with time, as sex becomes less frequent. Men in particular are naturally programmed to seek out new sexual partners, and will inevitably begin to look around, being none too choosy. And women, far from being the passive objects they have been made out to be in much of Western tradition, are actually programmed to be continuously on the lookout to 'trade up' and secure a partner with better genetics, more resources and greater dominance (hence the appeal of shopping and wealthy husbands). And thus even the most the most stable, affectionate couple is vulnerable to infidelity or dissolution in time.
Novelty makes your brain and body pump out the exciting hormones, norepinephrine and dopamine, so if you find attraction waning, if your partnership has lost it's excitement and you want to persevere, then do new and varied things and fall in love all over again. You can fool your brain into seeing your partner as a new one. Studies show that couples who share more exciting experiences (such as entering competitions together and travelling together on vacations to new places) report more happiness and satisfaction. This may in fact explain the success of arranged marriages in other cultures, for while we in the West do not generally like the idea, the anxiety, suspense, and the thrill of Chinese or Indian wedding pageantry may in fact drive dopamine levels up so high that romantic love positively flourishes.
We have other tools to bring on the dopamine. Humour is one of the best. And as if you needed an excuse, having sex elevates testosterone levels in both males and females, which in turn revs up the dopamine, allowing partners to recapture the thrill of romantic love, at least temporarily. The simplest way, however, is enforced separation or a good old screaming row. Arguments trigger a rush of adrenaline, which kicks in during risky, new situations. Separation prolongs the production of dopamine, you want the person more as the barriers to togetherness are increased, which increases the frustration and makes the reward of being together so much richer. The problem with this is that both partners have to be in-sync for what's comfortable or challenging, and not many of us are. Our drives for novelty can be unifying or divisive once the exhilaration of courtship gives way to the routines of partnership.
Most enduring couples, it is found, are seeking similar levels of stimulation. People who seek high levels of stimulation (high sensation seekers) are more likely to engage in risky behaviour, explore unknown territory, experiment with drugs and alcohol and seek out a variety or larger number of sexual partners. High sensation seekers have low levels of dopamine (oddly enough) and serotonin, probably because of low levels of monoamine oxidase (MAO), which regulates dopamine and other neurotransmitters. Low serotonin levels go hand in hand with impulsive behaviour. Men tend to have lower MAO levels than women, which is not to say that they are deficient, but rather that this characteristic serves the man's quite different biological reproductive agenda (more on sex differences between men and women later).
A couple made up of two high sensation seekers is more likely to dissolve out of boredom, and this is almost certainly a factor in the generally rapid dissolution of male-male couples. A couple where one partner is a high sensation seeker and the other is a low sensation seeker will not easily understand each other (the majority of couples fall into this category, this being largely the state of the heterosexual population). The happiest couples are comprised of two people who aren't looking for high excitement, but lest you hastily conclude that lesbian relationships must be more content than any other couple form, it must be noted that even within each biological sex there may be vast disparities in individuals' levels of sensation seeking. It's not always obvious in the beginning stages of a relationship what level your potential partner is.
So there we have it: a brief overview of the chemistry of love and sex. Just as an aside, it should perhaps be noted that the hormones that incite us to couplehood and attachment actually decrease our individual testosterone production, making sex progressively less interesting over time. Couples who maintain interesting and satisfying sexual relationships generally have a lot of fights, go through periods of separation and reunion, have rich fantasy lives or make allowances for infidelity or the possibility (even if unacted upon) of sex with others. But lest you come away from this brief essay gloomy or disillusioned, take comfort in the fact that there are plenty of other areas in a relationship that may deepen and become richer with time, and that long-term Attachment is something wonderful in and of itself.
It's not all about sex.
DannyR
There are three stages of what we call love: Lust, Romantic Love, and Attachment, each different, but all in the service of the biological imperative to successfully reproduce. Lust gets us hunting for potential mates, Romantic Love narrows our focus down to just one individual, and Attachment encourages us to stick with this partner long enough to raise children. Each of these stages is characterised by the presence of different levels of certain hormones in a person's circulatory system and neurochemistry.
Let's look at Lust first. We're all aware of this initial stage of love, that jolt of excitement and piqued curiosity when we are in close proximity to a person to whom we are mysteriously attracted. Lust would seem to be a primarily visual phenomenon, and certainly our cultural heritage deals with it in such a way. The words of Jesus were that "anyone who even looks at a woman with lust in his eye has already committed adultery with her in his heart," and further that "if your eye offends you, pluck it out" (Matthew 5:28-29), hence the Religious Right's almost fanatical vendetta against pornography and infidelity.
We now know that it's quite natural to 'keep an eye out' for potential mates, but increasingly scientists are discovering that Lust is fundamentally a chemical phenomenon.It has been found that women are more aromatically susceptible than men - that is, they have a better sense of smell - perhaps because they have evolved to regard smell as a significant indicator of a partner's suitability, being the one stuck with the most work in reproduction. Not only is a woman's sex cell, the gigantic egg or ovum, more biologically costly to produce than the man's millions of tiny sperm cells, she has to carry the developing embryo within her body, nourishing it at her own expense, and this duty does not cease when once the offspring is born, she then has to breastfeed, and gather foods for her infant for years afterward! The man, by contrast, has the option of disappearing after the act of copulation, no further expense incurred.
Smell is indicative of the state of an individual's immune system - we're programmed to seek partners with different immunity to our own so that our offspring will have the strongest immune system possible and thus a better chance of surviving. Heterosexual couples with similar immune systems have higher incidence of spontaneous miscarriage during pregnancy, and frequently have more trouble conceiving in the first place. Interestingly, the Contraceptive Pill confuses a woman's sense of smell to prefer a partner with a scent similar to her own. Consequently, perhaps, among the top complaints heard by divorce lawyers from women is "I can't stand his smell." But on the lighter side, once two people are emotionally attached they're disposed to see (and smell) each other in a more positive light.
Lust is also characterised by a surge of testosterone in both men and women. It is a common misconception that testosterone is the 'male hormone,' but this simply is not true. While it certainly is responsible for the development of male anatomy and secondary sex characteristics (body hair, deeper voice, sperm production) at specific points in the individual's life, it is by no means a chemical exclusive to men. Testosterone, it seems, arouses an individual, be they male or female, in readiness for copulation. Men have more interest in sex, (and in having sex more often, at that) because they have a set of glands that are devoted to full-time production of testosterone. A woman's sexual response is tempered by which stage she is at in her monthly menstrual cycle, as testosterone production waxes and wanes.
Romantic Love is the (far from inevitable) next step in the process, and is quite distinct, introducing the major chemical player in romance, a hormone known as dopamine. Dopamine and norepinephrine levels surge when a person is confronted by the unknown. These are the same chemicals responsible for addiction - and for experiencing elation, hope, despair and rage.In the initial stage of Romantic Love, they cause such exhilaration that we forget to eat or sleep. This is commonly referred to as 'lovesickness,' for indeed throughout history it has been regarded as a sort of madness or illness. It is only comparatively recently in Western societies, in the last two hundred years roughly, that being 'In Love' has come to be seen as a good foundation for marriage and the raising of children.
This wave of dopamine, however, eventually subsides, and is followed by vasopressin and oxytocin, hormones that lead to long-lasting Attachment. These are 'Cuddle Chemicals,' released during sex; they give us the 'warm fuzzies,' making us want to stick together. They condition both partners so that they will maintain a pair bond for the successful rearing of offspring. Oxytocin, in particular, may actually subdue levels of unruly dopamine and norepinephrine, taking away that 'high' of initial infatuation, effectively 'squashing' Romantic Love.
There is something about the way our society is structured - our Western 'rules of propriety' - handed down through Christian tradition and surviving today in secular form - that creates and bolsters the conditions to capitalise on the natural high which accompanies the initial dopamine and norepinephrine surge. We commonly believe that 'dating' is a sensible practice put in place so that we may 'shop around' to find a good match, but perhaps it serves a further purpose. The rules of propriety that accompany dating (no sex before marriage, no sex on a first date and so on) are a restriction or barrier when you have found that one 'special someone,' they serve to frustrate the natural impulse and prolong the 'romantic high,' until marriage and consummation, for it is well known that when it comes to romance, you always want what you cannot have.
This delay may in fact bring about an even more powerful wave of Cuddle Chemicals than would otherwise be the case, leading to even longer-lasting attachment. Gay and lesbian communities in the Western world largely lack such societally-imposed restrictions, and indeed consummation of the natural procreative impulse, though directed at a partner of the same gender and thus confounding its biological imperative, follows swiftly in these communities. It is perhaps unsurprising that gay and lesbian relationships generally do not last nearly as long as 'straight' partnerships, when the conditions for lifelong partnership are largely a product of rules designed to frustrate the urges of 'normal' heterosexual mating pairs.
The problem with the 'Cuddle Chemical' stage is that it too begins to wane with time, as sex becomes less frequent. Men in particular are naturally programmed to seek out new sexual partners, and will inevitably begin to look around, being none too choosy. And women, far from being the passive objects they have been made out to be in much of Western tradition, are actually programmed to be continuously on the lookout to 'trade up' and secure a partner with better genetics, more resources and greater dominance (hence the appeal of shopping and wealthy husbands). And thus even the most the most stable, affectionate couple is vulnerable to infidelity or dissolution in time.
Novelty makes your brain and body pump out the exciting hormones, norepinephrine and dopamine, so if you find attraction waning, if your partnership has lost it's excitement and you want to persevere, then do new and varied things and fall in love all over again. You can fool your brain into seeing your partner as a new one. Studies show that couples who share more exciting experiences (such as entering competitions together and travelling together on vacations to new places) report more happiness and satisfaction. This may in fact explain the success of arranged marriages in other cultures, for while we in the West do not generally like the idea, the anxiety, suspense, and the thrill of Chinese or Indian wedding pageantry may in fact drive dopamine levels up so high that romantic love positively flourishes.
We have other tools to bring on the dopamine. Humour is one of the best. And as if you needed an excuse, having sex elevates testosterone levels in both males and females, which in turn revs up the dopamine, allowing partners to recapture the thrill of romantic love, at least temporarily. The simplest way, however, is enforced separation or a good old screaming row. Arguments trigger a rush of adrenaline, which kicks in during risky, new situations. Separation prolongs the production of dopamine, you want the person more as the barriers to togetherness are increased, which increases the frustration and makes the reward of being together so much richer. The problem with this is that both partners have to be in-sync for what's comfortable or challenging, and not many of us are. Our drives for novelty can be unifying or divisive once the exhilaration of courtship gives way to the routines of partnership.
Most enduring couples, it is found, are seeking similar levels of stimulation. People who seek high levels of stimulation (high sensation seekers) are more likely to engage in risky behaviour, explore unknown territory, experiment with drugs and alcohol and seek out a variety or larger number of sexual partners. High sensation seekers have low levels of dopamine (oddly enough) and serotonin, probably because of low levels of monoamine oxidase (MAO), which regulates dopamine and other neurotransmitters. Low serotonin levels go hand in hand with impulsive behaviour. Men tend to have lower MAO levels than women, which is not to say that they are deficient, but rather that this characteristic serves the man's quite different biological reproductive agenda (more on sex differences between men and women later).
A couple made up of two high sensation seekers is more likely to dissolve out of boredom, and this is almost certainly a factor in the generally rapid dissolution of male-male couples. A couple where one partner is a high sensation seeker and the other is a low sensation seeker will not easily understand each other (the majority of couples fall into this category, this being largely the state of the heterosexual population). The happiest couples are comprised of two people who aren't looking for high excitement, but lest you hastily conclude that lesbian relationships must be more content than any other couple form, it must be noted that even within each biological sex there may be vast disparities in individuals' levels of sensation seeking. It's not always obvious in the beginning stages of a relationship what level your potential partner is.
So there we have it: a brief overview of the chemistry of love and sex. Just as an aside, it should perhaps be noted that the hormones that incite us to couplehood and attachment actually decrease our individual testosterone production, making sex progressively less interesting over time. Couples who maintain interesting and satisfying sexual relationships generally have a lot of fights, go through periods of separation and reunion, have rich fantasy lives or make allowances for infidelity or the possibility (even if unacted upon) of sex with others. But lest you come away from this brief essay gloomy or disillusioned, take comfort in the fact that there are plenty of other areas in a relationship that may deepen and become richer with time, and that long-term Attachment is something wonderful in and of itself.
It's not all about sex.
DannyR
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Bourbon (inspired by Nigel)
O wonderful elixir,
Drop from heaven,
Precious brew,
Nothing else can take away
My problems like you do.
Intoxicating draught,
Cure for angst
And tears and woe,
Come soothe my troubled heart
And then to slumber let me go.
DannyR
Drop from heaven,
Precious brew,
Nothing else can take away
My problems like you do.
Intoxicating draught,
Cure for angst
And tears and woe,
Come soothe my troubled heart
And then to slumber let me go.
DannyR
CHAFF Review -- The Spanish Apartment (L'Auberge Espagnole)
Starring Romain Duris, Judith Godreche.
Grade A
L’Auberge Espagnole is a 2002 French film by director Cedric Klapisch, who I really don’t expect anyone reading this to have heard of before… I certainly hadn’t. To be honest, I was somewhat less than enthused at the prospect of watching the dvd when a friend of mine brought it over, but given that his other choices looked even less my sort of thing, being largely of the romantic-comedy variety, I thought I might as well give it a go.
I’m not scared of subtitles. I’ve seen French films before, some of which I really enjoyed, such as The City of Lost Children, The Closet and Amelie, but from the DVD case I had that sinking feeling I was really not going to get into this one. Sure enough, I found the first few minutes utterly tedious and headache-inducing, with the film’s gloomy lighting, weird sped-up bits and bland lead character. But I held in there, and I’m glad I did.
The basic premise: Xavier is an Economics grad student in Paris, who is offered a job with the government if he will go on the Erasmus student exchange programme to complete his studies in Madrid and learn Spanish. At the airport, he leaves behind his over-attentive mother and his needy and manipulative girlfriend, Martine, and, having never left Paris before, finds himself feeling utterly alone for the first time in his life. What does any such self-respecting young man do in these circumstances? Why, cry on the plane, of course. Cry like a little bitch.
While he’s shamelessly bawling his froggy eyes out, he is noticed by a very pretty young woman, which just goes to show that being a sensitive young man (read: a spoilt prat) has it’s good points, but he’s so busy wallowing in angst that he doesn’t see her checking him out. Never fear, the plane touches down in Madrid and Xavier disembarks, and who should be standing next to him at the luggage collection point but the pretty girl from the plane. Great! Except that her husband is there too.
The husband, who seems more than a bit creepy, has a job in the city, and he’s brought his lovely young wife Anne-Sophie to Madrid to be with him. He offers Xavier a sofa to crash on until he finds somewhere to stay, and Xavier accepts, perhaps finally noticing that the other guy’s wife is a bit of all right (Oh, those humorously amoral Frenchies…) You can tell where this is going. Xavier starts the semester, finds a room to let in the titular Spanish apartment, and to no one’s great surprise, starts shtupping Anne-Sophie behind her husband’s back. All very predictable. All very French.
It’s once Xavier has moved into the apartment that the pace picks up and the movie becomes genuinely enjoyable. It’s a small, crummy place, and he has to share it with English, American, French, Belgian, Italian, German, and Scandinavian students, who are all likewise on exchange programmes. The contrast is incredible. Suddenly, away from the cold, grey dreariness of Paris, we’re confronted with all the vivid colour, music and clutter of Madrid. The film becomes a dizzying blur of energy, excitement and entertaining characters, the flatmates switching back and forth between languages effortlessly, super-charging each other with their endless banter and laughter. It’s impossible not to get swept away in it, and this is exactly what happens to Xavier. Despite his initial clumsiness with the different languages in the household, he finds himself being melted down and reforged, becoming more confident of himself and his decisions and appreciative of difference and diversity.
This film is called Pot Luck in its English release, and has also gone by the title Euro Pudding internationally. While it focuses on the experience of Xavier in his new environment, it’s not hard to see that at its core this is a film about identity – specifically, national identity within the new European Union, which understandably weighs heavily on the minds of Europeans these days. Klapisch is clearly excited and optimistic about the potential for growth and increased understanding that the Union brings, and this shows in his treatment of the household dynamics in this film. Here is a group of diverse young people from very different backgrounds, learning from each other, enjoying each other’s languages, cultures and lives, occasionally fighting amongst themselves but ultimately being there for each other when it counts. And the message isn’t confined to national diversity either, it transcends gender, sexuality, age and race. It doesn’t come across as preachy or self-righteous, what you come away with is a palpable sense of excitement.
The film’s initial gloominess is in fact intentional, it serves to drive home the message, that life is chaotic, colourful, and confusing, but it’s out there to be lived and experienced, and you only get out of it what you put in. Go find it.
Danny Rudd
Grade A
L’Auberge Espagnole is a 2002 French film by director Cedric Klapisch, who I really don’t expect anyone reading this to have heard of before… I certainly hadn’t. To be honest, I was somewhat less than enthused at the prospect of watching the dvd when a friend of mine brought it over, but given that his other choices looked even less my sort of thing, being largely of the romantic-comedy variety, I thought I might as well give it a go.
I’m not scared of subtitles. I’ve seen French films before, some of which I really enjoyed, such as The City of Lost Children, The Closet and Amelie, but from the DVD case I had that sinking feeling I was really not going to get into this one. Sure enough, I found the first few minutes utterly tedious and headache-inducing, with the film’s gloomy lighting, weird sped-up bits and bland lead character. But I held in there, and I’m glad I did.
The basic premise: Xavier is an Economics grad student in Paris, who is offered a job with the government if he will go on the Erasmus student exchange programme to complete his studies in Madrid and learn Spanish. At the airport, he leaves behind his over-attentive mother and his needy and manipulative girlfriend, Martine, and, having never left Paris before, finds himself feeling utterly alone for the first time in his life. What does any such self-respecting young man do in these circumstances? Why, cry on the plane, of course. Cry like a little bitch.
While he’s shamelessly bawling his froggy eyes out, he is noticed by a very pretty young woman, which just goes to show that being a sensitive young man (read: a spoilt prat) has it’s good points, but he’s so busy wallowing in angst that he doesn’t see her checking him out. Never fear, the plane touches down in Madrid and Xavier disembarks, and who should be standing next to him at the luggage collection point but the pretty girl from the plane. Great! Except that her husband is there too.
The husband, who seems more than a bit creepy, has a job in the city, and he’s brought his lovely young wife Anne-Sophie to Madrid to be with him. He offers Xavier a sofa to crash on until he finds somewhere to stay, and Xavier accepts, perhaps finally noticing that the other guy’s wife is a bit of all right (Oh, those humorously amoral Frenchies…) You can tell where this is going. Xavier starts the semester, finds a room to let in the titular Spanish apartment, and to no one’s great surprise, starts shtupping Anne-Sophie behind her husband’s back. All very predictable. All very French.
It’s once Xavier has moved into the apartment that the pace picks up and the movie becomes genuinely enjoyable. It’s a small, crummy place, and he has to share it with English, American, French, Belgian, Italian, German, and Scandinavian students, who are all likewise on exchange programmes. The contrast is incredible. Suddenly, away from the cold, grey dreariness of Paris, we’re confronted with all the vivid colour, music and clutter of Madrid. The film becomes a dizzying blur of energy, excitement and entertaining characters, the flatmates switching back and forth between languages effortlessly, super-charging each other with their endless banter and laughter. It’s impossible not to get swept away in it, and this is exactly what happens to Xavier. Despite his initial clumsiness with the different languages in the household, he finds himself being melted down and reforged, becoming more confident of himself and his decisions and appreciative of difference and diversity.
This film is called Pot Luck in its English release, and has also gone by the title Euro Pudding internationally. While it focuses on the experience of Xavier in his new environment, it’s not hard to see that at its core this is a film about identity – specifically, national identity within the new European Union, which understandably weighs heavily on the minds of Europeans these days. Klapisch is clearly excited and optimistic about the potential for growth and increased understanding that the Union brings, and this shows in his treatment of the household dynamics in this film. Here is a group of diverse young people from very different backgrounds, learning from each other, enjoying each other’s languages, cultures and lives, occasionally fighting amongst themselves but ultimately being there for each other when it counts. And the message isn’t confined to national diversity either, it transcends gender, sexuality, age and race. It doesn’t come across as preachy or self-righteous, what you come away with is a palpable sense of excitement.
The film’s initial gloominess is in fact intentional, it serves to drive home the message, that life is chaotic, colourful, and confusing, but it’s out there to be lived and experienced, and you only get out of it what you put in. Go find it.
Danny Rudd
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Eight Years
Eight years now I've given and
What have you done for me?
Though I've shown my committment
To this fickle family.
When you needed letters written
I wrote them, signed my name.
When you wouldn't speak up for yourselves
I stood up to be shamed.
You wanted to get married,
I took your cause up as my own
Though I knew I wouldn't benefit
I made your feelings known.
I manned the phones and held the line
Against religious freaks,
I trained to give words of advice
When you were suffering.
I've given up my evenings
And all anonymity,
You fucked me off, I held my tongue,
I didn't cause a scene.
When you were sick I comforted,
I took the time to care -
Though others washed their hands of you
I made sure I stood near
To let you know you're worth it,
That I love you as you are,
But sometimes I have to admit
You make it fucking hard.
You do nothing for yourselves
But it's me that gets the blame
When things go wrong, I'm on my own
To hell with what we've gained
And if I should show my differences
From all the rest of you
You treat me like a lepper,
Words of friendship ring untrue.
Eight years, and now looking back
What have I got to show?
I really did believe in you
But now I just don't know.
DannyR
What have you done for me?
Though I've shown my committment
To this fickle family.
When you needed letters written
I wrote them, signed my name.
When you wouldn't speak up for yourselves
I stood up to be shamed.
You wanted to get married,
I took your cause up as my own
Though I knew I wouldn't benefit
I made your feelings known.
I manned the phones and held the line
Against religious freaks,
I trained to give words of advice
When you were suffering.
I've given up my evenings
And all anonymity,
You fucked me off, I held my tongue,
I didn't cause a scene.
When you were sick I comforted,
I took the time to care -
Though others washed their hands of you
I made sure I stood near
To let you know you're worth it,
That I love you as you are,
But sometimes I have to admit
You make it fucking hard.
You do nothing for yourselves
But it's me that gets the blame
When things go wrong, I'm on my own
To hell with what we've gained
And if I should show my differences
From all the rest of you
You treat me like a lepper,
Words of friendship ring untrue.
Eight years, and now looking back
What have I got to show?
I really did believe in you
But now I just don't know.
DannyR
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Heron And The Crab
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.
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.
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
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Autumn Vigil
Lustrous and cold
The clouds of the Dawn
Let fall shards of silver
This bitter March morn
And I, thinking of you,
Must shudder and sigh -
In the gloom of my room
Life passes me by.
- DannyR
The clouds of the Dawn
Let fall shards of silver
This bitter March morn
And I, thinking of you,
Must shudder and sigh -
In the gloom of my room
Life passes me by.
- DannyR
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Funny
It's funny
Once the chance is gone, and
There's nothing you can do,
When you've gone beyond redemption
And you're lost out in the blue,
You move beyond depression
And a numbness settles in,
And you wonder how you ever felt
Anything for him.
You can't quite fathom how
You came to give your heart away,
You feel a loss, you count the cost in
An academic way.
Somehow you just can't seem to care
If you should live or die,
All future plans just disappear
You banish all desire.
You're living by default,
Merely an automaton
Feeling somewhat disconnected,
All your former spark is gone.
It's funny,
When you lose all hope
Of ever being loved,
The nothingness just takes the pain
Leaving you unplugged.
-D Rudd
Once the chance is gone, and
There's nothing you can do,
When you've gone beyond redemption
And you're lost out in the blue,
You move beyond depression
And a numbness settles in,
And you wonder how you ever felt
Anything for him.
You can't quite fathom how
You came to give your heart away,
You feel a loss, you count the cost in
An academic way.
Somehow you just can't seem to care
If you should live or die,
All future plans just disappear
You banish all desire.
You're living by default,
Merely an automaton
Feeling somewhat disconnected,
All your former spark is gone.
It's funny,
When you lose all hope
Of ever being loved,
The nothingness just takes the pain
Leaving you unplugged.
-D Rudd
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road
This song describes quite well how I'm feeling just now, having today resigned from UniQ and resolved to leave Palmerston North and go back to work. It's about turning my back on being cosmopolitan and fake, and returning to the familiar, the isolated and the genuine. A lot of the bitterness, reflected in references to 'Society Dogs' and being set on your feet again by just another couple of drinks, is directed toward Seth, who I feel at this point cares about nobody but himself and his own interests, least of all my feelings.
The Yellow Brick Road, I feel, is quite apt, too.... too long have I chased after dreams, thinking that happiness lay 'out there' somewhere. There is also, implicit in this song for me at least, a rejection of the Gay Community. I have found it to be shallow, superficial and judgemental - serving only it's own interests, readily abandoning those who cannot so easily conform to 'normalness'.
So then, here, in all their bitter splendour, are the lyrics to Elton John's 'Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road':
When are you gonna come down,
When are you going to land?
I should have stayed on the farm -
I should have listened to my old man!
You know you can't hold me forever -
I didn't sign up with you.
I'm not a present for your friends to open,
This boy's too young to be singing
The blues.
So goodbye, Yellow Brick Road,
Where the dogs of society howl -
You can't plant me in your penthouse,
I'm going back to my plough!
Back to the howling old owl
Hunting the horny back toad...
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the Yellow Brick Road!
What do you think you'll do then?
I bet that'll shoot down your plane.
It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics
To set you on your feet again!
Maybe you'll get a replacement,
There's plenty like me to be found -
Mongrels who ain't got a penny,
Sniffing for tidbits like you on
The ground.
So goodbye, Yellow Brick Road,
Where the dogs of society howl -
You can't plant me in your penthouse,
I'm going back to my plough!
Back to the howling old owl
Hunting the horny back toad...
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the Yellow Brick Road!
by Bernie Taupin, Elton John
Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, assholes!!
The Yellow Brick Road, I feel, is quite apt, too.... too long have I chased after dreams, thinking that happiness lay 'out there' somewhere. There is also, implicit in this song for me at least, a rejection of the Gay Community. I have found it to be shallow, superficial and judgemental - serving only it's own interests, readily abandoning those who cannot so easily conform to 'normalness'.
So then, here, in all their bitter splendour, are the lyrics to Elton John's 'Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road':
When are you gonna come down,
When are you going to land?
I should have stayed on the farm -
I should have listened to my old man!
You know you can't hold me forever -
I didn't sign up with you.
I'm not a present for your friends to open,
This boy's too young to be singing
The blues.
So goodbye, Yellow Brick Road,
Where the dogs of society howl -
You can't plant me in your penthouse,
I'm going back to my plough!
Back to the howling old owl
Hunting the horny back toad...
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the Yellow Brick Road!
What do you think you'll do then?
I bet that'll shoot down your plane.
It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics
To set you on your feet again!
Maybe you'll get a replacement,
There's plenty like me to be found -
Mongrels who ain't got a penny,
Sniffing for tidbits like you on
The ground.
So goodbye, Yellow Brick Road,
Where the dogs of society howl -
You can't plant me in your penthouse,
I'm going back to my plough!
Back to the howling old owl
Hunting the horny back toad...
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the Yellow Brick Road!
by Bernie Taupin, Elton John
Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, assholes!!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do....
For Good
by Stephen Schwartz,
From the musical Wicked.
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives
For a reason,
Bringing something we must learn.
And we are led
To those
Who help us most to grow,
If we let them,
And we help them in return.
Well I don't know if I believe that's true -
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you.
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun,
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? but
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.
It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime,
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you -
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart.
And now whatever way our stories end,
I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend.
Like a ship blown from it's moorings
By a wind off the sea,
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? but
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.
And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for.
But then I guess we know there's blame to share -
And none of it seems to matter anymore.
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes the sun,
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
I do believe I have been changed for the better, and
Because I knew you,
Because I knew you,
Because I knew you
I have been changed...
For good.
by Stephen Schwartz,
From the musical Wicked.
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives
For a reason,
Bringing something we must learn.
And we are led
To those
Who help us most to grow,
If we let them,
And we help them in return.
Well I don't know if I believe that's true -
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you.
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun,
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? but
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.
It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime,
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you -
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart.
And now whatever way our stories end,
I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend.
Like a ship blown from it's moorings
By a wind off the sea,
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? but
Because I knew you,
I have been changed for good.
And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for.
But then I guess we know there's blame to share -
And none of it seems to matter anymore.
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes the sun,
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood -
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
I do believe I have been changed for the better, and
Because I knew you,
Because I knew you,
Because I knew you
I have been changed...
For good.
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