for thoughts and other useless things
i’m getting sick of the idea that humans hate nature and are becoming dehumanised and cruel towards it. sure, humanity is greedy and selfish and wants to kill trees so they can build skyscrapers, but why can’t we just get over that? why emphasise it and build on it like it’s a new idea?
with brave new world now so far away you may wonder where this is coming from.
actually i just watched avatar, so that makes it pretty obvious.
i have eight mosquito bites on my legs and a further four down my arms and i don’t know why i keep forgetting that sitting outside late at night is a bad idea. i’m terrible with not scratching mosquito bites, so i expect that i’ll have a number of painful scabs very soon.
in addition to my lack of common sense about the whole mosquito situation, i have found that i am a very talkative drunk and struggle not to divulge information about my entire existence while i’m in a tipsy but able to talk situation. i hope i don’t embarrass myself too much in the parties to come; one in particular.
garmon mentioned something that caught my interest last night. he told me that when someone becomes -something- they begin to disrespect those from which they evolved. that might not be very clear, so allow me to illustrate with some examples. all condescension aside, of course.
exhibit a, the indie. the i-liked-that-band-first guy; the mainstream-trash-is-crap guy; the people that are only into what they deem to be enlightening. its very curious that when other people become enlightened, the object is no longer interesting.
i don’t remember the last time i looked forward to christmas. it must have been at least three years ago, if not more. because i know that in the past three years i’ve spent my christmas alone, sleeping, crying or bedridden with a sprain ankle with no christmas spirit what-so-ever.
in the past couple of years the tree went from being put up in october with glee to november with haste, and then december with a feeling of duty rather than excitement. this year i don’t have a tree at all, nor does my humble abode inhabit any christmas decorations.
i’m not a compassionate, loving person. i don’t pretend to be. i don’t like a lot of things. i don’t like a lot of people. i’ve never, throughout my life, seen the best in people. in fact, a lot of the time i sift out bad parts of people who are probably very good. it’s not that i’m a mean spirited person; i was just born to be a critic.
flaws. they’re everywhere. i just can’t ignore them. in myself they’re ever noticable and prevalent. i know they’re there, i try to fix them, if i can’t then too bad. but in other people, errors jump out at me and cannot be overlooked until redeemed. a language fault, a malapropism, a slip in grammar, an error in judgement or just something stupid overall. big red sign glaring overhead.
it is so very difficult to move when one has so many possessions. too many clothes, too many hair accessories, too much trash, not enough shoes. when they’re being packed into a box, piece by piece, awaiting the arrival into my next life, i must consider if i want to bring them at all.
consequently, i find myself leaving a lot behind, sometimes to others and sometimes to landfill. when i evacuated my parents’ residence, i gave up my collection of hats and a great number of soft toys. i also overlooked the importance of some of the items i gave up, such as my (very expensive) suitcase and my sleeping bag. but time, rather than need and want, i think, will heal these voids.
these korean butter waffles are driving me insane. on impluse i bought a box on the way home, and i’ve been home for about 20 minutes devouring more than half the box.
the taste it leaves on my tongue just makes me want to keep eating it. it’s horrible.
i think arnotts or something should pay a couple of million dollars for the recepie and unleash it upon the western world, and then we’ll all be fatter than we were before.
i noticed recently that christmas, in fact, isn’t very far away. it is now the end of october. this year’s hsc will soon be done, uni exams will be finished and everybody’s life is just about to become one long holiday.
since i was young, i’ve always loved to write. there’s some inexplicable enjoyment in being able to express oneself with words, even if you’re the only one that reads it, over and over again.
i’ve always had so many ideas (mostly copied, i admit), and i wish that i could turn them into a story of my own.
so whenever i was sad, i’d write. whenever i was angry, annoyed, distraught. whenever i felt something. and i came to realise that writing with these emotions made a piece or a story worthwhile.
during my younger years i wrote short stories about little asian girls that hated their parents because they were controlling and never happy.
