Hold, hold!

No, I'm not lady macbething. Just that the football madness is taking a break and going to resume 2 days later. So I am a bit restless and lost at such a time at night. I have been, because of boredom, watching pretty much all the games so far- feel free to look up the time difference, do the math and figure out at what time I go to sleep these days.

And there are not a single game tonight, nor tomorrow night.

Well, at least today I was again playing with my friend's synth and I found out some sounds that I can make pretty good use of. I'll just have to wait till I go back to canada and hope that I'll have time, and then try to get those sounds on my synth (well, it's a different and older model I got second hand, but I hope it'll have roughly the same functions-), then I can pretend to create sound pollution-

Bleh- time for more animal planet and maybe something to eat-

You guys are so serious about my last post...
I was just having a bad day and felt like whining a bit- c'mon, y'all know how I am.

Ha.

Just found out people have become slow on reading/writing/replying posts.

Some have friends visiting secretly, some have job to do with great plans for the rest of the year, some have lots to study, some have housework to do, some have siblings to talk to and hang out with, some have parents to talk to, some have lovers to take care of them when they are sad and down, some have been travelling, some just have issues.

Even going out to half-interesting places cost quite some money- I never realized even travelling within here costs so much.

ME? I've still been looking for a job and keep getting rejected, mostly because I'm looking for a summer job I guess. Also trying to get better on the bagpipe, which is going rather okay. Maybe I should read more books on theatre, maybe I should get some money to get drinks, maybe I should learn to cope with loneliness I get whenever I am in Hong Kong.

Hee. Maybe I really like having nothing to do deep down. Anyways, there's no point in caring about what I like or not for anyone rather than myself. It's not like I care about it that much either.

World cup, oh the madness.

I dislike my mind a lot.

I found out it's very capable of seizing nightmares or unrealistically good dreams (that they are bad 'cause deep down I know it is not going to happen). Maybe my mind's really too good at doing that, it always lets good dreams slip. I actually have the image of the dreams slipping away through my fingers, and the feeling of it too.

Like you try to pick up a lot of porridge or shampoo with one hand, fingers wide apart.

That disgusting feeling of the need to grasp something but fail miserably no metter how hard one tries. The moment I start to realise I'll have to hold onto the dream tight, everything starts to melt, like the chooclate palace in the movie charlie and the chocolate factory. My world is shaking and melting while I'm standing right in the middle of it. It's always like that if it weren't one of those nightmares or 'sweetmares'.

Why do I fall asleep when I am desperate to wake up, and wake up when I'm dying to go on sleeping?

My other pair of eyes, what are you trying to tell me through all these long years?

Hey, you, what do you see?
Something beautiful,
something free?

Hey, you, are you trying to be mean?
If I'm stuck here,
it's hard to be clean.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Clean.
To stay clean.
Not to grow up,
or to fit in.

Compromise, go with the flow-
that's what I've been told.

Wear suits
Look good
Bow deep
Be humble
Be normal
Be like each other
Be like everyone

Jaded.
Can't help it.
Have I been blind,
have I been wrong?

Come on, don't be childish-
that's what I've been told.

That's what I've been told.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
What a bad piece of writing.

I always stay awake until I really cannot fight the sleep monster. Maybe it is stupid in someone's eyes, but to me, it is perfectly justified.

In nightmares, one does not fall asleep but wakes up from it.

And I hope one day I will wake up instead of falling asleep yet again.

I have a blanket, a brown blanket.
It wraps me in my sleep. Not only that actually. Nightmares of roughly the same nature engulf me during endless intoxicated nights when I see things with another pair of eyes- the ones that are embedded inside my head.

Most dreams are forgotten, while unpleasant or overpleasant dreams burn noticeable scars in my head, ones that you can see without other incidences reminding you. A giant red robot/dragon hybrid monster rises from behind the hills outside the living room building. The red disaster approaches, while demolishing everything on the way. Me, at that time a care-free child, standing by the window, spotted by the monster. And I wake up. I have been having the exact same vision for over 40 times during my childhood, within a period of maybe 5 years.

The thing is somehow I dream of things, and forget about them- as long as no similar incidents happen in the near future, which is not the usual case (as long as my life is at least a little bit more eventful than that at the moment). The 'overpleasant' dream that was so pleasant that it punctured my mind I had some time in Feburary or March actually came true in the end. I never knew my big wild dreams do come true.

That gets me thinking what's going to happen with that prolonged dream I had about the red monster. Nothing happened so far, luckily.

And so I had a rather graphic adventure last night. Basically it is about me trying to remove metal rods and rings and spikes and sticks and hooks and whatnot from a girl whose body, face, mouth, nose, eyes, ears, limbs, fingers, toes, everything you can think of, is pierced. A hook piercing the 'bell' right before her throat. A rod going from the upper roof of her mouth to the top ofher head, piercing her skull. The tip of her tongue connected with one of the flaps of her nose with a closed ring. A spike from a temple to an eyeball... you get the picture. There was hardly anything that was intact. Some wounds were healed but making her uncomfortable, some wounds are bleeding, and some rotting. For an unknown reason I had a feeling that I actually was not supposed to help her, because whenever I was trying to remove a piece of metal, I sensed that I was getting into deeper danger and shit. Seemed like I was trying to free some prisoner of the authority or something. Also I had to dodge from visitors, friends and family members somehow- and secretly return to that very room-in-the-shadow of mine to deal with the squirting blood, brain, body fluid, plus the ear drum tearing screams and moans, and the random rings of the doorbell and knocks on the door. Soon (or actually not so soon) there was one piercing left- the one going through her head from the upper roof of her mouth cavity to the top of her head.

And she died.

I haven't had such an intensive dream for a little while.

Then again most of my nightmares consists of similar stuff. Feeling of needing to hide/run, saving myself/someone from authorities/imprisonment/torture, and usually it contains a lot of pain somehow, somewhere in the process.

Wonder what my other pair of eyes are seeing and trying to let the ordinary ones see...

Hyperballad

[sorry for the copy & paste post. listening to this song while looking out of the window of my living room 50 floors up in the air is a bit... well. Let's just say it describes my mood pretty well at that split second in front of the window. Just read the previous post if you actually want to read something.]

We live on a mountain
Right at the top
There's a beautiful view
From the top of the mountain
Every morning I walk towards the edge
And throw little things off
Like car parts, bottles and cutlery
Or whatever I find lying around

It's become a habit
A way to start the day

I go through all this
Before you wake up
So I can feel happier
To be safe up here with you

It's early morning
No one is awake
I'm back at my cliff
Still throwing things off
I listen to the sounds they make
On their way down
I follow with my eyes till they crash
Imagine what my body would sound like
Slamming against those rocks

When it lands
Will my eyes be closed or open?

I go through all this
Before you wake up
So I can feel happier
To be safe up here with you

i should...

...buy some kinda lottery ticket tomorrow. I don't even know where to get one actually.

"New car, caviar, four star daydream,
Think I'll buy me a football team."

Name that tune w/o googling and I'll give you a smooch.

I was looking out of the window, fifty storeys up in the sky.
I looked up and saw the stars, couldn't stop wondering why things can even be so ridiculously far away. Couldn't stop thinking how cool if would be to have a pair of wings. Or just possess telekinetic powers- I bet Aladdin can show me the way. I looked out of the window again, half a hundred floors from the clouds. I looked down and saw the concrete, the asphalt, the ever running traffic, the never resting traffic lights, the somewhat blurry air. Why don't I learn to get to like or at least appreciate where I am? How many people actually fancy living in a city like Hong Kong? How many people every day literally die trying to get to big cities for a hopefully better life?

And I am not satisfied. The person whom I want to be with is busy at home, my best friend's moving to helsinki. So what do I want? Sometimes I wonder if I would still be complaining if I'm with whom I want and if I'm living in somewhere that I like, doing something that I like. I wonder if I would still be complaining even if I'm working in theatres. I talked about it before- people are constantly trying to be something that they are not, if not something that they cannot be. If we are all satisfied and want to stay as it is, we won't be doing anything, nor making even any slight changes in our daily routines.

Wait. So I'm not changing anything oin my life at the moment. Am I starting to get used to sitting at the same place, eating, getting fat and lazy, trying to read, watching all the world cup matches? Shit.

I wonder.

I guess now I'm the one who is floating in a huge tank of goo emerged in eternal darkness. Stuck. Craving for a sparkle or even a rope or a hand to pull me out. Goo. I wonder if the goo is transparent, black or green. I wonder if the goo is poisonous- well it better not. At least it doesn't taste like anything I know. I am all filled with it now. All my cavities my nose my mouth my ears my stomach my balls my ass. I wonder if I was captured and kept here, or if I stumbled across this trap by mistake so I can only blame myself for all this void mess that I'm stuck in? I can vaguely feel some other vibrations through the goo. Wonder if it's someone outside the tank talking or someone like me, struggling for help, struggling for the warm touch of a certain finger tip. If there's really a person inside the tank, would she be the one looking for my finger tip, like I'm longing for a specific one to return? What if it was only some dying twitch? Then I guess sooner or later I'll be able to meet my only hope, dead. Dead bodies don't move. Then again I rather be searching for a living sweet hope all my life, knowing somehow I'm going to know how it feels like once again, than to suddenly stumble across a false, dead hope once again.

Brauche dich viel,
so viel-

komm hier, kannst du







bitte, jetzt,
und




hilf mir.

untitled

The bagpipe came. Don't know if I talked about it. Prolly I did. Been watching the world cup these days. Every match. Don't even know why. Some games are not even that interesting. I still don't have a summerjob. They don't like how I look, they don't bother to reply, they don't even bother to let me finish my question on the phone. It's getting hot. I obviously don't have much money for anything. Not for a bday gift, not for alcohol. Even taking the train getting to my friend's home seems expensive to me. Can't even think of anything fun to do. Can't even think of anything fun, in fact. Dried up and considering my synth's in Canada, not able to write any good tunes either. Piano's been long gone. Everyone has things to do. People from SFU have summerjobs. Nearly everyone I know on my floor last year, that is. Flekke people, well, for those whom I care, most of them have things to do. Work, friends, family. They have these at their respective homes. Yep. I like my friends here but I really am out of money. I don't really talk to my family anyway, you guys know it.

Remember I said something about looking forward to going back to Hong Kong for the first time? Remember how enthusiastic I was, just thinking of getting a crappy summerjob? Think I was wrong. From where did all these ideas creep up in my mind? What the carrots made me start having funny hopes? Some things just don't change, no? Stinking like a roll of rotten cabbages. Hong Kong. I somewhat prefer staying in Canada or anywhere alone so that I can smoke and drink by myself. EVEN that's less depressing.

So I started using leftover rice and bread yeast, trying to make something I like.
If I get blinded or killed because of methanol poisoning, pour a bottle of something over my dead body and make me a happy ghost.

Bleh. Guess I might complain even more. Isn't grumpiness and childishness just so damn hot? I might as well go on blabbering while walking to see if my home brew's getting anywhere close to being ready.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
















































Fine. Any hugs dealers around? Anyone? I *might* be able to pay, if I start collecting all the coins of different currencies in my bags and sacks...

Recurring dreams

Who says childhood nightmares don't come up again?
Now one does and it's calling me a nightmare!
What makes adulthood logies don't make any sense?
Then I knew it is never cool to grow up.

Deadly sins.

Stumbled across the seven deadly sins somehow and read about them.

Guess what I found out?

Except greed, I'm guilty of the other six.

Maybe I'm not that bad with lust, though.

Dreams & passion.

Trinidad & Tobago vs. Sweden.

And the oh-so Swedish Swedes were fucked right up the ass by the sunshine from Trinidad & Togabo. Of course, only 0:0. But it almost felt like Trinidad & Tobago won. Come on, it was Trinidad & Tobago.

A sensational match. Touching. Passionate. An underdog team which was playing happily, passionately with high teamwork (and of course quite some luck)- first-timers of the World Cup finals. How could they suddenly crack up at some point of the game? Just how could they? They got an unfair red card against them, i.e. they were playing 10 against 11. The cameramen did not catch how all the laughing and talking started. But the team was slightly cracking up about something. In a god damn world cup game. In their first fucking world cup game in which they were looked down on by every single one before.

Yorke was surprising. Once Man. United star striker and a big playboy himself, has gone through a completely metamorphosis. He was the libero/sweeper of the team this time. And he actually did quite well. Geez.

The game was more touching than most movies I've seen. More shocking and stunning for sure. I saw a team working hard for their dreams, while not losing the fun within it.

Hope I will be like that when it comes to theatre.

P.S. While Wilhelmsson of Sweden is a pretty good right midfielder, he's also quite a good actor- jävla Svenskas.

P.P.S. Larsson is an exception. He is good.

Out of inspiration.

I think I spent all my inspiration and energy trying to learn how to use a midi writing program and try to write some pathetic songs. Ended up with something. Not anything excellent. Not anything I can't play on the piano in real life though.

Somehow I feel obliged to post something, and I stumbled across Mads' blog which reminds of me those self-analyzing stuff which was made famous by that Proust person.
---------------------------------------------------
What is your most marked characteristic?
- Being myself, I think? (I really can't tell)
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
- ...not losing myself, I think? (Can't tell either)
When and where were you happiest?
- Days around 10th Sept, 2nd year, Flekke.
What is your greatest regret?
- That I chose the wrong continent to be born in while I actually had the chance to choose while I was still up there.
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
- Like, 'maximum' happiness? No idea or else I won't get sad now and then, no?
What is your most treasured possession?
- My ability to let my mind fly.
Where would you like to live?
- My blue cocoon.
What is your greatest fear?
- To grow up and become one of them.
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
- Childish.
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
- To be something that they cannot be.
What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
- Sex? Wait... is it a virtue? Well, if not, then money-making ability, that is.
What is your greatest extravagance?
- Nothing probably... my mind?
What is your favorite journey?
- Any destination within the boundaries my imagination (which don't really exist).
What is it that you most dislike?
- Commonness.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
- Ability to be not stereotypically masculine.
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
- Ability to be not stereotypically feminine.
What do you most value in your friends?
- Genuiness.
If you were to come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
- Myself, with short, really deep blue fur and 3 feathery wings and 3 bat-like wings on either sides of my back.
If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?
- Myself. Unchanged. Well, a bit taller and a bit more insane maybe.
How would you like to die?
- On stage. Preferrably during a performance where the plot is that my character gets killed.
What is your favorite occupation?
- Going anywhere led by my imagination.
What is your favorite color?
- Black.
What is your favorite bird?
- Crows.
Who are your favorite prose writers?
- Honestly I don't read much. If I have to say, it'll have to be Artaud for his madness and uniqueness, Stanislavsky for his sanity, and Antonine de Saint-Exupéry for his imagination. And let's just not forget myself, for the mix of the three above.
Who are your favoite poets?
- Nothing I read can be counted as real poems. Björk, Marilyn Manson, and Pink Floyd have good lyrics though. As good as poems.
Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
- Mowgli.
Who are your favorite heroines of fiction?
- Aphrodite, if she is really of fiction instead of a real goddess.
Who are your favorite composers?
- Nothing classical. So it's like one of those 'what are your fav. bands?' question?
Who are your favorite painters?
- Painters. How narrow- why can't it be 'visual artists' instead? THE favourite would be nothing surprising (yes, YOU). Otherwise... no idea.
Who are your heroes in real life?
- Artaud. And myself.
Who are your favorite heroines of history?
- Miss Grolimund and Miss Toivonen.
What historical figures do you most despise?
- Dolly's mom. Why? Why can't you just have an abortion, you SHEEP! See what have you done to uniqueness? You are KILLING the concept of it! You made the concept of cloning and commonness cool and okay and possible. You ignorant SHEEP!
What event in military history do you most admire?
- Ché and Fidel. They HAD good intentions. Now Fidel has just gone all bleepbweugh.
What reform do you most admire?
- The rise of the theatre of the absurd and the rise of modern forms of theatre.
What is your present state of mind?
- 'Life is a state of mind'. (Vittu... why did I even quote that, oh WHY?)
To what faults do you feel most indulgent?
- Commonness.
What is your motto?
- Do as your feelings say. (I just made that thing up at the spot. Never tried to put that idea into one single coherent phrase.)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear! It was boring to answer those stupid questions. Better than doing nothing though. That guy from the jewellery shop still hasn't replied me about his phone number which is one digit too few.

Trying to get a job, part I don't know what

So today I got irritated by something and pulled myself together and try to find a job. Ah, it was the lacking of classified ads in the newspaper we have. I always thought all newspapers should at least have some kind of classified ads of some sort- I was so wrong. So wrong that I flipped through the whole stack of it. And yet I still haven't figured out the cruel truth- not before I sighed and asked my mom where it is, and she replied 'I don't think this newspaper has a classified ads section.'

But she was watching me flipping through the newspapers all along!

Then I went on to the internet and randomly applied for 3 or 4 jobs which does not really require education levels that I don't have (usually a god fucking damn bachelor degree for the rage of Poseidon). Some random summer course teacher, some metal jewellery shopkeeper, some kind of Starbuck's-ish job. Think a person like me is going to get one for sure? We will see. I ain't too optimistic though- not because of my hair this time. Luckily they don't get to have a look at the caveman before they actually start reading the application e-mail. Then again guess what's all in my resumé? Of course mostly theatre related. What has theatre to do with all those crap I was applying for? Nothing. Did I hear someone asking why don't I find a summer job in some theatres?

DID I ACTUALLY HEAR SOMEONE ASKING THAT? AND HAVE I TOLD YOU THAT THEY ONLY WANT BIG SHOTS IN THOSE THEATRES?

So let's see what I am going to do. Standing at a cashier all day and ask people if they want a piece of cookie with the coffee (how fucking stereotypical of Fine Arts students/grads...), standing in front of a bunch of little buggers and reading them storybooks in English which they won't friggin understand (and hope that their parents won't think I'm a freak or a pedophile or simply a beggar who broke in and murdered (and possibly eaten) the *REAL* teacher), or standing at a cashier of a metal jewellery store and be grumpy (hey, that sounds like quite a happy ending for some Fine Arts grads already...).

I suppose once I get a job I won't even have time to come online and bitch about things that much. Here the word 'empolyers' is the synonym of 'bloodsuckers':

'Welcome to the machin... company. In order to get you, our dear employee, accustomed to the working environment, we practice long working hours, so you can get used to it as soon as possible. Nobody likes quitters. Neither do we, especially quitters who have announced that 'I'm quitting!' before they actually start, so we basically hat...discourage 'summerjobbers' like you, but if you are one of the lucky ones that we pity on, we plan to exploi...maximize the chance for you to show your talents during your temporary stay. Oh, one more thing. To save funds for furnishing the working space for a better working atmosphere, we are forced to lower the salary and lenghten the working hours, but you know it is for your own good... anyway, dear slav...employees, welcome to the mach...company where you will have a completely terrific slavin...working experience.'

Well, what am I bitching about? I haven't even got a job yet and how exactly would I know it is for sure going to be like that?

I'm just bored and feel like trying to be funny.
Time to read another day away- still have to finish Stanislavsky's.

Actually there might be another reason why I don't want to apply for a job. Maybe I just subconsciously want to stay at home all day and actually communicate with people, since I did not really find any to communicate well with while I was in Canada, and time difference did not allow me to stay at weird times of the day to talk to people whom I really long to have eternal long talks with. I am not sure if it is actually a reason though... prolly I'm just making it up to make y'all feel important and shit. F'get 'bout it.

I just found out another reason for freaking out for nothing today- to quote and modify captain Sparrow- But why is [rum] vodka gone?
No, Elizabeth (weirdly my mom's name's Eliza) did not burn it.

It's just all gone again.
Too bad that I really cannot afford to get another bottle.
Unless I get a job.
Oh wait. That would be for my travelling in winter and part of my tuition fee also.

So no gulputey glupley glup for a while.
Bummer. (When have I started using that word?)

Labyrinth. Of fear.

Sometimes he wonders if it is ever possible to find someone else of his kind. He has one more eye than everyone else, those so-called Homo sapiens. His right upper body is severely deformed- you can hardly see his right 'arm'. It's more like a XXS sized meat lobe hanging from the shoulder- if that body feature of merely some darkened, burnt-looking skin wrapping a twisted, ball-shaped scapula could be called a 'shoulder' at all.

Of course he can live with people who don't belong to his own part of the world- no one lives there anyway. He can live with people who are drastically different from he himself, he can talk to them, make friends with them, like them, hate them, eat with them, meet them, learn their names and forget them the second after. He absolutely can. They know he can, too.

But just like any other kinds of monogamous animals, like most wolves, or jackals, they need one of their own kind to spend the rest of their lives with. I am not sure if he is able to get back to his own pathetic blue cocoon whenever he wants (or as he says, 'needs') to recently. Or does he still want the blue cocoon, which was built and laced with layers and layers of fear and rejection and distrust, occupied full of endless labyrinths of his mind, only he can get himself out of there with his own mind, his imagination- 'to kill off an imagination by imagination'? It is a series of never ending labyrinths. I somehow suspect he has built them unconsciously to isolate himself. Maybe I just enjoy watching him walking in labyrinths of his own mind alone, maybe not. Labyrinths are amazing art pieces though, no matter how dark and wet they are.

Some people are trapped in their own labyrinths, but some realize maybe there's someone of his own kind on the outside, in someone else's labyrinths. After years and years of hitting, screaming, crying, digging, crawling, leaping, climbing and at least one from the both sides of the wall of labyrinths develope wings or very long arms and start to reach for the dark sides. I think he ended up growing an eye on one of the fingertips of his hand on the very long arm, so he could have a look at the angel crying on the even darker side of the labyrinths- he knew her. They've met before. The angel was sent to help him build his own newest final labyrinth when it was snowing. No, the angel actually took him out of his first labyrinth, and it was chaos. He had never been completely out of one before. He did not know what to do and went mad. As mad as me. Yes, ME. THAT mad, yes. Then it was all chaos and history. Now he saw the angel crying and the angel saw his arm... their labyrinths mystically joined, so did their hands.

And now they walk the labyrinths together again. No fear, no sorrow. Full of unknowns and excitment, full of expectations.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

When have I started writing shitty stories about fucking labyrinths?
Forget 'bout it. It's the damn heat.

So I saw my first years and the norwegian tourists- it was pretty fun to see them all again, the 'kids', you know. It made me feel so old seeing them coming 'back' here.

I don't know. Seeing them a few times more later on might trigger more thoughts and emo-boy whines and cries. We'll see how it goes.