As our first ungraded assignment our teacher said he needs a sample of our writing and asked us to write a short essay on: "the goddess Hera has decided she wants to learn more about human society. (She feels she doesn't quite understand us.) To lean more she decides to go down to earth and talk to people. She will offer them one of three gifts- fame, true love, or a lifetime supply of money- then obtain her observations by which gift the people choose and why."

My response:

A few weeks ago, a tall woman, appearing to be in her forties, approached me. She introduced herself as Hera, stating the name as if I should stare in wonder. When I didn’t she elaborated, “The wife of Zeus.” I was naturally skeptical at that statement but humored her as she explained that she was trying to learn about mankind and offered me one of three gifts: fame, true love, or money if I would explain to her which one I would choose and why.
I told her knowing what the side effects of fame are—with stars being nicknamed “Blowhan” etcetera—I didn’t really want to know in what direction my name would twist.
At the mention of true love I got confused, and after pondering if for a little while asked her for a definition. As she couldn’t come up with anything more specific than “the perfect person for you, the one you were meant to be with” and other such inane and redundant phrases, we tried to settle on a dictionary definition but could not find one outside a religious web site. Now, as I know for a fact that right now such a speculative match for me does not exist, and it seemed rather an un-gratifying wait time to receive that gift, I declined.
Money on the other hand, now, money can always be useful. Hera looked slightly dejected and disgusted at that point so I proceeded to explain: Yes, money is an evil, vile, corrupting thing in the hands of mankind. It serves no purpose but itself and to promote greed and hard feelings. For better or for worse, though, money is the chosen standard of trade here on Earth, and being that I can think of many productive uses for an endless supply of it, I would select that option. She was still testy so I explained further.
In order to attain my intellectual goals in life I must attend college, and I have my sights set rather high. College is expensive and, as it is going, I will be coming out a good ways in debt, with my life not really mine until I can pay off the loans. Life during college is also difficult. I have a long commute to and from campus, rent is expensive, the time demands are impossible, and then there are the basic needs of food and clothing that still need tending to.
Of coarse, I assured her, intellectual goals aren’t worth surviving all that as the only end. My career goals are also well tied in, and I have several business endeavors I am attempting to start up. Not having the financing to do so is, in fact, what is holding me back. At this, she seemed more satisfied.
I proceeded to polish my point. While yes, fame may be a side effect of some of my future endeavors, it is not one I look forward to. I don’t even need to read the tabloids to be disgusted by the amount and content of gossip I hear. And while true love is naturally the ultimate aspiration, I am quite confidant that I will come across him when I am ready, but right now I am neither personally prepared for such a deep engagement, nor satisfied with my own evolution to see myself being happy in a relationship of that stature. While I don’t much like taking money for nothing, of the three choices offered, I feel it will assist me most proficiently.
Several days after this conversation I received a new credit card in the mail. It had no spending limit, and a statement about automatic payments commencing from a prearranged account.

The early rays of light peak through the window after the light is turned off. Reality fades shakily in and out of focus as unaccustomed eyes adjust. It is a late Saturday night, tho in actuality it is Monday morning. Please bare patience, I shall explain.
The light was extinguished at dawn and the conclusion of a novel of such gross intensity that even a computer addict with game withdrawal could not restrain from maintained rapture to the conclusion.
A little known series, famous by it's author, the foundation of her early days, it is a story of concepts so deep they are hard pressed for words.
Telepaths struggle for sanity and words to describe what they are seeing, feeling, engulfed by... A Darkness, of their own ancient creating, has taken hold of their minds.
The story describes a yearning so primitive and so violent the characters cannot dain to call it animal. It is the dark, violent screaming of bodies, with no mind or conscious constraint. They are overcome by their rage and desires, tearing at the world and people around them, watching in horror as they realize what is happening but completely out of control to stop it.
It is a jarring reminder of my own body's yearnings and the convoluted and macabre fantasies playing out in my head, so dark, and endearing I would be stripped more naked than the removal of skin could leave me for sharing them.
Is that what this is: the unhindered rage of every little injustice unrestrained and seeking outlet in it's most violent form?
But I tell myself no. This is just the feeling of a human body, yearning for attention, but held in check by a consciousness that knows it will not be so easily satisfied.
The explanation and the feeling are so similar at face value, it is possible to mistake one for the other, and is the downfall of the characters, as they lay afterwards, naked in thier own flesh, their nature laid bare before them. This adds to the evanescent whims of my own dark fantasies, wondering what are my own limits, my own capabilities. I am, however, not a monster. And the events in the book are more closely at the level of Chuck Palahniuk's Haunted, almost verging on Event Horizon.
What do I mean by this? What has the sick twisted ideals of psycological thrillers have to do with a real mind. After all, I am not insane?
And a grim twist of my stomach tells me what a thin barrier my controled consiousness is against that inhumanness, and makes me curious yet at the same time shy away from knowing my own limits.
And what is the mystery, the strange satisfaction of reading a book, that speaks of events not possible to be described by words?
It is some romantic idealism that there is something more beyond our meager consciousness, that we can experience, but have no ability to express?
But this seems a contradiction of terms. Language is a means of expressing the inexpressible. It allows for the discussion of such tangents on life as philosophy, and emotion. Language has raised us to a level of expression beyond the raw cry ripped from a overpowered throat, in despair, no other means of divulging the feeling but through a wordless sound.
Doesn't describing something as being beyond words... somehow place an unnecessary limit on the human cognitive? It is an inaudible voice stating "you cannot raise yourself to this level."
Perhaps this explains my affinity for language and wanting to be able to understand what everyone is saying that i may have a better knowledge of what I wish to express in myself, that I may show that these dark apprehensive fantasies in my mind are not that but something more deep and revealing than the simple language that I know portends to display them?
For example, how can today be early Monday morning when it is actually late Saturday night? If it weren't for the day missing it could easily be attributed to the former explanation of a night spent reading.
But my life does not begin until Tuesday, thus forcing the unconscious sense on me to say this is in fact not Monday, but the day previous, and as there has been no sleep break, as is common, that leaves this to be the remains of Saturday night.
Thus the defeat of all logic but one's own.


Book: The Heritage of Hastur, Marrion Zimmer Bradley

So I was sitting in the movie theater reading my book (Zandru's Forge) when I overheard people talking about actors and movies -as I realize they sometimes do in the movie theater. There were lots of different little snippets of conversations from different crowds, but they all came down to the same thing:

"... I know, I can't believe she'd take that roll..." "...He's always a bad guy. he should stick with it." "he should." ... "she should." ... "that movie was ___ because this actor ___..."

I know this all sounds normal. I mean why shouldn't we follow the pop culture icons with as much vivacious interest as our own lives? That's what they're there for, is it not? There was just something in the way these people talked that irks me. Firstly, I don't give a damn who's dumped who and yadda yadda. I don't see how it's any of my business or why I should be interested, just because they're pretty, or witty, or fucked the right douche bag to get the roll... whatever. I don't care. Secondly, why should anyone else? ... Is there no deeper tangents running through people's minds than what style dress is currently in fashion?

The answer I've come to reach? NO.

This is a depressing thought. So many mindless bodies wondering around claiming their rights to all the intellectual fruits of the world. Their rights to enjoy, destroy, boycott... Now, as much as this causes frustration in me toward all these stupid idiots, it also makes me angry that they were brought to this. Who let them believe that all there is in life is what's in style right now?

Oh, that's right. American culture. That great wonderous country we are expected to be so proud to live in and be a part of. ... Can I dispatriate myself please?

But not just from the US. There's something more I think I am attempting to run away from here. After all, this is standard speech for younger folk. People of my own age and generation whom I keep saying I desperately want to be a part of... well, not exactly, but you get the idea.

Right now I feel like I want to just get in my car and drive away. Pack my computer and my camera and guitar... -and the violin- and leave. Drive around. See this half of the world. Work myself from place to place via said items... Now I know that is not a reasonable quest, and is thus not one I have attempted to persue tho this is not the first time I've been imbued with the yerning to get away. I am not skilled enough to be a freelance photographer. I don't have the contacts. And playing guitar on the streets will not even cover bread much less than gas and insurance... No. That's not the solution.

Something else struck me. In the book a nephew to the king was playing a game with him with the intention to lose just to keep the king (who is very old) happy. The idea nauseates me. I particularly detest when people are fake, or wishywashy about how they deal with me. Don't lie because you think it will make me feel better. Don't feign at having a good time if you really can't wait for me to leave. Don't play hard to get because I won't chase you. I am frank, can be imprudently so. Please be the same. I want to hear what you really think.

The truth is, I would rather be dead than at the stage where people feel they have to play a game to lose just to keep me amused. I would rather be dead. Don't pull that "white lie" shit with me. I'm serious.

And yet...

Returning to the people in the theater. Were they really that out of line? Am I being too picky, too inverted and drawn away to notice people showing interest in me? Is it terrible if I need to be smacked in the head with a brick to realize someone really is interested in being my friend? ... Is that so much to ask for? A little effort on their part to raise the stupid red thing... Have I drawn myself that far away from society?


(P.S. on the subject title. I think it's just a drug bust across the alley.)

It has happened. The time has passed for miss Kitty to stay only on myspace, and while she has not fallen to another "friends" site, she has bought into live journal.

It is true. This quiet, reserved girl, the one who barely posts on her myspace three times in a month has joined the blogspot of the masses. What should we expect from this bold step farther out into the reaches of the cyber world? That place of digital friends, photoshoped photos, and automatic human computer simulations that require even the finest upstanding website to include a "Human Test". And what does it mean to this girl, who so longs for a real relationship? A good friend she can see, and feel, and touch in her life, not one that can only be read about. What are the implications that when signing up for this and other pages she often must retake the "Human Test" before passing simply to prove she is indeed not a computer?

It means she needs a life and that now you all better know what's going on in her missing life AND that you will be commenting. Understand? :p