Just a quick note for those concerned about recent roadblocks and whatnot.
Former partner has gotten a little legal advice which says that he should launch an appeal of the decision, supplementing the application with evidence backing up the length of our estrangement.
So this morning was a flurry phone calls and emails and signings, with me scanning my passport to back up how often and for how long I was out of Norway, the writing of affidavits attesting to the fact that our break up occurred long before we got around to actively signing a separation agreement, along with documentation showing my intent to marry here in Australia; which should put to rest any concerns the Norwegian government might have about a possible reconciliation.
He’ll submit all of this in the afternoon, in person, and then begins the process of…well waiting. Yipeee!
Have, in the meantime, gotten divorce papers drawn up and officially witnessed for an application to be made here in Australia if the Norwegian appeal does not work. It will be an even longer shot here; I’d have to find a way to prove I consider Australia home; difficult as I’ve only been in the country 9 months, and will be booted out in three more. But tis worth even a slim shot, I suppose.
If only Las Vegas WERE around the corner! All countries should have their own Vegas; a centre of debauchery, in which citizens from all over could flock, like Mecca, to waste away their hard earned cash, get a headache from flouro lighting, get married by Elvis impersonators and be divorced with the snap of their fingers. I’ll just grab my polyester leisure suit, adopt a loud, annoyingly piercing voice and stock up on disposable cameras now, just in case.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Friday, April 22, 2005
Grarr! Fecking Governments!
So the wedding is on more or less indefinite hold.
Immigration application is on more or less indefinite hold.
Divorce is more or less on indefinite hold.
Former partner and I, both Canadian citizens, married in Canada…but left the country in 2001 to spend a few years in Norway. Split, I bugged off and spent a while in London (as a visitor), he remained in Norway. Then I moved to Australia on a year long visa.
None of the countries involved, it seems, will grant us a divorce; even though we have been separated for years, and want a no muss no contest divorce with no mucking about to divide assets. That’s all sorted. We just need a judge to proclaim us no longer married.
Norway is the only country I have ever heard of who require that the government be notified formally of a separation. And, due to obvious barrier of language, we were not aware of this and therefore did not lodge an official notification about our separation agreement signed and witnessed back in 2003. When they were approached a few months back to grant the divorce, the clerk told my former partner that notification of the separation should have been launched, but then gave him all the papers for filing divorce anyhow, telling him to attach a copy of our separation agreement. The implication was since we were non citizens, who did not get married in Norway and were unawares, they would accept divorce application.
Only after filing the divorce application, they would not process it and grant a divorce. Instead, they want a separation application launched, and then, a year from now, they will consider the divorce application. Now; the Norwegian government maintains strict controls on their borders, and stricter controls still on non-nationals entering and leaving the country. They KNOW when I left the country. They KNOW, therefore, that we have been physically separated by distance.
Canadian law states that to file for a divorce in Canada, one of the parties in question must reside for a period of 12 months in the province in which they file, immediately before the application is filed. Despite being Canadian citizens, who hole NO citizenship in any other country on the planet, we can’t file in Canada because we have not resided there since 2001.
Australian law states that to file here you must be a citizen or consider Australia your permanent home (this to allow for permanent resident who do not take full citizenship). And you know what? If I could get a bloody divorce Australia WOULD become home, as I would be immediately marrying an Aus citizen and remaining here.
How’s that for a right royal headache?
It’s sad that in this global age, when humans move about the planet for work and pleasure, there are not considerations made for processing legal arrangements such as divorce. Instead, the various governments involved wind up causing situations wherein people remain bound to a former partner, both unable to formalize relationships with new partners, and new partners (like the boi) are forced to move from their home country in order to stay with their partner, who remains unable to apply for immigration while thusly bound to former partner.
The solution? I think embassies in foreign countries should be allowed to assess applications for things like divorce for citizens abroad. Not necessarily be allowed to grant divorce, but to assess individually and recommend application be heard in home country in absentia.
Madness.
Immigration application is on more or less indefinite hold.
Divorce is more or less on indefinite hold.
Former partner and I, both Canadian citizens, married in Canada…but left the country in 2001 to spend a few years in Norway. Split, I bugged off and spent a while in London (as a visitor), he remained in Norway. Then I moved to Australia on a year long visa.
None of the countries involved, it seems, will grant us a divorce; even though we have been separated for years, and want a no muss no contest divorce with no mucking about to divide assets. That’s all sorted. We just need a judge to proclaim us no longer married.
Norway is the only country I have ever heard of who require that the government be notified formally of a separation. And, due to obvious barrier of language, we were not aware of this and therefore did not lodge an official notification about our separation agreement signed and witnessed back in 2003. When they were approached a few months back to grant the divorce, the clerk told my former partner that notification of the separation should have been launched, but then gave him all the papers for filing divorce anyhow, telling him to attach a copy of our separation agreement. The implication was since we were non citizens, who did not get married in Norway and were unawares, they would accept divorce application.
Only after filing the divorce application, they would not process it and grant a divorce. Instead, they want a separation application launched, and then, a year from now, they will consider the divorce application. Now; the Norwegian government maintains strict controls on their borders, and stricter controls still on non-nationals entering and leaving the country. They KNOW when I left the country. They KNOW, therefore, that we have been physically separated by distance.
Canadian law states that to file for a divorce in Canada, one of the parties in question must reside for a period of 12 months in the province in which they file, immediately before the application is filed. Despite being Canadian citizens, who hole NO citizenship in any other country on the planet, we can’t file in Canada because we have not resided there since 2001.
Australian law states that to file here you must be a citizen or consider Australia your permanent home (this to allow for permanent resident who do not take full citizenship). And you know what? If I could get a bloody divorce Australia WOULD become home, as I would be immediately marrying an Aus citizen and remaining here.
How’s that for a right royal headache?
It’s sad that in this global age, when humans move about the planet for work and pleasure, there are not considerations made for processing legal arrangements such as divorce. Instead, the various governments involved wind up causing situations wherein people remain bound to a former partner, both unable to formalize relationships with new partners, and new partners (like the boi) are forced to move from their home country in order to stay with their partner, who remains unable to apply for immigration while thusly bound to former partner.
The solution? I think embassies in foreign countries should be allowed to assess applications for things like divorce for citizens abroad. Not necessarily be allowed to grant divorce, but to assess individually and recommend application be heard in home country in absentia.
Madness.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Bet ya didn't know...
Koala pee smells like skunk spray. See, I bet a lot of you reading this did not know that, did you?
Something else some of you might not know? I’m getting married. Small, very informal ‘do; we will just grab a couple friends to act as witnesses and head to a local JP. After its all done we will call round to other friends and some family and drag them all out to a pub for steaks and pints. No fuss no muss. We don’t want to make a big deal over something that’s not going to change the relationship any. Save the stress involved with planning a big thing, and save the cash to maybe travel a bit later next year. I want to show the boi what London is all about.
And I have a new job. An actual, salaried job I mean….had forgotten what that was like, having worked contractually for a few years now. When the job offer was made, I took it on the assumption I’d have to play growed-up; take out some of the piercings, do something with my technicoloured hair. But nope! Was flattered as fuck when the boss compared me to Pauley Paulette, as she appears in the “Abby” character from N.C.I.S. So I’m doing the corporate goth thang. It’s working well. New dreads soon, too. Yay!
I’ve acclimatized. The summer heat has passed, and I was disgusted to find myself heading to the office in a cotton shirt AND a fleece jumper. The temperature was 26 degrees celsius. That’s just not right. 26 is summer weather back home, and would have been enough to have me bitching about the heat. And yet, here I am, clothing shopping and checking out wool jumpers and leather jackets. WTF?
I’ve been thinking about school again. I miss being a student. Think I will look into some courses for the new year. Problem is there is so much that interests me. Before I look into more serious schooling, I’ll think I will hunt around for a short course in digital photography basics though. Mine’s busted, I don’t like the boi’s cam, and so I’ve been coveting a couple of new models for a month or two now; buying a new one should be enough of an excuse to do a proper course.
Something else some of you might not know? I’m getting married. Small, very informal ‘do; we will just grab a couple friends to act as witnesses and head to a local JP. After its all done we will call round to other friends and some family and drag them all out to a pub for steaks and pints. No fuss no muss. We don’t want to make a big deal over something that’s not going to change the relationship any. Save the stress involved with planning a big thing, and save the cash to maybe travel a bit later next year. I want to show the boi what London is all about.
And I have a new job. An actual, salaried job I mean….had forgotten what that was like, having worked contractually for a few years now. When the job offer was made, I took it on the assumption I’d have to play growed-up; take out some of the piercings, do something with my technicoloured hair. But nope! Was flattered as fuck when the boss compared me to Pauley Paulette, as she appears in the “Abby” character from N.C.I.S. So I’m doing the corporate goth thang. It’s working well. New dreads soon, too. Yay!
I’ve acclimatized. The summer heat has passed, and I was disgusted to find myself heading to the office in a cotton shirt AND a fleece jumper. The temperature was 26 degrees celsius. That’s just not right. 26 is summer weather back home, and would have been enough to have me bitching about the heat. And yet, here I am, clothing shopping and checking out wool jumpers and leather jackets. WTF?
I’ve been thinking about school again. I miss being a student. Think I will look into some courses for the new year. Problem is there is so much that interests me. Before I look into more serious schooling, I’ll think I will hunt around for a short course in digital photography basics though. Mine’s busted, I don’t like the boi’s cam, and so I’ve been coveting a couple of new models for a month or two now; buying a new one should be enough of an excuse to do a proper course.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
The voices inside my head.
Question;What do you think about. When you are just sitting around thinking about your life.
I think alot about finances. I'm horrible with money. I simply don't respect it. I piss it away without concern, and then find myself struggling to support myself later.I think about how my inability to handle money affects the people around me. How it led to a massive student loan that suffocates me.
I also think of the upsides; I think about the fun I had being a student, the people I met and the lessons I learned. I think how ironic it is that I have two degrees, and yet, I learned more about myself and he world around me then I did anything acedemic.
I think about my weight...hey I'm female, its obligatory. I think about how I'm a fat chick who really does not care or even think about it when left to my own devices. I'm healthy, even if I am not fit, and overall I'm content, because I've never had a lack of partners nor had reason to think that as a person, I'm not attractive/sexy. Still, there are times that I catch a look from a stranger on the street and feel embarased about my body.
I think about shiney things and flutterbyes. Of toys that lights up and make me clap with delight. I think of rain and how much i like spashing in puddles. Things that go Grrrr in the night.I think of ice cream on my nose. Snowflakes on my tongue. Of fuzzy bunny ears and bois that purr. I think of glitter and synthetic dreads. I think of blowing soap bubbles. I think of how sad it is that most adults I know leave so much of their childhood in their past.
I think about my lust for a new camera. Of all the things I want to learn and experience in the future. And about those I've buggered up in the past.
I think about travel. I think with a touch of awe about all I have seen and the places I've visited and lived in the past 5 years. I think about being grateful to friends who I've met along the way that helped me out and made it all possible.
I think of the children I will probably never have.
I think about my friends most of all. The incredible people that have found a place in my life, who honour me by sharing their lives with me. About those I love. About how these truely amazing people see something in me that makes them want to know me.
I figure, based on these friends and loved ones, that I must have been a saint in a past life to deserve such richness in this.
I think alot about finances. I'm horrible with money. I simply don't respect it. I piss it away without concern, and then find myself struggling to support myself later.I think about how my inability to handle money affects the people around me. How it led to a massive student loan that suffocates me.
I also think of the upsides; I think about the fun I had being a student, the people I met and the lessons I learned. I think how ironic it is that I have two degrees, and yet, I learned more about myself and he world around me then I did anything acedemic.
I think about my weight...hey I'm female, its obligatory. I think about how I'm a fat chick who really does not care or even think about it when left to my own devices. I'm healthy, even if I am not fit, and overall I'm content, because I've never had a lack of partners nor had reason to think that as a person, I'm not attractive/sexy. Still, there are times that I catch a look from a stranger on the street and feel embarased about my body.
I think about shiney things and flutterbyes. Of toys that lights up and make me clap with delight. I think of rain and how much i like spashing in puddles. Things that go Grrrr in the night.I think of ice cream on my nose. Snowflakes on my tongue. Of fuzzy bunny ears and bois that purr. I think of glitter and synthetic dreads. I think of blowing soap bubbles. I think of how sad it is that most adults I know leave so much of their childhood in their past.
I think about my lust for a new camera. Of all the things I want to learn and experience in the future. And about those I've buggered up in the past.
I think about travel. I think with a touch of awe about all I have seen and the places I've visited and lived in the past 5 years. I think about being grateful to friends who I've met along the way that helped me out and made it all possible.
I think of the children I will probably never have.
I think about my friends most of all. The incredible people that have found a place in my life, who honour me by sharing their lives with me. About those I love. About how these truely amazing people see something in me that makes them want to know me.
I figure, based on these friends and loved ones, that I must have been a saint in a past life to deserve such richness in this.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Ghosts of the past
You think you've sorted through it. You pretend you've found peace about it. You convince yourself that you have dealt with the issues. You imagine you've moved on with life. You are arrogant enough to assume you can bury the past.
Humans are funny creatures. We adapt to new surroundings and situations with ease, and convince ourselves that the past will remain in the past. Close that closet door as if the bones won't rattle when you walk away.
Maybe you will be sucsessful...for a year. For five years. And then suddenly an emotional hurricane rips the door of it's hinges, and its all there in your face, raw as ever.
Past relationships. Past dynamics. Past mistakes. Smacking you up side of the head with a vengance, reminding you that the past never dies. It just festers.
I'm consistently awed by how the energies of me and those I am closest with intertwine and mesh on levels that seem inexplicable. Patrick dealing the the residual anger of a relationship past. The boi feeling uncomfortrable about an old fling and a unfinished ending. And me, with a mountain of regret and no way to fix it for any of us.
Fairytale endings are remarkably hard to achieve when ghosts of the past keep stomping on your glass slippers.
I'm going to add to my list of Inventions That Should Be (dehydrated, shrunken friends - slip 'em in your pocket and add water to reanimate!) Life's Little Teflon Coating - scrape it off, toss it out, wipe and start again, residue free.
But Wenchiegirl! Past experiences build chartacter! Adds flavour! Teaches lessons and adds maturity! Fuck off. Past experiences also result in denial, guilt and a squick factor that reappears at the most innopportune times.
I'm going to check out of life for a few days. Load up the ute with a cooler full of water, toss a mattress, the dog and my journal aboard and just fuck off to god knows where till my head stops screaming at me.
I'm taking every past ghost i can rustle up off to the outback, tossing them into the sun and letting the fuckers fry.
Humans are funny creatures. We adapt to new surroundings and situations with ease, and convince ourselves that the past will remain in the past. Close that closet door as if the bones won't rattle when you walk away.
Maybe you will be sucsessful...for a year. For five years. And then suddenly an emotional hurricane rips the door of it's hinges, and its all there in your face, raw as ever.
Past relationships. Past dynamics. Past mistakes. Smacking you up side of the head with a vengance, reminding you that the past never dies. It just festers.
I'm consistently awed by how the energies of me and those I am closest with intertwine and mesh on levels that seem inexplicable. Patrick dealing the the residual anger of a relationship past. The boi feeling uncomfortrable about an old fling and a unfinished ending. And me, with a mountain of regret and no way to fix it for any of us.
Fairytale endings are remarkably hard to achieve when ghosts of the past keep stomping on your glass slippers.
I'm going to add to my list of Inventions That Should Be (dehydrated, shrunken friends - slip 'em in your pocket and add water to reanimate!) Life's Little Teflon Coating - scrape it off, toss it out, wipe and start again, residue free.
But Wenchiegirl! Past experiences build chartacter! Adds flavour! Teaches lessons and adds maturity! Fuck off. Past experiences also result in denial, guilt and a squick factor that reappears at the most innopportune times.
I'm going to check out of life for a few days. Load up the ute with a cooler full of water, toss a mattress, the dog and my journal aboard and just fuck off to god knows where till my head stops screaming at me.
I'm taking every past ghost i can rustle up off to the outback, tossing them into the sun and letting the fuckers fry.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Random thoughts
Alcohol is best mixed with milk. don't ewwww until you have tried it.
Yay for the Rubenesque ideal. Long overdue for a recall.
Orson Scott Card's Ender series, while ok, is overblown, IMHO. Far under-publicised is his fantasy series based on the character 'Alvin Maker'.
I miss snow. And I miss wearing leather. And snuggly sweaters.
Kitten feet smell like Fritos. Or corn chips, if you aren't in North America and therefore have no farking idea what a Frito is.
Multiple moose should be called Meese. Like geese, only with horns. and less honking.
Nothing is so upsetting that it can't be overcome with one or more of the following; Good coffee. Good chocolate. Good sex. A good book. A good friend. A good cry. A journal and a pen.
Words I like; Mine. Oogeous, Scrummy. Oodles. Seductive. Feet. Plethora. Indulge. Fundamental. Trollop. No.
Words I detest; No. Wait.
Sacrasam is a widely abused form of humour; far too many asshats attempt to pull it off in a half-assed fashion and fail miserabely, while those who have mastered the art to perfection often go overlooked and unrecognized.
Even after years of travelling and living overseas, I am still startled when someone finds a canadian accent exotic.
I feel like every teenaged "puppy love' cliche was written about me, personally. Like all those silly sayings (I never knew love like this exsisted", "I see forever when I am with you", "I don't remember what there was before there was us", etc etc, gag, gag,puke) were written specifically to describe the vomituous drivelI am experiencing right now. And I am loving every second.
Hommeade pipe bombs planted in garbage bins at the McDonalds around the corner from me? Are still enough to make me jump and bang my knee. (and what did you do this evening, kids?)
Yay for the Rubenesque ideal. Long overdue for a recall.
Orson Scott Card's Ender series, while ok, is overblown, IMHO. Far under-publicised is his fantasy series based on the character 'Alvin Maker'.
I miss snow. And I miss wearing leather. And snuggly sweaters.
Kitten feet smell like Fritos. Or corn chips, if you aren't in North America and therefore have no farking idea what a Frito is.
Multiple moose should be called Meese. Like geese, only with horns. and less honking.
Nothing is so upsetting that it can't be overcome with one or more of the following; Good coffee. Good chocolate. Good sex. A good book. A good friend. A good cry. A journal and a pen.
Words I like; Mine. Oogeous, Scrummy. Oodles. Seductive. Feet. Plethora. Indulge. Fundamental. Trollop. No.
Words I detest; No. Wait.
Sacrasam is a widely abused form of humour; far too many asshats attempt to pull it off in a half-assed fashion and fail miserabely, while those who have mastered the art to perfection often go overlooked and unrecognized.
Even after years of travelling and living overseas, I am still startled when someone finds a canadian accent exotic.
I feel like every teenaged "puppy love' cliche was written about me, personally. Like all those silly sayings (I never knew love like this exsisted", "I see forever when I am with you", "I don't remember what there was before there was us", etc etc, gag, gag,puke) were written specifically to describe the vomituous drivelI am experiencing right now. And I am loving every second.
Hommeade pipe bombs planted in garbage bins at the McDonalds around the corner from me? Are still enough to make me jump and bang my knee. (and what did you do this evening, kids?)
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Bellylaughing.
Unabashedly stolen for a message board i post to;
What does your partner do that makes you laugh?
He gives me a series of peckish kisses, declaring between each one "mine *smooch*mine*smooch*mine"...mimicing the seagulls in Finding Nemo.
He installs pimpassed red furry seat covers in the car.
He sings and dances with me in coffeeshops, ending with a boobgrab to make me honk aloud to amuse passers by.
He stands nekked and waves his weiner about in the air.
He "tickles" me by attempting to insert his own body limbs into my bellybutton. (your elbow does not fit! No, not even with an extra shot of lube!).
He wears wings around a shopping mall.
He jumps like a girlie girl when i yell "boo".
He reads in the loo (why? I just don't grok this)....and gets involved enough in his book that he loses track of time and spends aaaages in there.
He tries on silly hats, bunny ears and whatever else catches my eye.
He blows raspberries on my stomach to the tune of the Star Wars theme.
He smiles at babies, even though he does not want one.
He brings me to the ocean.
He swims up underneath me and bites my ass when we are swimming.
He makes time to detour to the pet shop to oogle the puppies.
He tells me he loves me.
What does your partner do that makes you laugh?
He gives me a series of peckish kisses, declaring between each one "mine *smooch*mine*smooch*mine"...mimicing the seagulls in Finding Nemo.
He installs pimpassed red furry seat covers in the car.
He sings and dances with me in coffeeshops, ending with a boobgrab to make me honk aloud to amuse passers by.
He stands nekked and waves his weiner about in the air.
He "tickles" me by attempting to insert his own body limbs into my bellybutton. (your elbow does not fit! No, not even with an extra shot of lube!).
He wears wings around a shopping mall.
He jumps like a girlie girl when i yell "boo".
He reads in the loo (why? I just don't grok this)....and gets involved enough in his book that he loses track of time and spends aaaages in there.
He tries on silly hats, bunny ears and whatever else catches my eye.
He blows raspberries on my stomach to the tune of the Star Wars theme.
He smiles at babies, even though he does not want one.
He brings me to the ocean.
He swims up underneath me and bites my ass when we are swimming.
He makes time to detour to the pet shop to oogle the puppies.
He tells me he loves me.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Pimpmobile!
So the boy bought a Ute a few weeks ago. Thats a pickup or just a truck to the rest of you lot. Wanna see? Voilla!
Being the considerate and accomidating sort (shhh! he does not like it when i ruin his tuff and gruff Grrry man reputation (psssst! heas all fluffy, really)), he actually went out of his way to only look at automatic vehicles. They are rare here; but I don't drive manuals. I feel so spoilled.
But the best part is coming. Not only does he tolerate my sense of humour; he actively encourages me. So we are partway through decking it out till it OOZES cheese. Red plush seat covers! Wheee! Fuzzy dice and disco balls, here we come!
It's the little things that make me smile, i know. But still. You can't help but sit in this thing and grin at the sheer screamingly obnoxiousness of it all.
We r teh classy.
Please note; this entry reads much better if you copy and paste the address into Gizoogle! and hit the "translate" button.
Being the considerate and accomidating sort (shhh! he does not like it when i ruin his tuff and gruff Grrry man reputation (psssst! heas all fluffy, really)), he actually went out of his way to only look at automatic vehicles. They are rare here; but I don't drive manuals. I feel so spoilled.
But the best part is coming. Not only does he tolerate my sense of humour; he actively encourages me. So we are partway through decking it out till it OOZES cheese. Red plush seat covers! Wheee! Fuzzy dice and disco balls, here we come!
It's the little things that make me smile, i know. But still. You can't help but sit in this thing and grin at the sheer screamingly obnoxiousness of it all.
We r teh classy.
Please note; this entry reads much better if you copy and paste the address into Gizoogle! and hit the "translate" button.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Get thee to an aeroplane!
Whirlwind few weeks. My ex was in town, and staying with me and the boi. Yeah...no potentional for anything to go horrifically wrong there, huh? Sorry to dissapoint you; but no Jerry Springer show arose from the visit; the ex was on good behavior (relaively speaking), and the loved-up shmoopy boi himself was playing it up by wisely being his most positive helpful self. I'm thinking of apponting him for sainthood.
Finally got to Sydney. Spent two days congradulating myself on having perfect intuition yet again regarding accomidation; the place i picked online turned out to be PERFECTLY situated right in freak central, but one block over making it absolutely quiet when we wanted to sleep, yet only steps aay from 24 hour people waching. Got to do most things on the adgenda; but did not make it UP the bridge; the observation center was closed when we were there. Also missed out on a nighttime harbour cruise, due to sloppy planning and exhaustion.
Spent a weekend north, flaked out on a beach. Spend some time on a boat tour, which took us dolphin, dugong and sea turtle watching, as well as snorkelling on some shipwrecks. Cool as fuck; but also more then a little scarey at times. I'm a dork. Things looming up at me from out of the deep kept making me panic, resulting in me floundering about and sucking in water. The boys had a minor testosterone competition when bravely atttepting sandtoboganning form a fuck off big dune. The boi was only hurt a little and hid it very well, so his ego remains intact.
Valentines day was a quiet one, free from the hallmark -inspired trappings that i detest so much. It was still my most enjoyable one to date. And i further thumbed my nose at convention by going off and buying the boi a ring. Ha! I laugh at your gender conventions!
pics of all the adventures to appear shortly, i promise.
Finally got to Sydney. Spent two days congradulating myself on having perfect intuition yet again regarding accomidation; the place i picked online turned out to be PERFECTLY situated right in freak central, but one block over making it absolutely quiet when we wanted to sleep, yet only steps aay from 24 hour people waching. Got to do most things on the adgenda; but did not make it UP the bridge; the observation center was closed when we were there. Also missed out on a nighttime harbour cruise, due to sloppy planning and exhaustion.
Spent a weekend north, flaked out on a beach. Spend some time on a boat tour, which took us dolphin, dugong and sea turtle watching, as well as snorkelling on some shipwrecks. Cool as fuck; but also more then a little scarey at times. I'm a dork. Things looming up at me from out of the deep kept making me panic, resulting in me floundering about and sucking in water. The boys had a minor testosterone competition when bravely atttepting sandtoboganning form a fuck off big dune. The boi was only hurt a little and hid it very well, so his ego remains intact.
Valentines day was a quiet one, free from the hallmark -inspired trappings that i detest so much. It was still my most enjoyable one to date. And i further thumbed my nose at convention by going off and buying the boi a ring. Ha! I laugh at your gender conventions!
pics of all the adventures to appear shortly, i promise.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Closing a chapter
Finally. The ex dude is here for a visit...we've taken him all over the place and played tour guides (more on that later). It';s all going great. Easy going freindship thing, for the most part. couple minor slip ups into slightly uncomfortable territory; but any conflicts get resolved fairly fast without undue fuss.
Tonight, we finally managed to tell his parents that we are getting a divorce.
A few days ago, we agreed its time to actually get started filing for divorce, after several years of separation, and both of us being in serious relationships with others.
I don't know how i feel. I feel little. Telling the in laws had been a major want of mine...and a major fear. When the ex and i split, i was far more anxious over the thoguht of saying goodbye to his family then worry about what would happen to him and i. Guess thats normal; we'd both had time to adjust, and we knew we would sort things out to a good friendship.
But I'm worried it will be hard for the family to do the same.
I want to make them stay right where they were in my life. but know it is inevitable that things will change alot from here on in.
I feel lost.
And I'm glad it's done.
Tonight, we finally managed to tell his parents that we are getting a divorce.
A few days ago, we agreed its time to actually get started filing for divorce, after several years of separation, and both of us being in serious relationships with others.
I don't know how i feel. I feel little. Telling the in laws had been a major want of mine...and a major fear. When the ex and i split, i was far more anxious over the thoguht of saying goodbye to his family then worry about what would happen to him and i. Guess thats normal; we'd both had time to adjust, and we knew we would sort things out to a good friendship.
But I'm worried it will be hard for the family to do the same.
I want to make them stay right where they were in my life. but know it is inevitable that things will change alot from here on in.
I feel lost.
And I'm glad it's done.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
The rain hurts my forehead.
Grrr. Typing this from memory now cause my first attempt got eaten by a blogger eror when i tried to post. Death and pox to them!
Arrived back home this morning exhausted, crispy crittered, sore and achey with feet that screamed murderous thoughts at me...and a huge assed smile.
This weekend was Big Day Out. The boi and i booked a room in Surfers Paradise for a couple of nights, to avoid the early morning traffic jams down to the venue, and to have the luxury of crashing nearby instead of making the trek back after the show.
With a line up including The Chemical Brothers, The Donnas, The Beastie Boys, Slipknot, System of a Down, The Streets, Eskimo Joe, Bexta, and dozens of popular Aussie acts, it promised to be an intensive event.
I spent the week before slaving and sweating and cursing over the making of a pair of raver pants for the boi. I had forgotten just how intensely i hated fucking sewing machines. It all came rushing back about 5 minutes into said slavage. Black cotton, with red mesh panels down the outside of each leg, and red fur pockets. They look fucking spectacular now that they are done...but he came perilously close to waking up unpleasently at several points during their making, to find me astride his chest forcing reams of material down his throat while cackling gleefully "eat this, bitchboi!"
Combined with the red demon wings i bought a few months back (which he had initially wanted to modify before wearing cause they were too girlie) and his newly dyed blonde crewcut/red mohawk/sideburns/racing stripe down goatie hair job (also done by me...I should run a business!), he looked rather smashing.
Single men, make note; he could have been laid dozens of times over by cuties with great boobs has it not been for having me along. Pictures are available at a fee if you would like to copy the look.
My own raver pants/block gothic fairy wings/electric purple hair barely even registered on the scale next to the Complete Attention Whore that is my boyfriend.
We were however groped by random strangers, posed for pictures with people who found us particularly cool looking, and even posed upon request for Virgin Phone and The Bulletin, a local paper.
The wings made it a little hard to manouver in big crowds, so had to be removed for a few shows. But people even bowed! You think i'm joking.
We arrived at 10:30 am...and by midday the crowds had grown to the point that finding shade was next to impossible. I was grumpy and miserable. And the boi has the attention span of a toddler suffering ADD and hyped on speed (erm...the hypothetical toddler,that is, not the boi himself), making sitting in one spot impossible. Added to the oppressive crowd of 50,000 bodies was the fact that I am now positive that somewhere along the way something I did produced enough bad karma that I died and went to Hell. No one was nice enough to inform me of the fact, but Hell I am in, nonetheless. Fire and Brimstone is not THAT far a stretch from Tropical heat and unending home renno/housebitching, i tell ya! And the bastardly boi, who looked so ~right~ somehow in his devil wings is evil enough at times to make me wonder if he is not in fact my own personal Lucifer incarnate.
By late afternoon my skin had fried to the point where it had produced a thick crunchy outer layer and could not absorb anymore heat, and so things got a little better. By the time the sun went down entirely, and i could break out my shiney-things-that-go-whirr toys, i pulled a Jekel and Hyde and became one happy bunny indeed. Horay for raver toys! Three cheers for venues that make it ok for me to walk about with a delighted expression while totally entranced with the lights and vibrations of a toy pushed up against my own nose.
Shortly after the Beastie Boys we made our way out to the shuttlebus back into the city - and found that the party continued from there into the streets...so i got to indulge my people-watching fetish a while longer when we took to the street in search of food.
By the way, for anyone looking to spend a cheap weekend in Surfers, I reccommend The Islander Resort; its a combination hotel/backpakers hostel, convenient clean and cheap.
Took the train back into Brissy this morning, promply crahsed out for the afternoon, dragging my ass out of bed at 6. My body still hates me...but it was worth it.
Arrived back home this morning exhausted, crispy crittered, sore and achey with feet that screamed murderous thoughts at me...and a huge assed smile.
This weekend was Big Day Out. The boi and i booked a room in Surfers Paradise for a couple of nights, to avoid the early morning traffic jams down to the venue, and to have the luxury of crashing nearby instead of making the trek back after the show.
With a line up including The Chemical Brothers, The Donnas, The Beastie Boys, Slipknot, System of a Down, The Streets, Eskimo Joe, Bexta, and dozens of popular Aussie acts, it promised to be an intensive event.
I spent the week before slaving and sweating and cursing over the making of a pair of raver pants for the boi. I had forgotten just how intensely i hated fucking sewing machines. It all came rushing back about 5 minutes into said slavage. Black cotton, with red mesh panels down the outside of each leg, and red fur pockets. They look fucking spectacular now that they are done...but he came perilously close to waking up unpleasently at several points during their making, to find me astride his chest forcing reams of material down his throat while cackling gleefully "eat this, bitchboi!"
Combined with the red demon wings i bought a few months back (which he had initially wanted to modify before wearing cause they were too girlie) and his newly dyed blonde crewcut/red mohawk/sideburns/racing stripe down goatie hair job (also done by me...I should run a business!), he looked rather smashing.
Single men, make note; he could have been laid dozens of times over by cuties with great boobs has it not been for having me along. Pictures are available at a fee if you would like to copy the look.
My own raver pants/block gothic fairy wings/electric purple hair barely even registered on the scale next to the Complete Attention Whore that is my boyfriend.
We were however groped by random strangers, posed for pictures with people who found us particularly cool looking, and even posed upon request for Virgin Phone and The Bulletin, a local paper.
The wings made it a little hard to manouver in big crowds, so had to be removed for a few shows. But people even bowed! You think i'm joking.
We arrived at 10:30 am...and by midday the crowds had grown to the point that finding shade was next to impossible. I was grumpy and miserable. And the boi has the attention span of a toddler suffering ADD and hyped on speed (erm...the hypothetical toddler,that is, not the boi himself), making sitting in one spot impossible. Added to the oppressive crowd of 50,000 bodies was the fact that I am now positive that somewhere along the way something I did produced enough bad karma that I died and went to Hell. No one was nice enough to inform me of the fact, but Hell I am in, nonetheless. Fire and Brimstone is not THAT far a stretch from Tropical heat and unending home renno/housebitching, i tell ya! And the bastardly boi, who looked so ~right~ somehow in his devil wings is evil enough at times to make me wonder if he is not in fact my own personal Lucifer incarnate.
By late afternoon my skin had fried to the point where it had produced a thick crunchy outer layer and could not absorb anymore heat, and so things got a little better. By the time the sun went down entirely, and i could break out my shiney-things-that-go-whirr toys, i pulled a Jekel and Hyde and became one happy bunny indeed. Horay for raver toys! Three cheers for venues that make it ok for me to walk about with a delighted expression while totally entranced with the lights and vibrations of a toy pushed up against my own nose.
Shortly after the Beastie Boys we made our way out to the shuttlebus back into the city - and found that the party continued from there into the streets...so i got to indulge my people-watching fetish a while longer when we took to the street in search of food.
By the way, for anyone looking to spend a cheap weekend in Surfers, I reccommend The Islander Resort; its a combination hotel/backpakers hostel, convenient clean and cheap.
Took the train back into Brissy this morning, promply crahsed out for the afternoon, dragging my ass out of bed at 6. My body still hates me...but it was worth it.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
What things are important in your life?
Answers in the guestbook, please.
What things are near and dear to you? What things, no matter ow munumental, or how seemingly insignificant, improve your life by their mere presence?
What things would you not want to live without, even if you could?
____________________________________________________________
Coffee(Iced, cappucino, vanilla syrup).
Rain (warm, mist, fog)
Toys (geeky, childlike, or people)
Chocolate(coconut, milk, praline).
Friends(compassionate, open, inteligent)
Sex(hard and fast).
Snuggles (leisurely, tactle and thorough)
Thunderstorms(loud and furious).
Books, newspapers, music(sheer escapism)
Sparkly, shiney, fuzy, whirry things.
Ocean(the sound and smell).
Anything that makes me smile, or in some cases, cry with happiness.
Life is too short to waste worrying too much.
Sometimes we get so caught up in planning how to live we forget to live.
What things are near and dear to you? What things, no matter ow munumental, or how seemingly insignificant, improve your life by their mere presence?
What things would you not want to live without, even if you could?
____________________________________________________________
Coffee(Iced, cappucino, vanilla syrup).
Rain (warm, mist, fog)
Toys (geeky, childlike, or people)
Chocolate(coconut, milk, praline).
Friends(compassionate, open, inteligent)
Sex(hard and fast).
Snuggles (leisurely, tactle and thorough)
Thunderstorms(loud and furious).
Books, newspapers, music(sheer escapism)
Sparkly, shiney, fuzy, whirry things.
Ocean(the sound and smell).
Anything that makes me smile, or in some cases, cry with happiness.
Life is too short to waste worrying too much.
Sometimes we get so caught up in planning how to live we forget to live.
A year in review
New things is did that scared me in 2004;
-Learned a lesson in patience. Gave up control; handed a relationship over to the fates and hoped for the best, instead off fighting tooth and nail to save things.
-Accepted that I am not responsible for the happieness(or lack thereof) of my ex.
-Drafted, re-drafted, re-re-drafted, finalized, then signed, an official separation agreement.
_Became a single person for the first time in my adult life. Revelled in the freedom once i stopped being terrified.
-told my father my marriage was over.
-tried casual sex, casual relationships, being the beta in a poly relationship. Failed at all three. Learned from all three too.
-Threw out belongings. I've alays been a packrat- trust me, this was scarey.
-Had my clithood pierced. Discovered i could spiderwalk in the proccess.
-Rode a rollercoaster. Had eyes closed from the first rise all the way to the end, but still.
-Touched a crocodile.
-Began a relationship in which i was not in control.
-packed my life into a couple of bags and moved around the world; with no plan, no job, no apartment. No clue.
I loved the year, overall. I learned more about myself and my abilities then I had learned any other year of my life. I can't wait to see what 2005 will bring.
-Learned a lesson in patience. Gave up control; handed a relationship over to the fates and hoped for the best, instead off fighting tooth and nail to save things.
-Accepted that I am not responsible for the happieness(or lack thereof) of my ex.
-Drafted, re-drafted, re-re-drafted, finalized, then signed, an official separation agreement.
_Became a single person for the first time in my adult life. Revelled in the freedom once i stopped being terrified.
-told my father my marriage was over.
-tried casual sex, casual relationships, being the beta in a poly relationship. Failed at all three. Learned from all three too.
-Threw out belongings. I've alays been a packrat- trust me, this was scarey.
-Had my clithood pierced. Discovered i could spiderwalk in the proccess.
-Rode a rollercoaster. Had eyes closed from the first rise all the way to the end, but still.
-Touched a crocodile.
-Began a relationship in which i was not in control.
-packed my life into a couple of bags and moved around the world; with no plan, no job, no apartment. No clue.
I loved the year, overall. I learned more about myself and my abilities then I had learned any other year of my life. I can't wait to see what 2005 will bring.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Ramble Ramble Bitch Bitch.
In a few days I will have been living in Brisbane for four months.
This is the longest time I have not boarded a plane in more then four years. I've not in fact remained anywhere since the begining of 2000 for a three month stretch.
It feels odd. Last week my suitcase got unpacked and put in storage. I've been living out of it for several years now. Having clothing all in dressers and closets feels so strange. Growed up. Permanent.
I've been transient so long it became a natural state. Unfamiliar surroundings were somehow comforting. Once you've traveled a fair bit, you begin finding similarities in all sorts of very different places. They all blend together and strange places can seem familiar. Every fucking city's just the same.
I'm a very odd mix of homebody and gypsy. I crave the stability and safety and comfort that comes from having a sense of "home", whatever that is. Home has been something I've been searching for a long time.
But I also thrive on the adventure of new places, new faces, new challanges.
They are hard interests to meld, really.
I'm far too easilly distracted by shiney things, i guess is the crux of the problem. I can settle in and adapt to my surroundings quickly. I've done so here; fallen into (and enjoying!) housebitching and home rennovating -last weeks project was a pool! whoot! But its not been warm enough to use the bloody thing since.
On the other hand, there's a bit of wanderlust remaining. I've draged the boi, or had him drag me, over as much of the state as we can feasibly do on his days off. I want to do Sydney while I am here. Maybe New Zealand. And I daydream constantly about dragging him off to globetrot with me.
London to dance at the Electric Ballroom and Slimelight. Shopping in Camden. People watching in Leicester Sq.
Canada, to watch him with family and friends. I particularly want the approval of my boys back home.
Take a car and do a longassed unplanned roadtrip accross the US.
He's treated me to slices of his life here. I've gotten to see where he grew up, hear his stories. Hear his parents tell embarasing antecdotes about him as a child.
I want to show him the places around the world that bring me peace.
I want to push him into the atlantic ocean and laugh when he whinges about the cold (payback for all the amusement he gets from watching me battle the waves here).
I want to teach him how to make a snowman, proper snowballs, and snow angels.
But you know what? I'm not, for the first time in a long time, in a hurry. There's no rush for the rest of my life to happen. I finally have come to the realizaion that my life is happening. It's right now. And I don't want to wish a moment of it away.
There is still the flightly little voice in my head though, nagging at me to not get too complacent. It's hard. The safety and contentment I've found here is very seductive. And letting down my guard is a dificult thing to do. I can't help but to want, occasionally, to withdraw inside of myself, draw the walls back up around me.
I spent the last few years drifting, spending time with friends, travelling about, getting to know myself a little better. And, despite the close friends who helped me through everything, it was a lonely process. The lonliness, however, was not only necessary; it was quite deliberate. I purposefully drew into myself. It was the only way I could work through things. It was a good decision, and on some level, I enjoyed the time out. While sleeping alone sucks ass, being alone also means no one can hurt you, yanno?
Being alone, however, also becomes habit. I've had to learn how to be with someone all over again. And, more then that, I've had to learn how to be with someone in a healthy fashion. The concept of a relationship without fighting is a foriegn concept to me, really. I grew up in a house where fighting was the norm, and moved into a primary long term relationship that could certainly be labelled volatile.
A lifetime of that results in a measure of automatic defensiveness.
I think I've stopped pre-empting things, though, and have accepted that small conflicts don't need to be major blow out events. This open and honest communication thing with a partner is bloody hard, though. For years now, the boys were the ones who got to see my innermost self. It feels unsafe to expose those bits to someone I'm dating, though.
I can imagine thats bloody frustrating! My first reaction remains to curl foetal when something goes wrong. Recent plans to teach english next year in Asia, as a way to skirt around our citizenship dificulties, for instance, have gone amiss. so it's back to the drawing board. My way of dealing with such things is to go off, alone, to think things through. Cry, rant, then think, actually.
Running off to be alone everytime there is an issue is not exactly condusive o a parnership, though. so I've been forcing myself to stay put and get control of my emotions. So things blow over quicker then they did in the past.
More productive, perhaps. But alot of work. Sometimes I just want to let go.
This is the longest time I have not boarded a plane in more then four years. I've not in fact remained anywhere since the begining of 2000 for a three month stretch.
It feels odd. Last week my suitcase got unpacked and put in storage. I've been living out of it for several years now. Having clothing all in dressers and closets feels so strange. Growed up. Permanent.
I've been transient so long it became a natural state. Unfamiliar surroundings were somehow comforting. Once you've traveled a fair bit, you begin finding similarities in all sorts of very different places. They all blend together and strange places can seem familiar. Every fucking city's just the same.
I'm a very odd mix of homebody and gypsy. I crave the stability and safety and comfort that comes from having a sense of "home", whatever that is. Home has been something I've been searching for a long time.
But I also thrive on the adventure of new places, new faces, new challanges.
They are hard interests to meld, really.
I'm far too easilly distracted by shiney things, i guess is the crux of the problem. I can settle in and adapt to my surroundings quickly. I've done so here; fallen into (and enjoying!) housebitching and home rennovating -last weeks project was a pool! whoot! But its not been warm enough to use the bloody thing since.
On the other hand, there's a bit of wanderlust remaining. I've draged the boi, or had him drag me, over as much of the state as we can feasibly do on his days off. I want to do Sydney while I am here. Maybe New Zealand. And I daydream constantly about dragging him off to globetrot with me.
London to dance at the Electric Ballroom and Slimelight. Shopping in Camden. People watching in Leicester Sq.
Canada, to watch him with family and friends. I particularly want the approval of my boys back home.
Take a car and do a longassed unplanned roadtrip accross the US.
He's treated me to slices of his life here. I've gotten to see where he grew up, hear his stories. Hear his parents tell embarasing antecdotes about him as a child.
I want to show him the places around the world that bring me peace.
I want to push him into the atlantic ocean and laugh when he whinges about the cold (payback for all the amusement he gets from watching me battle the waves here).
I want to teach him how to make a snowman, proper snowballs, and snow angels.
But you know what? I'm not, for the first time in a long time, in a hurry. There's no rush for the rest of my life to happen. I finally have come to the realizaion that my life is happening. It's right now. And I don't want to wish a moment of it away.
There is still the flightly little voice in my head though, nagging at me to not get too complacent. It's hard. The safety and contentment I've found here is very seductive. And letting down my guard is a dificult thing to do. I can't help but to want, occasionally, to withdraw inside of myself, draw the walls back up around me.
I spent the last few years drifting, spending time with friends, travelling about, getting to know myself a little better. And, despite the close friends who helped me through everything, it was a lonely process. The lonliness, however, was not only necessary; it was quite deliberate. I purposefully drew into myself. It was the only way I could work through things. It was a good decision, and on some level, I enjoyed the time out. While sleeping alone sucks ass, being alone also means no one can hurt you, yanno?
Being alone, however, also becomes habit. I've had to learn how to be with someone all over again. And, more then that, I've had to learn how to be with someone in a healthy fashion. The concept of a relationship without fighting is a foriegn concept to me, really. I grew up in a house where fighting was the norm, and moved into a primary long term relationship that could certainly be labelled volatile.
A lifetime of that results in a measure of automatic defensiveness.
I think I've stopped pre-empting things, though, and have accepted that small conflicts don't need to be major blow out events. This open and honest communication thing with a partner is bloody hard, though. For years now, the boys were the ones who got to see my innermost self. It feels unsafe to expose those bits to someone I'm dating, though.
I can imagine thats bloody frustrating! My first reaction remains to curl foetal when something goes wrong. Recent plans to teach english next year in Asia, as a way to skirt around our citizenship dificulties, for instance, have gone amiss. so it's back to the drawing board. My way of dealing with such things is to go off, alone, to think things through. Cry, rant, then think, actually.
Running off to be alone everytime there is an issue is not exactly condusive o a parnership, though. so I've been forcing myself to stay put and get control of my emotions. So things blow over quicker then they did in the past.
More productive, perhaps. But alot of work. Sometimes I just want to let go.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Turn the page.
How many times must one travel down the same path and have the same result before one can see in advance what the problem is. How many times before trust waivers? How many times before one gives up on the whole damn mess of it? It is certainly what I feel like doing now. I am angry, sad, heartbroken, and drained all at the same time. I feel in one sense betrayed for the broken promise and that hurts most of all. I feel angry at myself for allowing myself to believe, to care, to get involved again and most of all to love. Geoffiepoo, in his blog
I've known him for less then a decade, and more then a lifetime. He's been at varying times and degrees, my friend, my lover, my roommate, and so much more then i could ever put into words, really.
And I've watched him, time and time again, fall in love. He's the only person I've ever met who falls as quickly, and as deeply as i do. He also get crushed from the end of love. We all do, but Geoffie finds it harder then most to brush himself off, stand up and walk away.
Why?
I know. Pat knows. I don't think Geoffie does, though.
So I'm going to tell him.
He finds endings so hard because he thinks, everytime that it was his fault. If only he could try again, maybe he would figure out what he is doing wrong and fix it. maybe this time he could make it different.
What Geoffie does not know is he's not at fault. And neither, necessarilly, is the other party.
Sometimes relationships end because they are done. Most things don't last forever. They last only as long as necessary, to teach us something- or to bring us something we needed...even if, at times, we aren't aware there is something lacking.
Geofie lives his relationships holding fast to the notion of forever. It's an easy thing to do, and a very seductive idea; the notion of having things settled, finished, and therefore, no longer requiring that lonely search for understanding.
I know this because I've done it, too. So have you, in all liklelyhood. Evolutionary speaking, we are pack animals. We survive better when we aren't alone.
But, like relationships, being alone does not last forever, either. And we don't need to be with the same person forever to avoid lonliness. Herds are not static. New members enter and leave, adjusting to the environment around them.
Zen phillosophy is based on the experiences and conclusions of Siddhartha Gautama, now known as Buddha(he who is awake), who realized, during his quest for enlightement, happiness and understanding, that everything is subject to change and that suffering and discontentment are the result of attachment to circumstances and things which, by their very nature, are impermanent entitities.
It's a very healthy outlook to have. To grasp the notion that we should live in thankfullness for what we have today. Not to yearn for things we have not yet achieved. Nor mourn for things that are no longer part of our lives. Rather, happiness comes when we accept that everything we encounter has something to bring us, to teach us. And when the time is right, it too, will finish. To make way for new things.
Regret is an emotion most of us encounter at some stage. But it is also an entirely unproductive one. We are not blessed (or cursed) with the ability to travel back in time and change things. We do have the ability, however, to shake ourselves off and take yet another step forward.
Turn the page, Geoffie. A new chapter awaits.
I've known him for less then a decade, and more then a lifetime. He's been at varying times and degrees, my friend, my lover, my roommate, and so much more then i could ever put into words, really.
And I've watched him, time and time again, fall in love. He's the only person I've ever met who falls as quickly, and as deeply as i do. He also get crushed from the end of love. We all do, but Geoffie finds it harder then most to brush himself off, stand up and walk away.
Why?
I know. Pat knows. I don't think Geoffie does, though.
So I'm going to tell him.
He finds endings so hard because he thinks, everytime that it was his fault. If only he could try again, maybe he would figure out what he is doing wrong and fix it. maybe this time he could make it different.
What Geoffie does not know is he's not at fault. And neither, necessarilly, is the other party.
Sometimes relationships end because they are done. Most things don't last forever. They last only as long as necessary, to teach us something- or to bring us something we needed...even if, at times, we aren't aware there is something lacking.
Geofie lives his relationships holding fast to the notion of forever. It's an easy thing to do, and a very seductive idea; the notion of having things settled, finished, and therefore, no longer requiring that lonely search for understanding.
I know this because I've done it, too. So have you, in all liklelyhood. Evolutionary speaking, we are pack animals. We survive better when we aren't alone.
But, like relationships, being alone does not last forever, either. And we don't need to be with the same person forever to avoid lonliness. Herds are not static. New members enter and leave, adjusting to the environment around them.
Zen phillosophy is based on the experiences and conclusions of Siddhartha Gautama, now known as Buddha(he who is awake), who realized, during his quest for enlightement, happiness and understanding, that everything is subject to change and that suffering and discontentment are the result of attachment to circumstances and things which, by their very nature, are impermanent entitities.
It's a very healthy outlook to have. To grasp the notion that we should live in thankfullness for what we have today. Not to yearn for things we have not yet achieved. Nor mourn for things that are no longer part of our lives. Rather, happiness comes when we accept that everything we encounter has something to bring us, to teach us. And when the time is right, it too, will finish. To make way for new things.
Regret is an emotion most of us encounter at some stage. But it is also an entirely unproductive one. We are not blessed (or cursed) with the ability to travel back in time and change things. We do have the ability, however, to shake ourselves off and take yet another step forward.
Turn the page, Geoffie. A new chapter awaits.
Can we have a kitty? Pweeeeaaase!
So the boi's been harping at me since i arrived, dropping hints about getting a kiten, and downright whining about same. I'd been trying to discourage him. I've left pets behind before, in my constant global wanderings, and i hate doing it. And i figured leaving him behind would be hard enough, there was no need to throw a smaller purring kittenlike creature to the mix. Something else for me to love. Something else for me to miss, yanno?
But, he knows me well. Knows I am a sucker. Knows where my buttons are. So I gave in. With one admonishment; "Ok. fine; we will get a kitty...but only if we will love it, and pet it, and call it GEORGE!". So, a week later found us carying home a box from the SPCA containing THIS impossibly tiny little furbag called George.
She's the best entertainment value for dollar I've ever seen. She was 8 weeks old, but really abnormally tiny, with a wee little voice to match. She could sit up in the palm of one of my hands. And i have girlie hands. She was roughly equal to the size of the puppy's (a 4 year old German Sheppard named Tier (no, not as in "level/layer", but as in "beast/animal in German))snout. And he, in all his large gawky clumbsy curiosity, was achingly gentle with her.
3-4 weeks on, shes still tiny, and she's taken after her adoptive dad; she is he goofiest, most graceless cat i have ever seen. She thinks she's a dog. Her miaow is still tiny, she falls off furniture and runs into walls with alarming regularity, and she is utterly adorable.
She is incapable of walking. She just can't. If she needs to be anywhere, it must be gotten too whilst doing Mach speeds, as though, if she does not get there right away, thats it! The world is gonna implode and the couch, which has always been there will just dissapear and be gone by the time she arrives.
She's fearless. Probably comes with her boxing matches with the dog, who plays by bowling her over and gently mouthing her. When she first arrived, that meant she pretty much entirely dissapeared into his gaping maw. Also comes from the fact that he is the best bodyguard ever. No one is allowed to hurt or steal HIS kitty, goddamnit. The cat next door tried. Once. So this tiny assed furball of ours does not know the word "danger", and will climb trees taller then the house (and deftly back down the tree without any trouble), and takes on the neighbourhood cats...and wins!
She's also incapable of not loving you. Instant box of rumble if anyone touches her. We've tossed her about, blown raspberries on her belly, packed her into tingy clear plastic boxes, poster tubes and whatever else amuses us. And she comes back for more everytime.
She's perfect.
But, he knows me well. Knows I am a sucker. Knows where my buttons are. So I gave in. With one admonishment; "Ok. fine; we will get a kitty...but only if we will love it, and pet it, and call it GEORGE!". So, a week later found us carying home a box from the SPCA containing THIS impossibly tiny little furbag called George.
She's the best entertainment value for dollar I've ever seen. She was 8 weeks old, but really abnormally tiny, with a wee little voice to match. She could sit up in the palm of one of my hands. And i have girlie hands. She was roughly equal to the size of the puppy's (a 4 year old German Sheppard named Tier (no, not as in "level/layer", but as in "beast/animal in German))snout. And he, in all his large gawky clumbsy curiosity, was achingly gentle with her.
3-4 weeks on, shes still tiny, and she's taken after her adoptive dad; she is he goofiest, most graceless cat i have ever seen. She thinks she's a dog. Her miaow is still tiny, she falls off furniture and runs into walls with alarming regularity, and she is utterly adorable.
She is incapable of walking. She just can't. If she needs to be anywhere, it must be gotten too whilst doing Mach speeds, as though, if she does not get there right away, thats it! The world is gonna implode and the couch, which has always been there will just dissapear and be gone by the time she arrives.
She's fearless. Probably comes with her boxing matches with the dog, who plays by bowling her over and gently mouthing her. When she first arrived, that meant she pretty much entirely dissapeared into his gaping maw. Also comes from the fact that he is the best bodyguard ever. No one is allowed to hurt or steal HIS kitty, goddamnit. The cat next door tried. Once. So this tiny assed furball of ours does not know the word "danger", and will climb trees taller then the house (and deftly back down the tree without any trouble), and takes on the neighbourhood cats...and wins!
She's also incapable of not loving you. Instant box of rumble if anyone touches her. We've tossed her about, blown raspberries on her belly, packed her into tingy clear plastic boxes, poster tubes and whatever else amuses us. And she comes back for more everytime.
She's perfect.
Art Gallery
I've deliberately put off typing this post from paper journal for ages now, because I was a tit and forgot to get the Artist's name. But I have to give in and realize that all my good intentions about returning to properly credit her have gone awry, passed over and forgotten time and again by more pressing things, like smoogling with the boi or yet more home reno stuff (such as this nifty tv room outside on a deck!), so bugger it, I'll post it without her name.
October 24, 2004.
I've a friend visiting from Norway. This is her second visit since I've arived, and also her last, as she's on her way to Tailand and then back home to Norway...so I've been crazy busy trying to show her everything.
It rained all morning, so the default plan was the museum and art gallery. Museum was dissapointing. Art gallery was not. I'd been last here only a few weeks ago, and was delighted to find so many ofthe exhibits are not static ones, and had plenty of new things to contemplate.
I had, on my last trip here, been dissapointed with the aboriginal art section. I had been hoping to be blown away by a large collection of art I'd not be able to see anywhere else in the world. But then, nothing grabbed me. It all hazed into one big similar blob.
Not so this time.
There was a piece by a female artist; digital manipulation, oil, and pastels all added to a pre-exsisting photograph. The pictures themselves she pulls from government archives decades ago. You know the sort of pictures I am talking about. Every country has them. Each cultural drowning seems to be accompanied by the pressing need to document the "transformation" from savage to civillized, contributing member of an higher society.
So a stranger comes into a community, takes hollow, mournfull pictures of the locals, either singly or as a group, all dressed "appropriately", of course, in respectable, taillored clothing.
Such photographs never depict an actual smile. Subject always look morose and uncomfortable. They sit quietly, disjointed, dejected...beaten...as the camera steals yet another piece of their soul.
The eyes always look haunted.
She sees it, too. Capitalizes in her own way on this little rape of her ancestors by reclaiming their essence, taunting the photographer by transforming the photo once more.
She's accentuated the despair of two aboriginal women, posed standing side by side in a faceless studio. Layer upon layer is added to the image. Part of her manipulation includes adding a lonely bleak background; barren harsh landscape that stretches off into the distance, echoing the lonliness. She's painted a delicate trail, like a spideweb, that tracks off over the horizon. The whole thing is then topped with a digital overlay, a misty veil like covering, like a ghost has floated accross the lens.
The end result is creepy, surreal beauty.
October 24, 2004.
I've a friend visiting from Norway. This is her second visit since I've arived, and also her last, as she's on her way to Tailand and then back home to Norway...so I've been crazy busy trying to show her everything.
It rained all morning, so the default plan was the museum and art gallery. Museum was dissapointing. Art gallery was not. I'd been last here only a few weeks ago, and was delighted to find so many ofthe exhibits are not static ones, and had plenty of new things to contemplate.
I had, on my last trip here, been dissapointed with the aboriginal art section. I had been hoping to be blown away by a large collection of art I'd not be able to see anywhere else in the world. But then, nothing grabbed me. It all hazed into one big similar blob.
Not so this time.
There was a piece by a female artist; digital manipulation, oil, and pastels all added to a pre-exsisting photograph. The pictures themselves she pulls from government archives decades ago. You know the sort of pictures I am talking about. Every country has them. Each cultural drowning seems to be accompanied by the pressing need to document the "transformation" from savage to civillized, contributing member of an higher society.
So a stranger comes into a community, takes hollow, mournfull pictures of the locals, either singly or as a group, all dressed "appropriately", of course, in respectable, taillored clothing.
Such photographs never depict an actual smile. Subject always look morose and uncomfortable. They sit quietly, disjointed, dejected...beaten...as the camera steals yet another piece of their soul.
The eyes always look haunted.
She sees it, too. Capitalizes in her own way on this little rape of her ancestors by reclaiming their essence, taunting the photographer by transforming the photo once more.
She's accentuated the despair of two aboriginal women, posed standing side by side in a faceless studio. Layer upon layer is added to the image. Part of her manipulation includes adding a lonely bleak background; barren harsh landscape that stretches off into the distance, echoing the lonliness. She's painted a delicate trail, like a spideweb, that tracks off over the horizon. The whole thing is then topped with a digital overlay, a misty veil like covering, like a ghost has floated accross the lens.
The end result is creepy, surreal beauty.
Monday, October 04, 2004
Befouling Beach Bums
http://cgi.ebay.com.au/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&rd=1&item=5328038815&ssPageName=STRK:
MEWN:IT#ebayphotohosting
I bought a new bathing suit yesterday. I own two currently. Any Northerner reading this is now thinking that is a reasonable amount of swimsuits to own. But I actually ~just~ stopped short of buying two more. And this week I am having the boi drive me to a local shop I found online for more suit shopping.
So why the wardrobe change? We appear to have fallen into the pattern of spending all the boi's days off at the beach. He's been going about the place muttering and grumbling and babbling about the "bloody canadiadian (*note* that is not a typo...That's how he says it. Try to picture Homer Simpson saying "tramampoline" and "saxamophone" and you've about got it.)ruining my perfectly functional gothboi moontan"
So yeah...i am apparently turning us into beach bums. Actually...I'm not sure why ~I~ am shouldering all the blame on this one, really. Seems to me like i can recall most beach days begin with him bouncing on the bed, whining about missing half the day and poking and prodding and pulling at me til i get up and stumble to the shower. And he seems to also be the one who packs the towels and such and bundles me into the car. Least he has the sense to make a pitstop and ply me with coffee and chocolate. That almost makes up for the loss of the bed/snuggles.
I'm managing now to keep seawater consumption down to a cup or two - as opposed to half the bloody ocean. But i'm still hopeless in the waves. On Thursday there was this adorable little teensy pixie child, about 5, and all of 3 foot nothing, with long dreadie hair, draging a runt-sized boogie board behind her who did a wide arching 360 walk all aound us, staring open mouthed at me, obviously unable to process the fact that she, at all of 30 pounds, could amble about in the water nonchalantly, while I, a grown woman, was standing knee deep in the sea, giggling like a feind, and being knocked clear off my feet with each wave...and being babysat by a boi who looked nothing short of amused.
The waves might get the better of me still...but I so own this whole sunbathing thing. Flop out on the blankie, perve on the hotties, giggle at the antics of the kids, snuggle up to the boiflesh, or close eyes and drift off. Heavenly. Amusing, also, how my arctic skin is not the stuff getting fried to a bright pink.
We have, however, made a mental note that, when returning to the beach at night for nefarious purposes, it is necessary to overcome our exhibitionist tendencies (who knew?!*shrugs), and move further away from the couple whom we might think are far enough away that they could not see anything illicit that we may or may not be doing (and may or may not have succeeded at even). We were amused after to find that the couple had totally disappeared without us noticing (it's possible we were distracted by whatever may or may not have taken place). Giggling as we made out way back to the car, we were brushing away sand (it gets EVERYWHERE), and repacking the car when the police arrived. Parking in front of us, they stopped to install a strobe light and speaker on the roof of the truck before proceeding to drive right out onto the beach...exactly where our blanket had been parked just a few short moments previously. Close call. It should also be noted that if I am arrested, my ass gets deported. Oops.
It would have been worth it though. For the mad giggles. For the adrenaline rush. For the full moon and sound of crashing waves. For the look on the boi's face when he discovered I planned the whole thing. And for the shagging that may or may not have occurred.
MEWN:IT#ebayphotohosting
I bought a new bathing suit yesterday. I own two currently. Any Northerner reading this is now thinking that is a reasonable amount of swimsuits to own. But I actually ~just~ stopped short of buying two more. And this week I am having the boi drive me to a local shop I found online for more suit shopping.
So why the wardrobe change? We appear to have fallen into the pattern of spending all the boi's days off at the beach. He's been going about the place muttering and grumbling and babbling about the "bloody canadiadian (*note* that is not a typo...That's how he says it. Try to picture Homer Simpson saying "tramampoline" and "saxamophone" and you've about got it.)ruining my perfectly functional gothboi moontan"
So yeah...i am apparently turning us into beach bums. Actually...I'm not sure why ~I~ am shouldering all the blame on this one, really. Seems to me like i can recall most beach days begin with him bouncing on the bed, whining about missing half the day and poking and prodding and pulling at me til i get up and stumble to the shower. And he seems to also be the one who packs the towels and such and bundles me into the car. Least he has the sense to make a pitstop and ply me with coffee and chocolate. That almost makes up for the loss of the bed/snuggles.
I'm managing now to keep seawater consumption down to a cup or two - as opposed to half the bloody ocean. But i'm still hopeless in the waves. On Thursday there was this adorable little teensy pixie child, about 5, and all of 3 foot nothing, with long dreadie hair, draging a runt-sized boogie board behind her who did a wide arching 360 walk all aound us, staring open mouthed at me, obviously unable to process the fact that she, at all of 30 pounds, could amble about in the water nonchalantly, while I, a grown woman, was standing knee deep in the sea, giggling like a feind, and being knocked clear off my feet with each wave...and being babysat by a boi who looked nothing short of amused.
The waves might get the better of me still...but I so own this whole sunbathing thing. Flop out on the blankie, perve on the hotties, giggle at the antics of the kids, snuggle up to the boiflesh, or close eyes and drift off. Heavenly. Amusing, also, how my arctic skin is not the stuff getting fried to a bright pink.
We have, however, made a mental note that, when returning to the beach at night for nefarious purposes, it is necessary to overcome our exhibitionist tendencies (who knew?!*shrugs), and move further away from the couple whom we might think are far enough away that they could not see anything illicit that we may or may not be doing (and may or may not have succeeded at even). We were amused after to find that the couple had totally disappeared without us noticing (it's possible we were distracted by whatever may or may not have taken place). Giggling as we made out way back to the car, we were brushing away sand (it gets EVERYWHERE), and repacking the car when the police arrived. Parking in front of us, they stopped to install a strobe light and speaker on the roof of the truck before proceeding to drive right out onto the beach...exactly where our blanket had been parked just a few short moments previously. Close call. It should also be noted that if I am arrested, my ass gets deported. Oops.
It would have been worth it though. For the mad giggles. For the adrenaline rush. For the full moon and sound of crashing waves. For the look on the boi's face when he discovered I planned the whole thing. And for the shagging that may or may not have occurred.
Sunday, September 26, 2004
Water, Water everywhere.
I turned 31 last week. Got a new hole punched in my nipple (oooh! Shiney boobie!), ate a steak and resisted the rabbit food alltogether, and laughed probably more then is healthy.
Generally I forget my birthday and often my age. It is one of the few traits i share with my father. Generally, we are reminded when someone else calls to wish us a good day. Once I am reminded, I generally spend the day dissecting, contemplating, analysing.
I weigh my actions, my thoughts, my current situation on some great chimerical scale that exsists only in my head. Calculating and assesing my own self worth as though i were Themis herself.
This year I found a pleasent unfamiliarity to the proceedings. There still exsists the familiar second guessing; "You probably could have handeled that better", "You should be finanically established, with clear cut immediate goals" "At your age, you should have this and this andthis..."
But in addition to the background noise of "what-if's", there was something new. A sense of accomplishment. Self satisfaction. Wish I knew why...but I guess it really does not matter. I certainly did not achieve anything with a tangible, material outcome. There is no measure of proof that will corraborate my sense of conquest.
But for the first time in mnay years, i feel as though i have grown as a person.
That last is actually a very heavy sentence.
I was also, last week, reminded of the growth of others.
The boi treated me to a slice of his life. Many small slices, really. Each precious little glimpse snapping into place like pieces in a jigsaw.
It was a simple thing, really. On the surface anyhow. He drove me about the city, pointing out the various houses he lives in as a small child. Buildings. Just buildings, of course...for me, faceless fronts of wood and stone with no more personality then any other on the street.
It was the in between moments that moved me. I remained silent for most of the tour (fuck you, i can too be quiet). But he did not. Lost in though for a while, he'd turn down the stereo volume periodicaly to inteject a story. Each one a small memory, many of which, i suspect he had not dredged to the surface in quite some time. All of which touched me.
I'm an open book. I ramble on and on, and rarely old hings in reserves. I lack the art of secrecy. But he is, for al his warmth and cuddlyness, a reserved person. It took me many mont of frustration to accept the fact that there was nothing i could do to force him to up; that he would reveal only what he wanted as time goes on.
But I think the walls were down that night. Dismantled, or forgotten. It matters not which. The end result is i was fed tiny litle glimpses, like broken segments on a reel of film...each a little gift of it's own.
And here's the bestest bit. Ocean. Beach and a horizon of water that made me cry wih the sheer beauty. And not only did he not laugh at me tears, but he knew to just hold me till the perfection of it all settle in my head, and then? He broght be back again the next day. And again a few days later. AND he fed me chocolae and coffee. Bliss.
He gets extra credit for having a good sense of humour about my utter inability to deal with ocean waves. They look innoculous from the beach. Disarmingly conquorable, wat with all the kids splashing abut happily.
I swallowed enough water in the first 5 minutes that my hair folicles felt like they were bleeding seawater. Unable to stand upright, i kept getting dragged over by the undertow and knocked completely off my feet by each wave. And this was apparently a fairly calm day. I laughed so much my sides were hurting, and strangers were looking at us withsome concern. I'm sure the boi was occasionally getting looks of admiration and sympathy, for having the strenth and courage to take such a SpEcIaEl friend to the beach for the day. People kept looking for my crash helmet.
The constant giggling meant my mouth was always open when the waves would hit, forcing massess of seawater down my throat and robbing me of breath so that i was sputtering and gasping in between waves...when really i should have been concentrating on the backtow and judging the arrival of the next wave so i could draw a breath and prepare for it. No such luck. Every single one dissolved me into a ball of estatic laughter. It was incredibly absurd fun.
Eventually, he took sympahy and stood between me and the waves, grabbing my wrist each time i was bowled over so I would not wash up meters downstream. Course, by that time my good ear was so full of water that I had absolutely no sense of balance anyhow, making it doubly difficult to get my bearings between waves.
I don't know how kids manage it. I kept falling over, and there were 5 year olds walking around me, cheerfully weathering each assult like it was nothing.
Unspeakable fun.
Generally I forget my birthday and often my age. It is one of the few traits i share with my father. Generally, we are reminded when someone else calls to wish us a good day. Once I am reminded, I generally spend the day dissecting, contemplating, analysing.
I weigh my actions, my thoughts, my current situation on some great chimerical scale that exsists only in my head. Calculating and assesing my own self worth as though i were Themis herself.
This year I found a pleasent unfamiliarity to the proceedings. There still exsists the familiar second guessing; "You probably could have handeled that better", "You should be finanically established, with clear cut immediate goals" "At your age, you should have this and this andthis..."
But in addition to the background noise of "what-if's", there was something new. A sense of accomplishment. Self satisfaction. Wish I knew why...but I guess it really does not matter. I certainly did not achieve anything with a tangible, material outcome. There is no measure of proof that will corraborate my sense of conquest.
But for the first time in mnay years, i feel as though i have grown as a person.
That last is actually a very heavy sentence.
I was also, last week, reminded of the growth of others.
The boi treated me to a slice of his life. Many small slices, really. Each precious little glimpse snapping into place like pieces in a jigsaw.
It was a simple thing, really. On the surface anyhow. He drove me about the city, pointing out the various houses he lives in as a small child. Buildings. Just buildings, of course...for me, faceless fronts of wood and stone with no more personality then any other on the street.
It was the in between moments that moved me. I remained silent for most of the tour (fuck you, i can too be quiet). But he did not. Lost in though for a while, he'd turn down the stereo volume periodicaly to inteject a story. Each one a small memory, many of which, i suspect he had not dredged to the surface in quite some time. All of which touched me.
I'm an open book. I ramble on and on, and rarely old hings in reserves. I lack the art of secrecy. But he is, for al his warmth and cuddlyness, a reserved person. It took me many mont of frustration to accept the fact that there was nothing i could do to force him to up; that he would reveal only what he wanted as time goes on.
But I think the walls were down that night. Dismantled, or forgotten. It matters not which. The end result is i was fed tiny litle glimpses, like broken segments on a reel of film...each a little gift of it's own.
And here's the bestest bit. Ocean. Beach and a horizon of water that made me cry wih the sheer beauty. And not only did he not laugh at me tears, but he knew to just hold me till the perfection of it all settle in my head, and then? He broght be back again the next day. And again a few days later. AND he fed me chocolae and coffee. Bliss.
He gets extra credit for having a good sense of humour about my utter inability to deal with ocean waves. They look innoculous from the beach. Disarmingly conquorable, wat with all the kids splashing abut happily.
I swallowed enough water in the first 5 minutes that my hair folicles felt like they were bleeding seawater. Unable to stand upright, i kept getting dragged over by the undertow and knocked completely off my feet by each wave. And this was apparently a fairly calm day. I laughed so much my sides were hurting, and strangers were looking at us withsome concern. I'm sure the boi was occasionally getting looks of admiration and sympathy, for having the strenth and courage to take such a SpEcIaEl friend to the beach for the day. People kept looking for my crash helmet.
The constant giggling meant my mouth was always open when the waves would hit, forcing massess of seawater down my throat and robbing me of breath so that i was sputtering and gasping in between waves...when really i should have been concentrating on the backtow and judging the arrival of the next wave so i could draw a breath and prepare for it. No such luck. Every single one dissolved me into a ball of estatic laughter. It was incredibly absurd fun.
Eventually, he took sympahy and stood between me and the waves, grabbing my wrist each time i was bowled over so I would not wash up meters downstream. Course, by that time my good ear was so full of water that I had absolutely no sense of balance anyhow, making it doubly difficult to get my bearings between waves.
I don't know how kids manage it. I kept falling over, and there were 5 year olds walking around me, cheerfully weathering each assult like it was nothing.
Unspeakable fun.
And innocence shall make...
There are many doors through which we may leave the Garden. Once we’ve left, there is no door through which we can ever return.
(From the Film La Vallée, 1972.)
Shakespeare wrote alot about innocence.Seeing how often his works are filled with violence and tragedy, I suppose it should not be a great surprise he was obsessed with the notion of purity of spirit.
Just when I think I can't be thrown off by a simple comment, can't be startled by how I am seen by others, fate steps in a gives me a big ol' slap round the head for being as egotistical as to think myself above surprise.
The boi apparently is of the opinion that I am an innocent. Not that I occasionally display a moment of innocence, but that i am on some deeper-set level, so profoundly innocent as to be unable to see or accept for myself how integrained this innocence is to who I am.
I don't understand how this can be. How can someone so close to me, someone who knows me so intensely, someone who is aware of all my backgorund, proclaim me an innocent? I long ago stepped through that door, nailing it shut behind me, freeing from the garden. And it from me.
Worrysome that this non existant innocence is a large part of why he loves me. Someday the fool will figure out that what he sees just is not there.
Chaste; Free of sin. . I have a hard time acepting that these things apply to me as a person. I've endured things so beyond the scope of most sane people that it somehow got bottled and remains in my memory, but pushed aside, partitioned off...there, but as though i observed it rather then experienced it. And I'm not without guilt. I've made mistakes. Some fairly major mistakes in the very recent past still have me coming to terms with an immense sense of blame.
"Innocence can be redefined and called stupidity. Honesty can be called gullibility. Candor becomes lack of common sense. Interest in your work can be called cowardice. Generosity can be called soft-headedness, and observe : the former is disturbing,"
(Abraham Maslow, philosopher and psychologist, 1908-1970.)
On another level, I find it amusing that I can't get my head around it all. Cause I am certain if he were to see how I think of him, he would be similarly floored. And innocence would once more work it's way into the conversation.
Perhaps it is an inescapable aspect of love; we are all driven to see loved ones as having a childlike quality of pureness, of vulnerability. Maybe we are all arrogant enough as to cast ourselvs in the role of protector, believing ourselvs capable not only of nurturing our own essence, but self aggrandize and imagine others as being so without ability that they need us to step in and cultivate their personal growth as well.
Occasional moments of naivete, I am certainly victim to such lapses in judgement. Time and time again I repeat mistakes of my past, certin that this time I have a better solution, the magical key that will alter the outcome; the ability to fix everything.
But i don't think that makes me innocent. Just stubborn.
Give me credit give me trust, give me love in small amounts.
Give me guilt and give me shame, give me life and don't explain.
Give me sex, responsibility and trade my hope for doubt.
Give me more, make me your whore,
and give me, give me, give me pain.
Tell me why you put me through this,
Tell me what's a girl to do,
Tell me where the action is.
Wet my taste and let me down.
Tell me what the future holds,
Tell me what's left of this soul,
Hold me down and fuck me over,
Stain this precious wedding gown
Innocence Lost
(From Innocence Lost, By Lust on the album Jezabel Thirteen Three)
(From the Film La Vallée, 1972.)
Shakespeare wrote alot about innocence.Seeing how often his works are filled with violence and tragedy, I suppose it should not be a great surprise he was obsessed with the notion of purity of spirit.
Just when I think I can't be thrown off by a simple comment, can't be startled by how I am seen by others, fate steps in a gives me a big ol' slap round the head for being as egotistical as to think myself above surprise.
The boi apparently is of the opinion that I am an innocent. Not that I occasionally display a moment of innocence, but that i am on some deeper-set level, so profoundly innocent as to be unable to see or accept for myself how integrained this innocence is to who I am.
I don't understand how this can be. How can someone so close to me, someone who knows me so intensely, someone who is aware of all my backgorund, proclaim me an innocent? I long ago stepped through that door, nailing it shut behind me, freeing from the garden. And it from me.
Worrysome that this non existant innocence is a large part of why he loves me. Someday the fool will figure out that what he sees just is not there.
Chaste; Free of sin. . I have a hard time acepting that these things apply to me as a person. I've endured things so beyond the scope of most sane people that it somehow got bottled and remains in my memory, but pushed aside, partitioned off...there, but as though i observed it rather then experienced it. And I'm not without guilt. I've made mistakes. Some fairly major mistakes in the very recent past still have me coming to terms with an immense sense of blame.
"Innocence can be redefined and called stupidity. Honesty can be called gullibility. Candor becomes lack of common sense. Interest in your work can be called cowardice. Generosity can be called soft-headedness, and observe : the former is disturbing,"
(Abraham Maslow, philosopher and psychologist, 1908-1970.)
On another level, I find it amusing that I can't get my head around it all. Cause I am certain if he were to see how I think of him, he would be similarly floored. And innocence would once more work it's way into the conversation.
Perhaps it is an inescapable aspect of love; we are all driven to see loved ones as having a childlike quality of pureness, of vulnerability. Maybe we are all arrogant enough as to cast ourselvs in the role of protector, believing ourselvs capable not only of nurturing our own essence, but self aggrandize and imagine others as being so without ability that they need us to step in and cultivate their personal growth as well.
Occasional moments of naivete, I am certainly victim to such lapses in judgement. Time and time again I repeat mistakes of my past, certin that this time I have a better solution, the magical key that will alter the outcome; the ability to fix everything.
But i don't think that makes me innocent. Just stubborn.
Give me credit give me trust, give me love in small amounts.
Give me guilt and give me shame, give me life and don't explain.
Give me sex, responsibility and trade my hope for doubt.
Give me more, make me your whore,
and give me, give me, give me pain.
Tell me why you put me through this,
Tell me what's a girl to do,
Tell me where the action is.
Wet my taste and let me down.
Tell me what the future holds,
Tell me what's left of this soul,
Hold me down and fuck me over,
Stain this precious wedding gown
Innocence Lost
(From Innocence Lost, By Lust on the album Jezabel Thirteen Three)
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