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| While I waited for my vision to go back to normal, and for my head to stop floating away, some words popped into my thoughts:
"I am a faulty product. Society has no need for me."
How laughable. Society is only filled with faulty products who are convinced that they could be otherwise, hence buying into all the shams, scams and honey baked hams of the big, nasty Industry. It's also why we/they scuttle about in obedience to thwack-thwack-thwacking of big, ol' Gov. The less faulty products are the ninjas, the assassins, the secret agents, the protagonists, the anti-heroes, Rorschach, Comedian, Deadpool... Yeah, most of them have some deadly disease, dark past, or plain lack of conventional reason. But they've managed to make up for it, and more, making them far less faulty then the rest of us/them conformists.
Society has no need for me? Bah. Society is me. I am no one. I am society. The society is many. I/One/You/We/They may scoff at it, spit at it, say we reject it, but at the end of the day we're just laughing at the bottle we're stuck in. Pretty sad bunch of sods, I say. And its not so much as a container, as a component, one of the fluids that float about in our grimy, slimy, sublimy essence. Huzzah.
It makes sense to me.
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| I used to type long rants, or babbles, and save them in little folders that were tucked in folders in folders in folders in folders so that one could never find them unless one knew exactly what to look for. In spite of this effort of secrecy, I still wrote with the mindset that someone, probably the people dear to me and hence the people I wrote about the most, would find them one day. So, I never wrote recklessly. I always censored myself. I always took great care to speak with clarity, rather than hurtfulness. I always was careful to craft out a certain tone that sounded too much like me to be completely accurate to how I felt.
And here I am, doing the same thing here. I suppose I should have put those sentences in the present tense, because that is still how I write. I can never write something down without being first comfortable with the idea of anyone knowing it. Whatever I write, I am quite ready to explain if questioned. I don't use real names. I avoid posting full-face images.
Pretty safe, but not very honest. Right?
Well... yes, and no. I think myself as a pretty honest person, and if I hide something it's either because it's not mine, or I'm not yet aware of it. It's not that I find myself faultness, pretty darn far from that. But I find people's reactions to my flaws/quirks amusing, infuriating, touching, humbling, annoying... basically interesting. So I don't mind putting bits of my brain's tracks out there for view, once I've resolved it with myself well enough to be aware of it, and to put it down in words. And I want to keep some of my friends up-to-date, while giving them the option to skip whole chunks of my life if they aren't interested. It's a luxury that one doesn't quite have when having conversations face-to-face.
Yipee. Me in a post, about my blog, about me.
Thus... my not posting what I feel right now because of them, and what I think of them, is because what's in my head regarding them is loud, screaming, and a little vulgar. It takes longer for my head to settle down when it's them I'm upset about, and the feeling of resignation that comes with drowsiness and a cold doesn't help.
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| Why can't people take a little time to not leap up in moral outrage, and to just listen? What if a few people could approach these "interview" or "debates" with open ears and minds? Perhaps the term 'religious' would be less associated with loud, infuriating bigotry.
Alright, to be fair, religion is a rather personal thing. Religion is what builds up most of faith, and faith is what forms most of the foundation for other beliefs. So to see one's religion attacked is pretty similar to seeing someone walking up to one of your support pillars with a mighty big chain-saw. The thing is, when someone points out something about religion, they are not pointing out something about you. Indirectly, yes, if someone made a statement about the shop you're patronizing, it reflects onto you. But it's still, ultimately not about you. So...why defend religion in such a personal manner?
Secondly, it's a religion. Not a newborn kid. Critics might as well throw pebbles at a mountain. Not that religion is flawless, not that their argument is without a measure of truth. But it's been around, and it is likely to stay around. So admitting that they (critics) have a point, considering the idea that they might be right does not jeopardize an ancient system. It's having a more balanced argument, it's voicing your views at a level that will be respected, heard, and maybe even touch a few of the hearts out there that Christians are so bent on claiming.
And yes, even with science and its leaps, religion isn't about to shove off. Don't stone me... But religion's like a weed. A few people form beliefs, find others with similar beliefs, and then construct systems to maintain and propagate these beliefs. Poof. Religion.
No it ain't so simple. But I'm no theologian, or what I'd call an extremely religious person. I'm just a girl who is intolerant of intolerance, aware of the irony, but nonetheless wishes to voice out her opinions on a platform that might, just might nab the attention of some people who are stomping about, elephant style, and crushing fragile possibilities with their self-righteous boots.
I know this doesn't all make sense.
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| I get all this artist stuff right? I mean, I've learnt it all before. When I read it, my head's going, "Yup, yup you know this girl, no problemo. You don't have to read all that. Move on, move on." So I do. I did. At around 5ish I'd covered my whole syllabus, and for a bit I felt pretty good about myself. Then I threw a name at me and that oh-so-confident voice from earlier on just shut up, revealing a rather quiet, vacant spot where a comfortable blob of information should have been.
Hmm. Not so good. Cue procrastination.
I was in my mom's room earlier, plonking myself and my guitar very comfortably on her bed, being an absolute vegetable as I stared in the tv's direction.
My mom tolerated my noise for a while, before gently commenting on the fact that I was rather relaxed for a student who has a paper on Wednesday. I told her I was done studying, and was completely prepared, ready as anything. The voice in my head snorted. I kicked it aside. My face must have given away some evidence of these mental proceedings, because pretty soon Momma was a little less gentle (but no less loving) as she ejected me from that comfy domain, sending me to exercise my brain on something more productive than giving a cynical commentary on a beauty pageant for married women.
So here I am again, hopping between doing work, and attempting to make a coherent, somewhat amusing post. ...Seeing as how I'm failing at the latter, I'd be better off going back to desperately scrambling through my art syllabus.
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ps Pancakes. | | |
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