I love a silly boy
Life,
With his mind you toy ~
This - nobody enjoys.
Yes, you may be coy
Just,
Be gentle with my boy.

Nightly fears

The situation is quite ridiculous, really, having come to the point where I lie in bed at 5am with the bedside light on, not daring to alternately close or open my eyes depending on which urban legend or fictional character my mind is entertaining.
Although I find comfort in the fact that I'm most certainly not alone with this problem, it just sort of underlines the incompetence of human nature.

I have relieved myself of most obligatory duties until the 9th of February, (the day on which I start massage courses, so I take it I'll have to be back on track), so that I may concentrate on my writing, my project, the better or worse parts of myself - whatever needs attention.
Hoping this will work as a boost of morale, not only because of the possible progress at the end of this "session", but also because I made a promise to myself. Whether that was a good or bad idea will be revealed as things take their course.

I have asked Rob and Gus to write rants about something, their reading of which I will later be able to film and montage into something deliberately acceptable. I shall contribute with my own rants/stories/fuck knows to this to add to the existing interviews, as well as asking more people to contribute. Maybe the boundaries of the project will finally take shape.

I hope the sob-fests will blow over soon. It would be a shame to accept failure as a part of me.
I do find it increasingly characteristic of myself to run my arguments in circles, coming to no comfortable conclusion. Oh, am I ever confused.

On a lighter note - the previously mentioned book, "The Hippopotamus" by Stephen Fry, I have found fabulously vulgar at first, and then things took a rather intricate path, making it into a curiously complicated combination. I was surprised at how much I found in common with the protagonist. Granted, only a few select trains of thought and perceptions of value, but it was amusing nonetheless.

Definition of comfort

As I read Stephen Fry's "The Hippopotamus", I continuosly ponder about how and why would what be considered an adequate inspiration, what quality of creativity that would unleash and how in the hell it should be evaluated. Again and again I find myself trying to see my nonexistent work through the eyes of people I have never met, people I don't understand, yet respect immensely. All of this having to do with the all-consuming phrase amour propre, the definition of which I Googled about an hour ago. Again and again these brilliant people take pleasure in crushing so many little buds through their characters, and yet they provide much needed nourishment for the actual buds/withered blooms that suck all this brilliance in. Everything I do is being done too late, so procrastination is both justified and the worst thing I could possibly do. The horrifying phenomenon of pleasing others is what drives this world through all of it's pathetic, money-raking circles, and also what comes as a kick-in-the-gut realisation as a worthy goal. Pleasing yourself, on the other hand, is an unforgiving act of egoism, and a vital element in aspiring to do something different, and then later - and element of seemingly endless and yet short-lived repetition.

[Looking at things too widely often does destroy the matter at hand, but trying to understand everything is by no means a sin. It provides a lot of misunderstanding, too.]

I cannot formulate my thoughts if I suspect I'm being watched of evaluated, even if not at the present moment - my torrents of pent-up words only find life by way of writing. I have a purpose, I know there are shiny little bits of good truths I have stumbled upon, but the only way to display them is to go through a big watering-down process, as well as intricate concentrating, and again, discipline, a concept to be feared and revered. A skill of combining "talents" must be put to use as soon as it is found or developed half-way, and well as a stressful rehearsal before unveiling it to the general public.

I love to learn, but I can only build a shell around me that protects me from less than half of the problems that I encounter. It's all too easy to convince myself of the darkest, lurking fears and failures. What follows is either a bumbling, emotional mess, or a numbness, followed by an attempt to deal with life as it is. I need help, but to mold myself into receiving what is offered to me takes just as much effort as defining what I need help with in the first place. Impossible choices and implications of priorities and sure to follow.

It's so easy to complain. To create something beautiful you must often douse it with a good amount of self-loathing, since that is apparently what people get off on these days.
And since everyone complains, you almost never get a chance to say something new, because it's simply an on-going topic that stabs you forever.
And even when you've finally done it, when you've created something you can pride yourself and others with, when you've succeeded in doing something "impressive", does it not cross your mind to question the point of the whole fucking thing? Is it actually beneficial to something worth making a fuss about? Should it be? If it isn't, is it a proud display of independent talent, or is it a show of mule-headedness?
Has your goal really been the creation all along, or has it turned into just fucking doing something, for fucks sake?

Chew on this, my pretties.

that was horrible.

Kat -

I really must thank you sincerely for lending me those books. Thank you in one of those ways you try to thank someone when you know that you couldn't possibly formulate it adequately. Again and again I finish one of the shorts thinking this one must have been the best I've ever read. And most of them are so goddamn inspiring. (This time it was "Stories" by Michael Moorcock within the "Stories") Writers tending to write about writing helps a lot, since one is rarely as thorough as when discussing one's own difficulties. I almost feel I've got an unfair advantage, but then I laugh at the idea.

Anyhow. Thank you.

in our very own 21st century

I had this rather intricate train of thought in the car ride on my way to Kauguri. About how we are all connected and something else that sounds very much like the usual enlightenment bullshit. But it struck me as very true, there was something to hold on to there. Now, of course, I can remember very little of it, but part of it was reflecting on this rather cruel article by David Wong: http://www.cracked.com/blog/6-harsh-truths-that-will-make-you-better-person/
At first it seems like he's showing us the very depressive corner of the whole picture, but then, it's just another one of those unfortunate truths that we all wish to ignore. At the end he practically turns it around and makes it the right kind of motivational.
Now, that deep thought of mine feeding of his train of thought, only it had a much more sentimental quality to it, I might have touched on subjects like telepathy and a combined conscience, so, Wong's article, but in warm and fuzzy light.
I'll ponder on this a bit more, may or may not return excited and with absurd ideas.

give me a motto

"Develop the mind of equilibrium. You will always be getting praise and blame, but do not let either affect the poise of the mind: follow the calmness, the absence of pride." - The Buddha

My days have become ones of reminding myself of what I knew through the words of wiser people.

*
Also - finally - I have put out the beginning of the project for the world to see.

ho hum

(Simon Amstell - Do Nothing (Napisy PL))

two thousand freaking thirteen

(Regina Spektor - "The Party")

This was my New Year song. On the trolley.

Kristiāne F.

There seems to be information thrown at you from everywhere about certain subjects in certain points of your life. At this time in mine, it's drugs. Heroin, mostly.
I'm reading "Mēs, Zoo Stacijas Bērni", which I had always thought was a children's adventure book until I picked it up at Lauriņa's New Year's gathering about 10 days ago. Rudy called me during my stay there and told me about a couple horrible educational videos he saw about drugs and their effects, dangers. And I just saw "Trainspotting" with Arvis.
Those kind of things. I don't particularly mind. Both the book and the movie are good. It's just another phenomenon that seems to occur and reoccur.

After cleaning and sorting again today, meeting Pandit briefly after 4 days of missing, and attending the first half of the first business choir rehearsal of the year, I feel good. I don't feel frantic do DO or on the wrong path anymore. Things will take their path, and this path will lead to where I need it to. It's all okay at the moment. I just hope it will be a long while before this stability goes away again.
(The change seemed to happen when I made a conscious choice to sit in this not that seat in the tram, but that's just another one of my mini-theories.)
Also, my period will fucking END, hopefully within the next 24 hours, and I will be spared blood and pain until next month. *inexplicably semi-content sigh*

Also, Monica. I've introduced her to Gus, but I've never really known what she's like, other than some vague concept of her being my sort of superior mentor. Someone I'd like to become. But, the stupidly happy truth is, I keep becoming her. Even though I have been pining for something as impressive as an alternate personality, it doesn't seem necessary to make her more real than she is.

Also, the title of the previous post was referring to me finally cutting my hair short.
Everyone seems to like it, which is a pleasant surprise. Even if I do look younger.