are you sure

by

are you sure i am that special
or that talented
or that emotionally intelligent
or that good
for that matter
hmm

but you said i am an explorer
that much is true i guess
i don’t really know because i’ve never
quite thought of myself like that before
yet
(here i must tell you a secret)
i felt a little like crying when you said all these things
so perhaps
just perhaps
there is some truth in your words

i’m here to do what i do
here to give meaning to life and experience
the deviant i seem to be
… oh that doesn’t matter
does it

oh well
time to get going

//micropoetry

by

orange to grey, the rain
falls from
night to day, the earth
(or my mind?)
opens, sighs.

-

/atonal letters marching
across your palm
/do i assign meaning where
there is none
/silence misconstrued
/words obtuse, profuse
/confuse, accuse, refuse.

may day

by

Some time ago (or a long time ago) I wrote a post about how I have a saving-people thing. And how there was someone who seemed like he needs saving. Well I’ve finally taken some first steps to put that into motion… I don’t really like what I’m hearing so far, but I hope things get somewhere.

A religious recluse of sorts. Someone reborn in faith. Someone who refuses to see me or talk to me. Faith. Do they assume it’s better for me if they stayed away, or should I be staying away because they have a new life now? What is this. I take things in my stride. If you believe in God’s Plan and He puts me in your path shouldn’t you at least grudgingly acknowledge that instead of turning tail? Yes? No?

I am a walking study of the long-lasting and screwed up effects of divorce on offspring. And on the ex-spouses/parents themselves.

Hey, come on, these ex-spouses also happen to be parents ok.

Anger. Hate. Resentment. Suspicion. Escapism.
I can solve none of your issues, and I’m not about to try. Solve it yourselves, or not. I just want to let you know, somehow, that I’m over it, I’m here, I’m moving forward whether you’re with me or not. I accept all your good and all your flaws and I forgive you the past 24 years of my life. I’ve made peace with myself. I hope to make peace (or at least rebuild civility) with you, too.

The only progress made in this silence is the passage of time.
Ah well.

Getting my shit together.

by

Spotify is wonderful. Am having so much fun discovering new music. Especially hipster music. Indie music. Lovely stuff.

I remember my piano teacher getting excited when I was 10. But mother said no, music is only a hobby. And that was that. Sweet bye and bye.

Recently I have been forced to admit (to myself) that I’m somewhat okay at teaching. Not disastrous.

So it would seem that we’ve come full circle. Not a moment too early. Good… no point running away from it anymore. From here onwards… lots of work to do.

Am currently having a nodame experience. Er not so good. I’m even making the assumptions she made. Need to level up, seriously.

I’m sure you understand why useless negative thoughts of doom and darkness are nothing but pointless obstacles of progress.

Execute execute execute!

Multipotentiality relapse. Unstable isotope I am.

Purgatory

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Purge.

Warning: coarse language

Autopsychoanalysis.

I am eating chilli cheese fries at Carl’s Jr. because I almost cried on the train just now because I overreacted to a joke because it reminded me of something I should not be thinking about right now because I need lots of positivity for stuff I need to do. Gotta purge these thoughts. And here they are:

One of the reasons why I moved out from home is that my mother forgot my name. Some ten or fifteen years ago, perhaps because I wasn’t a nice and lovable and perfect daughter, she forgot my name, and decided instead to refer to me by something much more generic and vulgar: Ji. CB. Cunt. The big C-word, like in Ian McEwan’s Atonement. Terms I’ve come to dislike, no, hate, a lot.

It’s just hit me that the years I spent trying to gain my mother’s acceptance stemmed from more than just a (mistaken?) desire for parental love and validation; I had to somehow prove that I was more than a bit of the female reproductive system, that I was a person. But because nothing I did was ever right or acceptable or good enough for mother I eventually began to wonder whether I had enough worth in me to be a person… What if she was right (as mothers always are) and I was nothing more than that crude moniker?

That said, I’ve learnt many things in the past couple of years… The most important being that validation comes from the self. And no one can take that away. I stopped trying to prove anything to anyone.

Then stupid brain decided to dredge this up today. And I feel quite bad about overreacting. Bah.

Writing this wasn’t easy. I don’t even like to think about it. Anyway it’s time to teach so ciao.

This weekend.

by

Just writing things down so I won’t forget…

FRIDAY
HC alumni reh

SATURDAY
BP lunch meeting
Jam sesh
Switch (Jarvis/GroundZero)

SUNDAY
Checked out FAMA keyboard class
PW reh

-

Bravo for the unexpected teachers in life…
It’s been a humbling weekend.

-

Also…
dear Lyrids I love you and I will miss you but sleep and the work week beckons it’s not fair…

Existentialisme

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Whenever I mention “existential crisis”, many friends will ask me if I’m wondering what my purpose is, or what the meaning of life is. This is not wrong, because

In existentialism, the individual’s starting point is characterised by what has been called “the existential attitude”, or a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless or absurd world.

I prefer Søren Kierkegaard’s definition, however. Because it seems like a more positive way of treating the subject matter. He proposed that “each individual is solely responsible for giving meaning to life and living it passionately and sincerely.”

Indeed, my existential crises of late increasingly involve revising my goals and devising new/more ways/means to self-actualisation. I’m hardly a victim of the fates; meaning is derived from perspective…

The latest bout of rumination involves the Future, and possible changes in career and lifestyle. And how to make More Time. Major headache, but good problems to have. The answers are probably all already sitting at the back of my mind, waiting for the right time to surface. In fact, things are beginning to fall in place… I wonder how it’ll all turn out.

Love Song – Ted Hughes

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He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment’s brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was

Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin’s attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon’s gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall

Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop

In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage

In the morning they wore each other’s face

by

(words without song)

//eddy
caught a paper boat
sailed the solar wave
but isn’t it strange
isn’t it strange

watched a blank screen
dim from black to darker
oh isn’t it strange
isn’t it strange

dropped a conversation
on its own wrong end
yet isn’t it strange
isn’t it strange

strange
how it’s all turned out
today

inspire me,

by

inspire me, outline
this taciturn night with heavily
worded caresses, distort silence
with overdriven cadences
(sleepers awake while lovers sleep)
or perhaps leave
tired yearning
incongruent