sympathique; pathétique. I have a notion there's a reason the two sound the same. Or perhaps it's just that i find a way, somehow, somehow, always, but always, to twist and turn every flaw in my humanity to the utmost degree, in the most awful way, to incur the worst torture there is. Perhaps it's simply that I, as I suspect, take some cruel and incredible (incroyable) pleasure out of torturing myself.
Sympathique. Pathétique. Somewhere along the way, these two come along to describe my day.
And yet, as the days progress, I feel that this is a slow healing. Somehow, someway, this turning and turning of emotion hardens the soul to understand that doing so is only negative, that bringing such ideas and notions to the table of the mind of the head of the girl is nothing more than petty jealousy and pure ridiculosity. Words, words, words. I never make any whim of a sense when I'm on here, now do I? Yet the keys fall away from my fingers ceaselessly, clack-clack-clacking my nautical not-so-nautical thoughts into e-ternity.
Pause. Sympathique, sympathy, pathy, pathos. Ethos. Emotions. Thoughts. Intermission:
When
covering the notion of 'space' in anthropology, we spoke briefly about
cyberspace. A simple concept, it would seem, and yet it amazed me.
For we have found, through the wonder that is technology (if you wish
to call it that... some do not), the first space visible to man that is
truly infinite. Do you hear me? Infinite. Infinity. Forever.
Through websites and URLs, Wikipedia, Google, Myspace, Livejournal,
E-bay, Craigslist, Prawnography.net, ExplodingDog, Engrish, Pandora,
Pitchfork, The Perry Bible Fellowship, EmotionEric, Etc, etc, etc, so
on and so forth into oblivion, we have created a space that knows no
bounds beyond simple storage constrictions, and even those can be toyed
around with. Perhaps I'm expouding needlessly on something that seems
obvious or does not astound you nearly as much as it does me, but the
fact that this space is so infinite, infinite beyond imagination or
reason, forever, stretching further than any human mind can possibly
comprehend if given the proper resources... well. I think that's
something that deserves to be mentioned. Perhaps.
:noissimretnI .sthguohT .snoitomE .sohtE .sohtap ,yhtap ,yhtapmys ,euqihtapmyS .esuaP. Rewind. Back to square one.
Square one, eno erauqS, being tonight, thginot, and the words and tasks that lay ahead of me that I, as have done and will do, forever and ever into infinity, put of with such vicious concentration that I almost feel I should win an award for the effort. An award for laziness, for lack of focus, for focus (sucof) on all the wrong things (sgniht gnorw) at all the right times. Alas, alas, a lass, at last.
The mind is such a complex enigma. Layers and layers of mystery. Mine tonight reminds me of the Poisonwood Bible, if any of you have read that (any of you? Who am I even referring to? The hordes of people who read this journal? Oh, right. Those.); more specifically, of Ada, the limp sister, and her constant twisting of the English language, turning words around, flipping sentences to create beautiful palindromes and rhymes. Eros: eyesore -- that was always one of my favorites.
Words, palindromes, semordnilap, rhymes, thoughts, ethos, pathos, thoughts, emotions. Always, and but always, we return back to this rhyme and reason and ridiculous redundancy. Which, of course, only raises the question: if it is redundant, then what is it that was dundant to begin with?
Oh, ho ho. Our clever muscles stretch in the wee hours of the night.
With all that out and so much to do, a mental barrier seems to fast be forming between the thoughts and the synapses that send them as words and syllables to the fingers and the screen. If that is not a clue for this young mind to retire for the night, then I'm not sure what is... although the fact that I've yet to figure out what I'm playing on my radio show in the mornin' may be another indication.
Goodnight, moon.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
There is something so telling in my recent URLS. They reveal so much about my character, my intrigue, my utter ridiculosity. The inner sanctum. The innermost areas of personality. How much is hidden, how much is revealed? Only I can ever know, and not even.
I can't believe I'm writing this down
I can't believe I've got you in a song
But make no notice of me, my dear. I am only thinking.
On
days like this, it is excpetionally difficult to keep the mind and body
indoors. Oh, but it is so lovely out, monsieur homework! Can we not
just take our incredible workloads outside for the time being?
Alas, but I forget that my battery is of no help when it comes to that. Zut.
This can't go on
When is it going to stop?
Shower, or not. Homework, or not. We'll see. L'ordinator-- non. Only for the purposes of work getting done. As if! I can hope, though.
For the time being, I will grin a toothless grin in the mirror, study those eyes that will never be quite what I want, and quietly continue on my way, non? Non... mais porquois? Oui, yes, oui, baleh, oui, wee. I am okay. There is work to be done, a day to be had, a smile to be portioned out and positioned properly on the facial vehicles. Sensical or not, i know what I'm saying.
I don't want to see you down,
I don't want to see you hanging around.
Tomorrow will be the day of no more broken promises. I promise.
Show us a cool shadow.
Shadows are such interesting things. Not in the physical sense-- in that way, they're nothing more than natural-- but in the connotations they carry, the symbolism they embody.
Blah, blah. Waxing philosophical again.
The Vox QOTD made me think... I have a good few friends that I owe either a phone call, letter, e-mail, or so on. What prevents me from calling, writing, typing? Laziness, a lack of time, and a general lack of motivation for many, many things.
I should probably work on that.
Work can be incredibly overwhelming sometimes, can't it? And yet, all I do is watch top model... ah, well.
you are my sweetest downfall
i loved you first
i loved you first
Sickening, almost, this head-whirling, gut-twisting emotion I bring upon myself. Why is it that I find such twisted pleasure, seemingly, in doing this to myself? Oh, but I hate it. I hate it. It's only the fact that I do it so often and so seemingly deliberately that I say I must, in some form or another, enjoy it.
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go
I have to go
Breath comes in short gasps of displeasure. Who am I next to you? Did I win this game that was never so much a game to begin with as a silly, silly way to make both of us feel so awful? Why do I feel so unpleasant when I look at your pictures when there is nothing to feel unpleasant about?
Or is it just that, try as I might, I can never see myself as at all comparable to you?
But...why?
Samson went back to bed
Not much hair left on his head
He ate a slice of wonderbread and went right back to bed
I do not know, and I'm not even sure if I ever will. I've written entry upon entry about this across my numerous blog, and yet, it seems no clearer than it did howevermany entries ago. In truth, I could probably write infinite entries about this cacophany, countless posts concerning my insecurities and lack of confidence, about your smile and my unforgiving eyes, and it would never become clear to me. Never.
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
I loved you first
I've tried so many times to cease these thoughts from existing, to turn my head away from you and to happier, more productive thoughts; I've attempted, more times than I can feasibly count, to convince myself that I am worth it, that I am good enough. ALWAYS, that I am good enough. Yet, nothing seems able to do this. No amount of reassurance from him; no amount of chastizing or gently persuading myself... nothing. At times, I almost feel I am doomed to a fate of self-afflicted inadequacy. Is it so?
Beneath the stars came falling on our heads, but
they're just old light
they're just old light
And so, as always, as forever, as I wrote last night and will write tomorrow, as I wrote a month ago, two months ago, and will undoubtedly write three months from now, all that I can truly do is simple: persevere. Continue. Perhaps I cannot convince myself that I am worth it, but I can force a smile and face each day as it is presented to me. And perhaps, maybe, possibly, through the help of these blogs, self-reflection, thought and careful coaxing, I can gradually pull myself out of this rut.
Samson came to my bed
told me that my hair was red
told me I was beautiful and came into my bed, Oh
Today is full of work and things to do; tomorrow, as well, and each day afterward. I'm not sure if it is better to keep myself busy and thus not let the mind wander onto such things, or to let the mind wander with the possibility of eventually actually feeling pride in who I am instead of regret for who I am not. Which is the lesser of two evils? I don't know, but I know that I'll keep pushing until I find out.
He told me that I'd done all right
and kissed me 'till the morning light, the morning light
and he kissed me 'till the morning light
And if there are tears, so what; and if there is heartache, so be it; and if there is pain, it is nothing more than what I feel now. I have dealt with it and I will-- mayhaps in the long run, it will even make me stronger. Who knows?
I don't. No, I certainly don't.
But that's... okay. As I keep telling myself, it's going to be okay.
Right?
Right.
Yes... it'll be okay.
You are my sweetest downfall,
I loved you first.
Regina Spektor - Samson
Blog number one commences. Hello one, hello all, and welcome to my umpteenth and third blog on this world wide internets that we have.
Seems like a fairly nice place thusfar, this 'Vox.' We'll see how often I actually attend to this blog, however.
For now, I'm thinking that an introduction of sorts should suffice. So hallo! The name's nasi. I'm 19, go to college in North Carolina, and desperately adore most sparkly things, sunshine, and music. Speaking of which, would you believe that I'm actually quite in love with this silly song from Snakes on a Plane? Ha, fucking great movie.
Anyway.
That's it for now. More on my life later, or whatnot. Have a grrreat day. :D
on Domokunbaha