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| The Changeling |
| 08.06.04 (9:41 am) [edit] |
Category X - The
Changeling
Witty, amusing and a bit weird, you're welcomed
into most social groups, even though you don't
'fit in' perfectly .
What Type of Social Entity are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
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| Emotion sucks. |
| 08.06.04 (9:28 am) [edit] |
Written Tuesday, 03/08/04.
Since my very happy mood on Sunday, it’s gone downhill and is now somewhere below the ground. Don’t ask me why; I wouldn’t be able to tell you. But, following advice from Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff For Teens, I’ve decided to ignore my problems until I’m perkier. I’ll deal with the shit then.
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And I thought my life sucked.
Written Wednesday, 04/08/04.
It’s like an epidemic of bad moods hit my school; that and migraines. Every second person I spoke to today were tired, at a low point, or had a migraine. I have to admit, despite my slight hysterical episode yesterday (and the day before, and the day before that) my mood is perking up again. Funny things, moods.
A friend of mine, Nicky, is threatening suicide, though I don’t know whether or not I should take her seriously; she’s depro/evil by nature (it’s the only thing we have in common and our entire friendship is built on that) and she makes these morbid, dark, cynical kind of jokes. She was trashing God and life because her best friends dropped her. I offered advise, which she shunned, and I decided that if she commits suicide (and God is listening) I won’t feel guilty. I’ve always said ‘rather a smart coward than a brave idiot’ as an answer on the question of whether suicide is a coward’s way out, but really – it’s her choice, God gave us free will and if she thinks she’ll feel better dead by all means. I think this ‘free will’ thing is a factor to root out the weak; if she wants to kill herself because of her friends, because of people, well – then she wouldn’t have survived long anyway.*
I had some enlightening conversations today; most revolved around relationships. It was all so fucking simple when we were ten – now we’re sixteen and it’s hard as hell. Things always get more difficult and I don’t understand why it should. Maybe that’s the thing about adult life – difficulties. And I find myself (not for the first time either) wishing I were four again. What’s better than playing on a sand heap all day with plastic animals?
Ah, there’s a long weekend coming up (Monday is Women’s Day) and I plan on spending it doing what I do the best – nothing. Nada. Perhaps I’ll sleep, sleep, eat, maybe visit the toilet some time or other…and my mother, she can’t understand how I can want to do nothing, how I can aspire to do nothing. There is no hope for her. She is a lost, non-lazy soul. God alone knows where I fit into my family. They’re all a bunch of ‘doers’.
Perhaps it’s best that I don’t know. Perhaps.
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*And I’m not just some ignorant fuck talking shit out of my mouth – if there’s anyone who has a reason to kill themselves it’s me. And I consider it every other Thursday, don’t get me wrong, but I never follow through…because that nagging voice insists it will get better. I believe it. I mean, I’ve had some ups and downs through my life, and the simple truth is you fucking deal with it. If you can’t, you won’t survive, that’s a fact. Now, this Nicky, she says she’s been closer to death than me…but she knows little to nothing solid fact of her ‘evil buddy’. Though I think the psychology points out that she WON’T do it. If she was so determined, why jabber on and on and on about it? Nah.
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| Dear Rupert, |
| 08.06.04 (9:27 am) [edit] |
Written Sunday, 01/08/04.
Well, what can I say? A few heavy things have rolled off me, and a few new things are rolling on to replace them. It’s not been a ball, this past week, but this week should be better.
Where to begin, thoroughly? Ah yes, my friend. One of them, actually. I have the feeling that she’s trying to push me out – and, instead of letting it pass or talking to her, I retaliated. I mean I am scared to be dropped, I wish it was different but it’s not. I have the experience that, one moment you have a whole group of thronging friends and the next moment they’re all gone, left with the person that betrayed you. I think she feels the same way; yet I’m doing nothing to help her. And I don’t know why. I don’t.
I also lost a friend this week, someone I’ve called my friend for almost three years. He hit a nerve, and went too far. I’m not unreasonable. I am, in fact, a patient and considerate friend. I don’t like hurting people, or arguing with them. I like it when everyone’s happy and laughing around me. I’ve tolerated a lot from this guy – among others stuff, the fact that he claims to ‘give me ideas’ when it’s as far away from the truth as can be, and claiming the spotlight for stuff I invented, made up or wrote – but he went too far. He touched a nerve, I’ll admit it, but without knowing half of the facts. Besides that, he criticizes my marks and calls me a delinquent, when he should worry about himself. I mean, if he was a smart guy I would’ve listened, but he’s not. He does far worse than me in every subject. He didn’t even get through the last term. Yet he criticizes me and then wonders why I get angry and defensive, and embarrasses me in front of others.
I don’t hate him; he just annoys me. I’m tired of his company. But he doesn’t seem to get the message, though, even though I’ve turned our relationship down a few notches. I’ve become frostier and colder. I wish he would take a tip and leave.
Then there’s the pressing problem of my mother’s new boyfriend who is, by all standards, a nice guy – but an annoying one. He cannot just listen and be helpful – he has to analyse. He loves arguing and reasoning. Instead of offering a shoulder, he’d rather criticize and point out everything I’ve done wrong. But, meanwhile, he doesn’t know half of what’s going on. I wish he’d butt out sometimes.
I wish my mother well, but I miss having her to myself. Is that selfish? And even though I’m bloody sixteen, I can’t help but think ‘wasn’t I enough for her?’. I mean, I should know better, ‘cause I know enough to know that a child can’t stop loneliness. But it bothers me, it really does. I’d rather suffer through the torments of financial troubles and have her for myself, than live relatively comfortable without her.
I wonder sometimes whether I am destined to become a writer. Me, I believe stuff happens for a reason – and thus, I’ve read a few things in my past that could indicate that I should keep writing. Stuff like: if my dad didn’t die, I would never have taken writing seriously. But despite that it’s almost as though the ‘stuff’ doesn’t come easily. I have a real bugger about writing. Maybe I should just forget about it, or maybe I should stop making obstacles for myself. I don’t know.
I’ve said stuff I regret; stuff that’ll come back to bite me on the ass, I’m sure. How to handle that? I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care. But I do worry. God forbid I am not a happy-go-lucky person, yet I wish I were. How great would it be to just let things roll off you? And I may put on a mask when I’m hurting, but fact is I’m still hurting – it’s one of those things. But whenever I dare to show my hurt, it’s questioned. It sucks ass. Why should living be defined by pain and suffering and problems? Why can’t we just be, without any questions or answers?
Death’s been weighing on my mind a lot lately. I’m not really scared of death – in fact, I think dying is the greatest moment in life – it’s just there’s so much I want to do before I die and I think, ‘God, please, let me live just a while longer so I can do what I need to do.’ And, strangely, I asked two friends that, if they could choose to live forever, would they? And both said no, they wouldn’t take immortality. Their opinion seems to be that life is long enough, and so if their suffering. Myself, I wouldn’t choose immortality either – death is, after all, the only certainty.
I think it’s stupid to assume that death is ‘the end’. It’s another start, I think. At least, that is what I hope.
I believe things happen for a reason, and at present I am trying to figure out why things are happening. But it’s only obvious when you look back onto the past; from my current vantage point I can’t see into the future, which is perhaps a good thing. But still you look and try to unravel, and you fail and months from now you they, ‘Oh, hey, so that’s why that happened’. It’s actually quite scary.
And I wonder about the so-called ‘soul mates’. Maybe, maybe not. If there is such a thing, I’ve obviously never met mine, or not, at least, than I can remember. Oh well.
I’ve been in such a good mood all through today, but some things just get you down.
Love,
……
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| How tight the rope is, eh John? |
| 08.06.04 (9:24 am) [edit] |
Written Sunday, 01/08/04.
Well, suspiciously enough I’m actually looking forward to school tomorrow, something that baffles even me. I suspect I’m feeling this way because I got a new schoolbag and, since that’s the only reason, it would seem I am a freak. I mean, who looks forward to school because they have a new schoolbag? Gods, it would seem my train is derailing.*
Today I am actually feeling quite content and happy, and I’ve been chatting to myself all morning in different accents, tones and voices. Who could be better company? No offence to my mother but she and her boyfriend talk to each other all day and they don’t really say anything that I appreciate (their conversations are limited to the news, weather and gardening). Besides that, her boyfriend loves arguments and I’ve better things to get annoyed at (like my shoes).
I had my friend and her sister over briefly yesterday, and it was fun. We discussed, gossiped and pondered; and, even better, we all felt better because we got chatting about our crushes (girly talk, oooh!) and they feel exactly the same way as I do – that feeling of we’re head over heels and our crushes don’t know we exist? Anyhow, besides that we got into astral projection and such and how great it would be if you could leave your body; and would you spy on your crush in the shower? The answer all around was ‘yes’ without hesitation. I’m not the only pervert.
I haven’t heard much from my cousin (who is actually my nephew but we’re almost the same age), but since I had enough of him last weekend maybe it’s not such a bad thing. I plan on calling him later. My friend, who I thought hated him, actually admitted that he’s got a good heart and I have to agree: if he can help you, he will. I mean, the guy regularly sticks me for movies and food and stuff. I should treat him better.
And blogging of him, it occurred to me that, in ten years, when we’ll be twenty-six and twenty-five, we’ll turn into our parents and family – I mean, we’re going to be the ones braaing and partying together and stuff. It’s weird but you never think about it; my mother and her nephew (who is, in turn, my nephew’s father, and my actual cousin) grew up together – just like Ryan and me. Confusing and strange, yes, enlightening, yes.
I wonder how my bro’s doing, he’s been scarce of late. He’s still flaming to run the Comrades next year, meaning he’s still insane. Insanity runs in the family; it practically gallops.
Hey, Pablo is back (my inspiration). He’s had a nice long rest, and so have I – and now we’re back to work. I submitted a fic to FA yesterday and if all goes well it should be up soon. I’ve also e-mailed some stuff I wrote to a friend who’s been asking for it all week. Beautiful.
Do I sound chipper? By Gods, I think I do! Ah well!
*I polished my shoes, pressed my school uniform, packed my bag and washed my hair. Tomorrow should be a good day.
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| No thanks, I don't dance. |
| 07.30.04 (10:42 pm) [edit] |
A brief update: never eat fucking pork again!
I suspect the pork I ate was the cause of a very painful, disgusting and generally horrible stomach flu; meaning I spent Monday and Tuesday shitting and barfing my insides OUT.
Returning to school on Wednesday, I discovered someone I called a best friend is actually an asshole. (In fact I knew this for some time already, but he went too far, and blew it)
Yesterday, Friday, I laughed so much I had a headache for the rest of the afternoon. Also, I forgot another friend's birthday and successfully felt like a jerkoff afterwards.
Just keep swimming, right? Right.
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| The flowers are falling off the walls. |
| 07.30.04 (10:36 pm) [edit] |
Written Tuesday, 20/07/04.
Ah, school. Now there’s something I can ramble about like a politician about their policies. But I’d rather not get into that, as I’ve decided to become one of those annoying, ‘chipper’ people you so despise and envy. There is no use in pessimism (except that it makes you feel really depressed and could thus create some sort of loophole later on for when you want to skip a day at school or office), and I can just as well waste my assigned 7000 words a day to rant about ‘everything will get fucking better’.
Well, news is scarce. I cannot fully account for my Inspiration but most of it is back and I’m writing again (or trying to, at least). Schumi has won two more GP’s, making it like 10 out of 11 or something (it’s hard to keep track, yah know). Apparently the first few chapters of ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’ are circling the Internet but I’m keeping my hopes notched down two degrees from Fahrenheit. I’m stoned on Shrek 2 (which wasn’t as great for me). School has been on for two days and I’m already behind on my homework. All in all, life’s getting normal again.
Also read Stephan King’s ‘On Writing’; half a biography, half practical tips for writers. I’ve discovered three things: he thinks, that to be serious about writing, you should spend like 4-6 hours a day reading or writing. The second thing is he believes ‘plot’ is a dangerous thing and you should let your characters create your circumstances and stuff. The third thing is that he began writing when he was really young. This raised my confidence, of course. (Please continue to next paragraph to find out why)
Both he and JK Rowling began writing when they were really young (something like six years old). When I was six I couldn’t spell or write or read and enjoyed a very comfy life playing with my plastic animals in the sand (no regrets, I tell you). I only really began writing when I was eleven – these short, shifty little stories featuring me and my friends and our dream guys. (They’re never leaving my closet again!) I only became ‘serious’ about writing a year or two back. I’m still serious about it. I am also roughly ten years behind the ‘great’* writers. Thus, there is hope for me. I’ve gone from shitty stories (all suggestive paragraphs ended with ‘…’) to writing rather successful fanfiction in a very short space of time.
I owe a lot of my continuing ‘seriousness’ in writing to fanfiction – it gives me a hole to write about stuff I love (Harry Potter) and get response from readers. It also gives me an excellent platform to ‘practise’ character sketching, basic things like grammar, spelling and vocabulary, and plot lines and loopholes and such. If I ever write fantasy that gets published and there are a few people out there interested in writing fanfiction, I’d say ‘go ahead’** because I know what it can do for a budding writer.
On the matter of my grades, I quote: Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!! (Dunno who said it; but it sums up everything)
---
*Matter of opinion, here.
**Some writers (like Anne Rice) forbid fans writing fanfiction about their stories. Sure, fanfiction breaks and shapes and splashes your characters, scenarios and plot, but who cares? Fanfiction is fun to read and write. Well hur.
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| Quantum Psychics and such. |
| 07.03.04 (1:40 am) [edit] |
Written Friday, 02/07/04.
It’s scary how some people actually know what that is. Scarier is the fact that I might know them.
Well, after a boring day yesterday, my cousin departed back to his home in perfect physical condition. I cannot account for his mental state, however.
He visits a lot and we talk a lot, sometimes about where we want to go and what we want to do with our lives when we leave school. Well, he’s sure to go and study, though I doubt I will; he’s sure to become a raging success in the economics world, though I doubt I’ll make a success out of my life; he’s sure to get married, raise three kids and visit his relatives in Scotland every year, though I doubt I’ll ever meet someone or leave the borders of my town; he’s sure to be retired by sixty, though I doubt I’ll live to see fifty.
It’s strange how two blood relatives’ chances can differ. And I am not being pessimistic here, only realistic; we become our parents eventually and repeat the same cycle. I know my cycle. Should I try and escape it? Everyone does try. But not everyone succeeds in doing it.
It’s a mess, where I’m living and how I’m living. And I’m supposed to deal with that on my own because my mother does not understand or want to understand what it’s doing to me; she says things like, ‘If something bothers you, talk to me’, but when I do decide to talk to her she doesn’t try to understand my standpoint, and gets pissed at me when I refuse to leave my standpoint. The Cycle. And she has this new boyfriend and everything’s revolving around him now, and ‘If something bothers you, talk to me’, and I do, and she gets pissed and angry and hell, I know enough psychology to understand what this is doing to my personal state but I don’t know how to deal with it; and neither, apparently, does she.
And my other relatives aren’t much of help, ‘cause I hate most of them and they hate me, and my brother however religious he may be does not know how to handle a teenager and a weird one at that. If I talk to him I’m sure to get some ‘hmms’ and ‘ahhs’, and that’s all, and then he’ll give me a hundred bucks and probably hope I don’t fucking kill myself in the meantime. I look at him and I see The Cycle printed into him. He may run the Comrades and go to church but his life’s a despairing mess as well; I think he’s embarrassed by our mother, and our father, though he never says anything.
I wonder to myself (if I live through my teens) if I’ll make a good mother someday, if I get to be one; and I wonder then if I should be allowed, for fear of printing the same psychological cycle into my kids. I don’t want them to end up like me, if I ever have them; and I certainly don’t want them to hate me someday for doing a bad job, or be embarrassed by me because I’m their mother.
I ever wonder if it’s not better if we die, then the cycle can’t go on and we’ll doom no one else to misery and shame.
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| Shack fires and such. |
| 07.03.04 (1:39 am) [edit] |
Written Thursday, 01/07/04.
It’s scary how a new month springs up on you. One minute, you’re living through the 30th, the next your seven days into July. Horrific thing, time. Horrific.
Well, my cousin is here for his annual visit. Please excuse me while I commit murder.
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| Tea, Cardinal? |
| 06.30.04 (12:21 pm) [edit] |
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Sometimes I wish I lived in the middle ages...then I remember toilet paper.
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| It lives, it lives! (Steve, that is) |
| 06.30.04 (11:48 am) [edit] |
Written Wednesday, 30/06/04.
Well, while I was lying in my bed this morning, a thought popped up amid all the speculations on Harry Potter; and it’s not an original thought either, as I read it in the Top Billing magazine*. Michael Moll, a presenter on the Top Billing TV show, asked the question: Am I living? Apparently he has it as the welcome message on his cellphone. Personally, I find that a bit depressing, but it also raises a few questions, doesn’t it? Firstly, what [i]is[/i] living? How should one define living?
It probably depends on who you are as a person. To me, living is enjoying my life and taking it one step at a time, savouring some moments and regretting some other; but to the next average Joe, living could be defined as having an adventure, or getting the things you really want. Living could be looking forward to the next episode of Yu-Gi-Oh!** or opening your own restaurant.
If you discover your definition of living, it kind of answers the question of [b]Am I Living?[/b] – if your definition of living is success in the workplace, and you’re achieving that success, I suppose you could say, ‘Yes, thank you, I am living’. If you feel living is having a family and you’re getting married soon, I suppose you could say, ‘Yes, I’m living’. So if you have no definition or idea of what living is, I don’t think you can ever answer the question, ‘Am I Living?’, because you’ve no idea what living is***.
The only way to true happiness is to accept all that is put on one’s path with genuine joy and as that is completely out of the question it seems true happiness is a crock. – The Little Book of Crap.
*The Debut issue, mind you.
**Great show, that.
***Great thing to be in denial about, life.
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| Society for the Suppression of Poached Eggs. |
| 06.30.04 (11:46 am) [edit] |
Written Tuesday, 29/06/04.
Suppression is such a cruel thing.*
And when you look at it, school is basically one great big platform for the suppression of individualism. You’re prompted to ‘become part of the crowd’, to blend in and succumb to the School Board’s wishes. Take for instance my high school – they’re all about ‘take pride in your school, take part’. [b]Take part[/b]…they scold you if you don’t want to spend your time running around the field and calling it athletics. They scold you if you don’t want to spend the early hours of Saturday morning camped on the pavilion, trying intensely to follow the steady defeat of your school’s rugby team. And even if you turn up to watch the match, they expect you to ‘support’; in other words, jump around singing songs for no apparent reason other than to satisfy the present perverts’ minds**.
If they [School Board, again] find that exciting, enjoy it – but don’t expect me to be there. And if I, by some cruel twist in the great path of life, am present, don’t expect me to enjoy it. Because I won’t. Unless the rugby players are a) naked***, or b) die suddenly and gruesomely, writhing on the grass and choking on their own snot1. Now that’s entertainment.
My brother, by the way, is insane. Poor soul. Poor, dear old soul. You see, he’s a very brave man – very [b]Gryffindor2[/b]. He’s training to run the Comrades next year. The Comrades3. I ask you. There are all kinds of insane and you’ll find most of them in my family, but he’s just PSYCHOPATHIC INSANE4. I think we should keep him [my bro, who is 30] away from sharp objects, guns and suchlike. He can’t be in his normal state if he’s planning to run the Comrades. He is a danger to himself and others. Especially others5.
It is far cheaper and just as rewarding to [b]pretend[/b] you’re utterly depraved.
*Just look at Apartheid.
**What do you think the parents are doing there, so early in the morning? They’re [b]pretending[/b] to be watching the rugby. They’re really watching the Primary school girls who turned up (and usually, it is just them who turn up, desperation for you) and who are hopping around wildly, booking themselves on the DATING EXPRESS for when they reach High School (they are not mindless giddies, I tell you; at least they have the brains to [i]plan ahead[/i], as it were.)
***They may be brainless oafs, but they’re good-looking brainless oafs.
1 – I read too much Stephan King.
2 – Though he thinks Harry Potter is the door to Satan and such.
3 – The Comrades, that marathon SA’s so popular for? 86 km of running, downhill next year. Vladimir Something won this year’s Comrades. Russians.
4 – A whole different breed of insane, as I’m sure you full-well realize.
5 – aka, me. No, it’s not cowardice or apathy on my part; but it is self-preservation.
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| The Powers That Be |
| 06.27.04 (3:34 am) [edit] |
The government has gone to the dogs in a very big way. They’ve all gone insane. They’ve decided that each municipality can specify the monthly rates, according to your property value. Meaning, in short, that if you’re property is valued at $250 000 and your municipality specifies you have to pay 6% of your total property value as property taxes per month, you’re expected to pay $1250,00 per month. Insane.
Though its an open question how many people will pay it? According to THOSE THAT KNOW (aka, my aunt, who has a lot to do with laws and such) they can’t touch you, and they can’t force you to pay. Meaning that the government’s plan will be boycotted. Meaning that whites will (probably) be accused of racism and high treason or something. Which means we’re all screwed anyway.
We’re being reassured everyday that SA is now a true democracy. That is far fetched. And this is coming from me, who is – by all standards – race tolerant and pro-democracy. I’m starting to think the people I know (friends, family) aren’t just being pessimistic and fucked-up. Call me paranoid but what we’re living in now is not a true democracy. It’s a lie.
To add insult to injury, they’re trying to brainwash us too. Big companies (banks especially) promote themselves by showing these beautiful ads, where everyone’s happy, and Desmund Tutu (a great man, by all standards, who I respect*) is telling us that ‘everyone thought we’d never make it’. One or two of these ads are fine, they cheer you up. But with the amount that’s been going around recently…it’s brainwashing.
I’m not at all against patriotism, but that’s just going too far. Instead of showing those ads, why don’t they just plaster Mandela’s face all over the TV? His face, his humour, now that makes you swell with pride and patriotism, much more than Sanlam telling you ‘we’ve made it, we’ve made it’. And this ’10 years of democracy’ promotion going on – why don’t they instead spend the money on those that need it, instead of throwing parties?
There’s still work to be done. Everyone but THE POWERS THAT BE realizes it.
*Desmund Tutu is an Arch Bishop. He was also quoted from his book: “In God’s family there are no outsiders. All are insiders. Black and white, rich and poor, gay and straight, Jew and Arab, Palestinian and Israeli, Roman Catholic and Protestant, Hutu and Tutsi, Muslim and Christian, Buddhist and Hindu, Pakistani and Indian – all belong.”
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| It's here, big daddy. |
| 06.26.04 (11:26 am) [edit] |
It's happened. It's finally arrived. The day of the apocalypse.
The good doctor is on holiday. The CyberShrink is on holiday. That doesn't bloody well make sense. How can a shrink go on holiday? I mean, what are we, the needy, supposed to do now? Set our inner-psychopath loose on unsuspecting citizens?
The obvious answer is, find another shrink. Well, that'll be hard, if you're kind of paranoid and it takes the Internet's anonymity for you to be able to open up. And I haven't heard of another CyberShrink. If you know of one, please, for the sake of the children - children, bloody children - point me to it with a big neon sign.
[i]My, my.[/i]
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| Live it up, gents. |
| 06.26.04 (9:02 am) [edit] |
As my inspiration has departed to Bulgaria for a two-week holiday, all my writing is at a halt. To view my previous blogs (identity-crisis, if you're wondering), check out these links: http://yahoos.tblog.com/ ; http://phloem.tblog.com/
A brief update (aka my life in a paragraph): the exams ended yesterday. I did terribly, especially in Accounting. I'm expecting at least one 60%, in History, but that's about all I'm expecting. School starts in three weeks. It's SUMMER HOLIDAYS everywhere else in the world; here, we're approaching the heart of the winter. Christmas in July, they say. Spare me, say I.
The novelty's worn off and my Jedi-shoes lay, adandoned.
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Slytherin. Cunning and self centred, you know just
how to manipulate people into serving you
without them knowing.
A genuine Sorting Hat quiz
brought to you by Quizilla
Your Guy is Dumbledore
!!!!! ANOTHER HARRY POTTER QUIZ, (WITH PICTURES) !!!!!!!
brought to you by Quizilla
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