Saturday, February 22, 2003

Hey Jude/

I actually meant to post this way way back when I went on the rant about suicide notes, but here it is now because if wrote about what was actually happening in my life I'd sound so much like Elizabeth Wurtzel that I'd have to shoot myself. Following the idea of what my suicide notes (they'd be plural, naturally. And probably written on parchment in red ink, folded in thirds and scented) might look like, I had a think about some epitaph ideas, which led me on to things other people might want;

Billy Connolley - in tiny little letters so you have to step forward to read it; "You're standing on my balls"
Spike Milligan, RIP - "I told you I was ill" - did he actually get this in the end? I hope so.
Cubby - good friend of mine; "Does my bum look big in this?"

Ell would probably want something like "All who wander are not lost" and me, maybe I'd go for "Oh do bugger off" or "Sorry guys. It *smelled* safe..." or my personal favorite right this minute - "I'll be back"

I'm listening to "Hey Jude" on a roll. A sure sign that I'm feeling mopey. I only ever put that song on when I'm so depressed I'll try and remind myself of someone who has a crappy life to make myself feel better. Trouble is, "Hey Jude" inspires fictional cruelty, because the person it reminds me of is one of my own creations. So far I've had his father murdered, his mother abandon him for five years, him nearly flamingo up a promising career, had him attempt suicide, tortured him with anorexia for about two years, had him stuck in a clinic, given him chronic depression, insomnia and anxiety, had him turn to drink and killed him with a brain haemmorhage. I'm not sure what else I can do to poor Jude, but somehow whever I get annoyed at the prevalence of thin people in the world, who clearly have no right to remain so and must be force fed lard, I turn and do something spiteful and cruel to Jude instead of doing it to a real thin person.

Actually that's given me some sterling ideas for horrid things to do to him. Feeling much better now. I'm going to go entertain my sick malicious visions of getting an anorexic stoned off his face. Heh heh. For the second time on this 'blog I say... heh heh.. munchies!

Much better.

Friday, February 21, 2003

Exciting

Some people are - and they are because they find the world exciting. Byron is one of these people - "exciting" must be her favortite word, closely followed by phrases like "Fookin' Bananas!" and "Groovy" - Byron has underwear and hairstyles that she describes as "Exciting" - and she's an exciting person. a real, full-formed totally alive person.

I like "Fascinating" as a descriptive word. I use it a lot, the sky is often fascinating colours, so is the way the light falls on things, or the way a woman's neck curves down to her decolletage. I get fascinated by things, but it doesn't mean I'm "fascinating" myself now does it? Staring at stars or a city underneath a high view, or endlessly contemplating one small white flower or one glossy black feather doesn't make you fascinating.

Some people are made to live and love. Some people are made to watch others living and loving. It's like there are ranks in the world, Watchers, Scribes, Players... It's not that I don't live, it's just that I only ever feel like I'm going halfway except under certain circumstances. When I'm in a woman, when I'm caught up with the Rach 3, when I'm staring madness straight in the eyes on a vision quest, then I am truly alive, truly connected. I can feel my heart beating with the same rhythm as the Earth, it's a moment of total and perfect understanding of everything that ever was and ever will be. People like Byron live perpetually in those moments - like they are stimulated and invograted by every single tiny word. A butterfly flaps its wings in China and Byron gets excited.

Disconnection has its perks of course. It's so tempting to stay there when suddenly you are deaf, blind, dumb, dead to the world, nothing reaches that far inwards, nothing hurts, nothing matters. You want to stay, it's like watching your blood run over your skin, just observing how it moves, how it smells, feeling nothing whatsoever in one completely perfect death of selfhood.

So would I rather be like Byron, or am I going to be wandering around the hills in my head just looking, not buying, forever? I kind of like being me. Feeling that nothingness is the closest you come to perfection, apart from the feeling of love. Of course for many people, love is not a good thing, to them when they feel first that stab of gorgeous pain in the chest and they sigh and moon, they hate it. Fighting the feeling will make it fade, rationalising it will perhaps help a little, but the love remains, festering in their soul, tainting every other human relationship they might have, making them doubt themself and their own identity.

Disconnection doesn't have those side angles. Neither does love if you give in to it.
In Defense of Madness

"Crack the whip 'cause that bitch is just insane.
She's pretty tied up hangin' upside down,
Pretty tied up, and you can ride her"

Why the hell did I do that?
I finally finished reading "Anorexic" by Anna Patterson about 4am today, found out she invites people to e-mail her in the back of the book and provides an address. So what stupid thing did you do now? E-mailed her of course. Wrote to the author of one of the whiniest pieces of self-indulgent drivel I ever read apart from "Prozac Nation" and told her exactly why I had read her book in the first place. And that very reason was a foul lie - or at least half a one. I told her it was because I'm researching anorexia for a character I'm writing, which is true, though what I now don't know about anorexia (from reading the entire stock of library books at the Uni on it and having once been Lord Wuss) isn't worth knowing. The real underlying reason is a morbid curiosity that boreders on obsession. The whole illness fascinates me, it's like wanting to kiss hot coals because they're beautiful.

Went on the PULSAR bar crawl, came home early because of several things. Nothing wrong with the company you understand, but every tiny little noise and behavioural quirk was really grating on my nerves. Everytime someone so much as laughed or touched me or spoke to me I was getting that feeling like your spine is a glass rod that's humming at some low pitch, and it might shatter any moment. So I came home and had marmite on toast. Not that marmite on toast is particularly comforting or anything, just that I wanted something to eat, so I had that, since it doesn't really constitute a meal yet is also vaguely satisfying.

Stuff I Shouldn't Eat; The list just keeps on growing. Thin people (like The Replacement Phantom) are not allowed these lists, but I am, it's got stuff like bread, pasta, potatoes and noodles on it.

I like my list. It's comforting. Mikado style.

Thursday, February 20, 2003

So, What Day Is It Again?

I've hit the numb phase again. That one where you look at everything you have and you're grateful and happy really,but you just can't be bothered. Like life is a glass that did have proper orange juice in it, but you've drunk the juice and filled it with water. It's just a little hint of flavour, and kind of annoying. OK that was a stupid metaphor but what do you expect? I've had one of those Days From Hell, it's half four in the morning, I just know that any minute now the temptation to go watch the God Channel will become overwhelming.

So it's random ramblings time.

I'm a very weird vegan really, now I think about it. I avoid animal products to the point where if they don't specify that the lactose is non-animal in origin, I won't have it. But I take cod liver oil to stop me waking up in the morning, moving my right leg and screaming in agony. Also, a great deal of alcoholic drinks are filtered using animal by-products, yet I drink. Copiously. When you're downing that cold frosty mug of beer, just remember - it was passed through cows bones. Now there's a nummy treat. Also I wear silk, leather and wool - but not fur. Fur is just wrong unless you're camping out in the Tundra and you killed something to keep you alive and are wearing its pelt to keep you from freezing to death.

There we hit my point.

It's called the Amerindian Principle by some people. Basically it means that you kill an animal for food, you eat everything except the gross bits, which are generally offered to a god or spirit in thanks for the animal, you wear the skin, you make stuff from the bits you've got left. It means you use every part of that animal AND you say thanks for it. Now, I don't eat animal products - I don't like meat, I can't abide milk, and cheese wraps itself around your arteries and squeezes. That, mon amis, is why I have a freaky restrictive diet. It is also why I am not the strictest of vegans - oh I'm strict as hell when it comes to food, I put Lord Wuss Jnr to shame, but frankly if it's alcohol or supplements, I'm easy. I have to have the supplements, and byproducts like bones are generally from the meat industry anyway. I'd only be letting things go to waste if I didn't have that stuff - or if I didn't wear the cheap leather left over from meat herds of slaughtered cows.

I don't *get* people who do that whole banner-waving meat is murder gig. I just don't understand them. Oh I can see where they're coming from, the things people do to animals in meat factories is bloody shameful, aminals suffer and that's not good. Take for example the method of killing pigs for meat; to avoid spoiling the meat with too much blood, they're hung upside down and slowly bled to death through their throat. That's just nasty. I'm not even going into the chickens - but anyway, I still don't get the hardcore vegan thing. Cows get damned uncomfortable if they're not milked and have no calf - and if every cow had calves there'd be nothing but cows - it makes sense to milk them. As milk is a highly nutritious food containing everything a body needs bar iron (which is why it puzzles me that when diagnosed severely anameic I was advised to drink milk) it makes sense to relieve the cows and use the milk - waste is bad, TM. same principle with wool. Can you imagine a world where we never sheared our sheep? It would be like a whole herd of elderly Brian Mays in fields everywhere. So I wear wool, because not wearing wool for cruelty reasons is just stupid, and I don't eat or drink things because either a. I don't like them, or b. they're bad for me. SIMPLE.

No faffing about with morals, no silly slogan t-shirts, just me and my diet. Of course, those vegans who *are* that way for moral reasons are cool by me, they're as welcome to a view as anyone else, I just don't understand it no matter how hard I try. One thing I do believe however - and this is something I share with the Meat Is Murder Mob - is that the whole world should be vegetarian. It makes economic and health sense, do you have any idea how may more people you can feed with a piece of land that grows soya beans as opposed to a piece of land grazing cattle? Unless you're going to let cows take over the world, everyone being vegan is just silly, but vegetarianism would solve a lot of our problems. For one thing, meat inspires violence in man, and we all know what that leads to. For another, a vegetarian diet is lower in fat and virtually cholesterol free as long as you're choosy, it could really improve world health.

I also like the idea of only eating and drinking produce local to your region. This is impractical for many people, especially students like myself who are budget and time contrained where food is concerned, but where possible it should be done - support the local economy.

Godwin would be proud of me. I'm his new little mouthpiece, all shiny and spouting off about vegetarianism and perfectibility at every opportunity. Godwinists of the world unite - you have nothing to lose but that nasty blody complexion meat eating gives one sometimes.