26.org has a sweet project called the "best first lines"
here;
http://www.26.org.uk/essays.asp?id=10
some are really brilliant, like:
“The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.”Samuel Beckett, ‘Murphy’
Along with “Call me Ishmael”, from Moby Dick, this is actually the only first line I can quote from memory, but it’s a classic. There’s wit, world weariness and poetic rhythm all in there, and a huge sense of anticipation. You have to read on, and you’re not disappointed.
Martin Lee
Forget everything.”Bob Gill, ‘Logo Mania’
Bob gave me a copy after a long talkative lunch in New York last month. I hadn’t seen him since he taught me at the RCA 25 years ago, but he’s lost none of his steam, wit and scathing contempt for sloppy graphic design. A sprightly 76, Bob is still thinking radically about how ideas happen. This particular thesis – amongst many we chomped our way through – was that design solutions are increasingly meaningless and driven by style, and to find something truly interesting to say about anything we have to start from scratch. So throw out your software programmes, abandon your image banks, junk your brand onions, burn to your mood boards, donate your D&AD annuals to the Oxfam shop, stick all that lorem and ipsum through the shredder, and buy yourself a nice new pointy pencil. Tom Lynham
18 Kasım 2008 Salı
5 Haziran 2008 Perşembe
The Cheat Loop
Cheating, along with lying is wrapped around a tricky vicious circle. a cursed loop i might say. it reminds me of having class skipping as a habbit you can't break. it gradually grows, expands, spreads its roots to every extent of your life, tangles it up and you end up with a broken china in hand, trying to glue the precious pieces of your life. how pathetic is that.
in a way, it is a way of self destruction. if the biggest concern behind your tainted intention to cheat is not revenge - i'm talking about a real hunger for revenge - then, i can't find a reason to do so, if again you're not a freakin self destructor.
Because, all the cheaters around the world (a.t.c.a.t.w), (you should form a guild, organize group theraphy meetings, or make evil plans to rule the world and eventually end life on earth by cheating away) would agree that, after the act, you stop and stare for ridicilous amounts of hours with the curl in your stomach, with hunched down shoulders, head between your hands, thinking "why?", "was it worth it?", "what have i done?", "what will happen next?".
again, a.t.c.a.t.w would probably agree that, there's no fun in it at all. i'm excluding the exception of an evil revenge fuck and the demonic laughter comes right after it. if you're not a human being purely equiped with ammunation of evil, you don't say "that was fun!" after shagging the night away with a stranger or an ex, while your all-loving and trusting significant other is waiting for you to come home.
so, what's the point? maybe some would suggest that it is the "thrill of the moment",the excitement you sickly get from doing something forbidden. bullshit. first of all, there's no thrill in that act itself. most of the part you spend absorbed with the thoughts of "what am i doing? what am i doing? what am i doing?!" obviously, it is hard to be thrilled with the poisonous guilt rushing through your veins, but again, a self-destructor can easily enter an orgasmic mode, with all the guilt, the sadness, the frightening insecurity of the wrong side of the road.
excitement? not so much. if we're talking about the forbidden fruit fixation, then i might suggest public sex. the cheating scene is usually falls short, when it comes to satisfy the expectations. you think it would be the best you've ever had, a magical moment you could not resist, fireworks, a moment so thrilling that you would be excused when you say "how was i to resist something like that?"
but no. it usually goes wrong. i'm not just talking about the sex. if you go out for dinner, to talk, to get intimate about some question marks digging up your mind, maybe to feel romantic and flirty. that goes wrong too. because you always sit on that table, or lie in that bed with a split mind. half of you is somewhere far away strugling with your conscience. concentration, full intimacy, truthfulness, warmth, compassion is out of question. the dinner is cold, so as the bed.
ok, so a.t.c.a.t.w understand that this is bad. you feel like shit. but they keep on doing it. "no satisfaction."
simple as that, really. most of them are hopeless attention cravers, they are incapable of love most of the time, but in desperate need to be loved no matter what, they are strangers to their inner-self, don't know what they want, don't know how to find... so they find themselves trapped in this cheat loop every time.
so a piece of advice for a.t.c.a.t.w: take a u turn, or watch U Turn the movie, see how j.lo handles relationships, or her ass for that matter.
life is peachy.
in a way, it is a way of self destruction. if the biggest concern behind your tainted intention to cheat is not revenge - i'm talking about a real hunger for revenge - then, i can't find a reason to do so, if again you're not a freakin self destructor.
Because, all the cheaters around the world (a.t.c.a.t.w), (you should form a guild, organize group theraphy meetings, or make evil plans to rule the world and eventually end life on earth by cheating away) would agree that, after the act, you stop and stare for ridicilous amounts of hours with the curl in your stomach, with hunched down shoulders, head between your hands, thinking "why?", "was it worth it?", "what have i done?", "what will happen next?".
again, a.t.c.a.t.w would probably agree that, there's no fun in it at all. i'm excluding the exception of an evil revenge fuck and the demonic laughter comes right after it. if you're not a human being purely equiped with ammunation of evil, you don't say "that was fun!" after shagging the night away with a stranger or an ex, while your all-loving and trusting significant other is waiting for you to come home.
so, what's the point? maybe some would suggest that it is the "thrill of the moment",the excitement you sickly get from doing something forbidden. bullshit. first of all, there's no thrill in that act itself. most of the part you spend absorbed with the thoughts of "what am i doing? what am i doing? what am i doing?!" obviously, it is hard to be thrilled with the poisonous guilt rushing through your veins, but again, a self-destructor can easily enter an orgasmic mode, with all the guilt, the sadness, the frightening insecurity of the wrong side of the road.
excitement? not so much. if we're talking about the forbidden fruit fixation, then i might suggest public sex. the cheating scene is usually falls short, when it comes to satisfy the expectations. you think it would be the best you've ever had, a magical moment you could not resist, fireworks, a moment so thrilling that you would be excused when you say "how was i to resist something like that?"
but no. it usually goes wrong. i'm not just talking about the sex. if you go out for dinner, to talk, to get intimate about some question marks digging up your mind, maybe to feel romantic and flirty. that goes wrong too. because you always sit on that table, or lie in that bed with a split mind. half of you is somewhere far away strugling with your conscience. concentration, full intimacy, truthfulness, warmth, compassion is out of question. the dinner is cold, so as the bed.
ok, so a.t.c.a.t.w understand that this is bad. you feel like shit. but they keep on doing it. "no satisfaction."
simple as that, really. most of them are hopeless attention cravers, they are incapable of love most of the time, but in desperate need to be loved no matter what, they are strangers to their inner-self, don't know what they want, don't know how to find... so they find themselves trapped in this cheat loop every time.
so a piece of advice for a.t.c.a.t.w: take a u turn, or watch U Turn the movie, see how j.lo handles relationships, or her ass for that matter.
life is peachy.
21 Mayıs 2008 Çarşamba
“Don’t be Evil!”: The Laughing Clown and the Neo-sights of Postcolonialism
The Indian prisoner is set free. He is “allowed“ to speak his mind. He gets a smile back. He is on MTV.
The face of the emperor is replaced with the leering clown face of Ronald McDonald.
It’s now an all-laughing, all-cheering peaceful world isn’t it? Full of attractions, spectacles, love and fireworks. It’s the empire of Walt Disney, The World of Coca-Cola.
I know it’s somewhat cheesy to degrade the postcolonial debate to coco-colonization. However, there lies the danger in need of assessment, and the road to that curls around the homeland of citizen Mickey.
The new colonial emperors are not controlling the routes to gems, cocoa, silk and gold. They got control over kamasutra, feng shui, the kimono and the nasty ninja. Independence is just a mere consolation. The “irrational, depraved, (fallen), childlike”[1] oriental is an eye candy now. His culture is a huge commodity to be consumed instantly. He has always been eccentric alright, but never been a standard fetish in this scale.
On the other side, the discourse of the emperor remains clearly the same. “You can not decide what you want. We know what is best for you.” Only now Balfours wear a cute mask.
The enormous palace of Coca Cola in Atlanta, rightfully called “The World of Coca-Cola” has an interesting attraction behind its giant walls, along many of other “cool” ones. This pretty room displays products from all over the world which the Coca-Cola Company has been producing and proudly marketing for years. It has the sour cherry juices with exotic flavors, the sweet flower juices from China, and 18 other brands consumed internationally. Not so surprisingly, the refreshing fountains of cool spirits are the most popular attraction for the tourists (mostly Americans). They taste the difference in little cups-just a sip not more-curiously. Hesitant but still really astonished faces sometimes spit out the strange juice, sometimes appreciate the fragrant aroma from the far side of the world. This little experience of the other is all they can get in the huge building. Not so surprisingly again, the only purpose of the alien zone is to convince the coke fans that the real thing is what they have been drinking for years. The real magical taste of the dark bottle. But still, the allegedly uniting strategies of the brand managers remain strong.
Coca Cola respects and embraces different cultures. It unites people with one modest bottle, a sip and a mouthful of love!
In Coca-Cola's utopian internationalism, it is not nature, but to the universal consumption of a commodity--Coke--which ties people together. Its implication is that if every person in the world drank Coke, we would all live in peace and brotherly love.[2]
So far so good…Now the giant companies want the people of the world to be juggled up in brotherly happiness, we can all feel peaceful about our pathetic existence in this small world. “A small world” indeed. As Walt Disney was so enthusiastic about, “a small world” is what peace is all about. The big guys now how to rule now. The motto transcends the notion of “divide and rule”. It becomes to “create your own”.
It is simple.
First you need the capital, of course. When you got loads and loads of money, you go and pick some remote place on earth to invest, which should be real cheap. You build your own cute little sweat shop, employ thousands and become the king of the place. Everybody loves you. Why, because you shine like a star in these poor people’s lives as the god-like being who gave them jobs to bring supplies to their homes, just enough to survive.
Then you go back to your home, which is probably in sunny California, and work on your campaign to announce how you want the children of the world to be all happy and healthy. You build your whole strategy on “we are the world” crap and ta-ta! Oh, you’re as cute as Santa Claus, chubby as an easter egg, an all so powerful like a real knight with the shiny armor. Kids love you. (First kids then the republicans perhaps.)
That’s probably the way things work around Roland McDonald, the magical wizard in charge of Coca-Cola and our dear Mr. Walt Disney.
But, that’s not all folks! As I said before you need to build/create you own little empire to succeed and amaze your crowd. This is your primary objective as the emperor.
Take Uncle Walt for example; he was dreaming of this small land of peace in his death bed, for god sakes! He deserves credit for his good intentions, if anything…
The Disneyland is just a theme park. Forget about the simulation formula weaved around it. Even the creators were shocked to realize that it was just a theme park. When they saw the filthy strip clubs, cheap motels, smelly burger stands start poping up around place, they were so frightened to ruin the dream for their beloved customers (should I say citizens?) that they decided to build a town! No filthy stuff, no dirt, even no mud on the shiny pavement. It should be all green and enchanted. And it should all be theirs, oops ours I mean. So our good old Walt came out with this project of EPCOT (Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow). Fancy, ha? Of course it wasn’t easy. Do you know how much hardship he had been through just to close the deal of that property with absolutely spending no money at all? It’s no joke. The place was twice the size of Manhattan Island, and he wouldn’t have to pay any taxes for it. Now, that’s a good bargain. Can only be made possible by a genius like him. He wanted to build this place for his people. "It will be a planned, controlled community," he explains, "a showcase for American industry and research, schools, cultural and educational opportunities." Great!
"In EPCOT," Walt promised, "there will be no slum areas because we won't let them develop." It just keeps getting better!
Unfortunately, Walt’s great idea had never come to life as he imagined. Later Disney executives and smart lawyers realized that “permanent residents of Disney World would threaten the company's control”.[3]
Same old story isn’t it. As Walt Disney puts it beautifully in his speech on July 1955; “I don’t want public to see the real world they live in while they are in the park. I want them to feel they’re in another world” The crippled reality of the leering clown replaces the fact that you’re being used, abused, brain washed, sucked to the last drop and thrown away as a disposed trash.
Of course, whole world knows about all these. Why do you think people get scared of the clowns? How they resist then? The answers is simple: From the inside. It’s not a hot and bloody independence war. It is a struggle to keep your cultural identity right where it belongs. Your very own existence, your beliefs, likes, dislikes and freedom above all, is now not forced to replaced, but more dangerously tend to dissolve in someone else’s.
And it is all so complicated know. The war from the inside, beyond the sewers of the mainstream challenges you to keep it silent and secret. Because when you put something out there which voices your pure concern for the ongoing neo-colonial abuse, it might air on MTV right away!
“MTV, like Google with all encompassing credo, “don’t be evil”, defines the face of the new multi-nationals. The clown face of McDonald is replaced by the smirk of the geek chic and knowing grin of the street smart kid. Contemporary MTV trades on the new cultural terrain of “massclusivity”, exclusivity for the masses.”[4]
There is nothing attractive about it. It is just there. When we throw out the tulle curtain before the truth, can it still be found? Are secrets the complementaries of truth? If we come to the point where we realize that all our searches was in vain, and there is no truth to be found, only the obscene reality of visibles, will we create our own phantasms, dark illusions of secrecy to re-weave the curtain which used to make us think that there was something behind?
Yeah, yeah…Zizek was right again…
“Now, we are forced to strike back, to deal with real enemies in the real world... However, WHOM to strike? Whatever the response, it will never hit the RIGHT target, bringing us full satisfaction.”[5]
[1] Edward Said “Orientalism” p.40
[2]Ted Friedman The World of The World of Coca-Cola Communication Research, Vol. 19 No 5, October 1992, pp. 642-662
[3] Hidden Kingdom Disney's Political Blueprint, Joshua Wolf Shenk
[4] On Air: The Visual Messages And Global Language Of MTV, edited by: Sophie Lovell Gestalten Verlag; Book&Dvdrm edition (March 30, 2006), p. 33
[5]WELCOME TO THE DESERT OF THE REAL By Slavoj Zizek, 09/15/2001
The face of the emperor is replaced with the leering clown face of Ronald McDonald.
It’s now an all-laughing, all-cheering peaceful world isn’t it? Full of attractions, spectacles, love and fireworks. It’s the empire of Walt Disney, The World of Coca-Cola.
I know it’s somewhat cheesy to degrade the postcolonial debate to coco-colonization. However, there lies the danger in need of assessment, and the road to that curls around the homeland of citizen Mickey.
The new colonial emperors are not controlling the routes to gems, cocoa, silk and gold. They got control over kamasutra, feng shui, the kimono and the nasty ninja. Independence is just a mere consolation. The “irrational, depraved, (fallen), childlike”[1] oriental is an eye candy now. His culture is a huge commodity to be consumed instantly. He has always been eccentric alright, but never been a standard fetish in this scale.
On the other side, the discourse of the emperor remains clearly the same. “You can not decide what you want. We know what is best for you.” Only now Balfours wear a cute mask.
The enormous palace of Coca Cola in Atlanta, rightfully called “The World of Coca-Cola” has an interesting attraction behind its giant walls, along many of other “cool” ones. This pretty room displays products from all over the world which the Coca-Cola Company has been producing and proudly marketing for years. It has the sour cherry juices with exotic flavors, the sweet flower juices from China, and 18 other brands consumed internationally. Not so surprisingly, the refreshing fountains of cool spirits are the most popular attraction for the tourists (mostly Americans). They taste the difference in little cups-just a sip not more-curiously. Hesitant but still really astonished faces sometimes spit out the strange juice, sometimes appreciate the fragrant aroma from the far side of the world. This little experience of the other is all they can get in the huge building. Not so surprisingly again, the only purpose of the alien zone is to convince the coke fans that the real thing is what they have been drinking for years. The real magical taste of the dark bottle. But still, the allegedly uniting strategies of the brand managers remain strong.
Coca Cola respects and embraces different cultures. It unites people with one modest bottle, a sip and a mouthful of love!
In Coca-Cola's utopian internationalism, it is not nature, but to the universal consumption of a commodity--Coke--which ties people together. Its implication is that if every person in the world drank Coke, we would all live in peace and brotherly love.[2]
So far so good…Now the giant companies want the people of the world to be juggled up in brotherly happiness, we can all feel peaceful about our pathetic existence in this small world. “A small world” indeed. As Walt Disney was so enthusiastic about, “a small world” is what peace is all about. The big guys now how to rule now. The motto transcends the notion of “divide and rule”. It becomes to “create your own”.
It is simple.
First you need the capital, of course. When you got loads and loads of money, you go and pick some remote place on earth to invest, which should be real cheap. You build your own cute little sweat shop, employ thousands and become the king of the place. Everybody loves you. Why, because you shine like a star in these poor people’s lives as the god-like being who gave them jobs to bring supplies to their homes, just enough to survive.
Then you go back to your home, which is probably in sunny California, and work on your campaign to announce how you want the children of the world to be all happy and healthy. You build your whole strategy on “we are the world” crap and ta-ta! Oh, you’re as cute as Santa Claus, chubby as an easter egg, an all so powerful like a real knight with the shiny armor. Kids love you. (First kids then the republicans perhaps.)
That’s probably the way things work around Roland McDonald, the magical wizard in charge of Coca-Cola and our dear Mr. Walt Disney.
But, that’s not all folks! As I said before you need to build/create you own little empire to succeed and amaze your crowd. This is your primary objective as the emperor.
Take Uncle Walt for example; he was dreaming of this small land of peace in his death bed, for god sakes! He deserves credit for his good intentions, if anything…
The Disneyland is just a theme park. Forget about the simulation formula weaved around it. Even the creators were shocked to realize that it was just a theme park. When they saw the filthy strip clubs, cheap motels, smelly burger stands start poping up around place, they were so frightened to ruin the dream for their beloved customers (should I say citizens?) that they decided to build a town! No filthy stuff, no dirt, even no mud on the shiny pavement. It should be all green and enchanted. And it should all be theirs, oops ours I mean. So our good old Walt came out with this project of EPCOT (Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow). Fancy, ha? Of course it wasn’t easy. Do you know how much hardship he had been through just to close the deal of that property with absolutely spending no money at all? It’s no joke. The place was twice the size of Manhattan Island, and he wouldn’t have to pay any taxes for it. Now, that’s a good bargain. Can only be made possible by a genius like him. He wanted to build this place for his people. "It will be a planned, controlled community," he explains, "a showcase for American industry and research, schools, cultural and educational opportunities." Great!
"In EPCOT," Walt promised, "there will be no slum areas because we won't let them develop." It just keeps getting better!
Unfortunately, Walt’s great idea had never come to life as he imagined. Later Disney executives and smart lawyers realized that “permanent residents of Disney World would threaten the company's control”.[3]
Same old story isn’t it. As Walt Disney puts it beautifully in his speech on July 1955; “I don’t want public to see the real world they live in while they are in the park. I want them to feel they’re in another world” The crippled reality of the leering clown replaces the fact that you’re being used, abused, brain washed, sucked to the last drop and thrown away as a disposed trash.
Of course, whole world knows about all these. Why do you think people get scared of the clowns? How they resist then? The answers is simple: From the inside. It’s not a hot and bloody independence war. It is a struggle to keep your cultural identity right where it belongs. Your very own existence, your beliefs, likes, dislikes and freedom above all, is now not forced to replaced, but more dangerously tend to dissolve in someone else’s.
And it is all so complicated know. The war from the inside, beyond the sewers of the mainstream challenges you to keep it silent and secret. Because when you put something out there which voices your pure concern for the ongoing neo-colonial abuse, it might air on MTV right away!
“MTV, like Google with all encompassing credo, “don’t be evil”, defines the face of the new multi-nationals. The clown face of McDonald is replaced by the smirk of the geek chic and knowing grin of the street smart kid. Contemporary MTV trades on the new cultural terrain of “massclusivity”, exclusivity for the masses.”[4]
There is nothing attractive about it. It is just there. When we throw out the tulle curtain before the truth, can it still be found? Are secrets the complementaries of truth? If we come to the point where we realize that all our searches was in vain, and there is no truth to be found, only the obscene reality of visibles, will we create our own phantasms, dark illusions of secrecy to re-weave the curtain which used to make us think that there was something behind?
Yeah, yeah…Zizek was right again…
“Now, we are forced to strike back, to deal with real enemies in the real world... However, WHOM to strike? Whatever the response, it will never hit the RIGHT target, bringing us full satisfaction.”[5]
[1] Edward Said “Orientalism” p.40
[2]Ted Friedman The World of The World of Coca-Cola Communication Research, Vol. 19 No 5, October 1992, pp. 642-662
[3] Hidden Kingdom Disney's Political Blueprint, Joshua Wolf Shenk
[4] On Air: The Visual Messages And Global Language Of MTV, edited by: Sophie Lovell Gestalten Verlag; Book&Dvdrm edition (March 30, 2006), p. 33
[5]WELCOME TO THE DESERT OF THE REAL By Slavoj Zizek, 09/15/2001
6 Mayıs 2008 Salı
the man list
i'm a huge fan of the "the glamour list" on the last page.this month's issue was kinda cosmo-ish, but fun as always. with a scarily hot stud/gay fantasy/stallion/macho/full frontal pic of mr.beckham on the side, "the list" is worth sharing.
the spot is cheesy, and yes, nauseatingly cosmo, reading:
"15 things we love about men"
i have my thumbs ups and downs for each item, so let's quote:
"1. Jar opening, spider catching and other minor acts of heroism."
If my experiences count, my ex-boyfriend should be considered a total anti-hero, according to glamour people. he was scared of bugs to death, not a successful jar, bottle or any stucked object opener either. so i never cheered for an "act of heroism" in the kitchen while juggling with a can opener. however, my kind of heroism has an elric twist, anti-heroes work just fine.
"2. kisses at traffic lights"
I would like to expand this to "kisses at every stop/break/any given available moment".
yes, it is sweet, not neccessarily a "men move" though...
"4. really, almost any kind of uniform"
a definite nay vote from me. i'm really having trouble understanding this uniform fetish. i'm intimadated by military or security people and estranged by social workers for example (yeah, yeah, bourgeois concerns) i can't begin to imagine myself batting eyelashes to a policeman or a pilot. maybe marines are an exception but i believe that's only a hollywood thing.
"5. that any-sex-is-great-sex attitude."
exactly. i find it comforting, funny as much as fun. i even like it when they do silly silly things because of the uncontrollable sex drive - i think, they think they have control over it though-
btw, i really don't like blabbering about men as if i know anything about having a penis, or what that much of testosteron level can do to you. so, maybe now i should just smile to "any-sex-is-great-sex attitude" from a distance.
"6. their shoulders."
Duh!
"7. Tuxedos."
Now they lost me. I don't know what kind of beer googles i should wear to find a penguin attractive. maybe, if we were attending an 18th century ball, and then a Mr. Darcy were to ask me to dance, and i would fell in love with his embroidered tailed jacket and fluffy shirt while dancing around in circles, mayybee, loving tuxedos would be a slight possibility. other than that, no.
8.(this item is placed on top david beckham's buffed up photo, which reads: "that sometimes they look like this"
i have no words to say, thank you.
"11.How intimidated they are by your dad."
Maybe, it is cute. But it can be a problem too. Looking from the dad's side, it's great, my side echoes a communication problem. best is we all get along. yes, like a huge italian family. maybe,with a pinch of intimidation.
"13. How sexy their arms look when they're driving (especially gear changes)
Yes, this is a real cosmo cliché, but i hate to admit that it's painfully true with right circumstances being, "the man" here is your boyfriend, your crush or something like that and not a random hairy, smelly cab driver. above gear changes and cool wheel control, i am amazed by the way man drive in general. but then again, i am usually attracted to people who can do things i don't.
"14. The way they look at us when they think we're not looking."
This one is my favorite. It involves several dynamics of man-woman interaction. one being, women are truely sly, tricky, as much as playful witches/bitches who never waste a minute putting on a game, which in a strange sense they believe it will work to their advantage. the other being, men are sometimes so naive to swallow the bait, or better, they welcome it, knowing it is just a cute sign of plea for attention. the latter ofcourse is why i like the act of looking described here. anyways, if it is full of joy, sparkly with a note of admiration, i welcome every kind of gaze, and will happily blush over it.
And then comes the "and 15 things we love to HATE about them" box.
apart from numero uno, which complains about how easily they lose weight, i disagrre with most of them. maybe #15. "man flu", i agree unfortunately. how can a simple flu makes someone whine and whine and call mom, i won't ever get it.
21 Nisan 2008 Pazartesi
the thin line between fandom and batshit crazy
i'm easy to impress. maybe easy to the point where the impresser gets bored by the "piece of cake" situation.
however, this time the "impressers" have no idea if i exist, so boredom is out of question.
being a tv/movie/sports/music/pop/crap/ junkie, junkie of the junks, i have a ridicilously uncool standard of sophistication. pickiness level is like next to zero. never managed to be a overly sarcastic smart ass, an arts freak who finds every fuckin thing man-made is too shallow for his/her taste, nor do i ever succeeded in wearing that "coolest genious ever" costume, which may have granted me with some wisdom of speech to cross the line of just "wow"ing the shows i watch.
so anyways, "me likey!" is a random bubble floating above my head while in front of any monitor, tv or pc.
however, sadly enough, this likey!likey! situation has a twist. just like love in real life, appreciation, admiration, fancying and stuff can sometimes get out of hand.
a simple fan behaviour becomes a love affair. you can find yourself reading useless stuff about a celebrity, when did she gets a hair cut, what was she doing when she was 11, why did her last boyfriend cheated on her -- bastard! -- which shoe size? let me check her astro chart -- yay! we're compatible! --
stuff like that ruined many batshit crazy fans' life, so beware.
now, with all due respect to dr.phil, i'll put myself to test. if i score above 6, call security.
1. Shane McCutcheon (Katherine Moennig)
The L Word is certainly a mind blower. But I'm not sure it will still blow certain body parts, if Shane wasn't literally "rocking" the show. This androgynous beauty, reminds me of the popular outcast boy from colllege who constantly speaks in low tones, the emo with hangover make up, the cool girl who you wanna hang out and read NME while drinking beer from the bottle, the indie rock star who is always cute and kind to the groupies backstage but fucks and never calls back all the same and Morrison with tight pants and half closed eyes.
She is all in one. Wrapped up in a beautiful anorexic, dirty package in shape of boxers. Sure thousands of straight fans of the show drool over Shane and think they are becoming a lesbian. But no, wish this was real love sweetie, but i am not blinded enough to think that i drool over a sweet girl. This is typical, chicks dig rock stars. So i give myself 6/10 for this.
2. Seth Cohen (Adam Brody)
That nerd stream is getting old. But still i couldn't help myself to put Cohen on the list, for old times' sake. About four years ago this skinny sweetness confused me so much that, it took me like 2 years to figure out how i feel. Most scary part is, he is so vulnerable, silly to the point of stupidity, puzzled, in desperate need of attention and lonely that i found myself "mommy"ing in front of the tv, "oh, baby please don't.." kinda compassionate, mushy words were spilling out of my mouth constantly. My heart used to break when he wears that puppy look on his face. i madly want to hug him, stroke his hair, canoodle and let all of that stupid misery wash away.
But one day, don't remember when, something weird happened. I realized that he was actually a man! Not even a boy. A man! God, that rush of anxiety, that blushed incest shame.
Above and all, Seth Cohen was a pretty good looking, stylish, smart young man with a hot girlfriend. He can draw like heaven, he smokes pot, has a somehow free spirit and has a boat for god sakes! So for a considerable amount of time, i switched to an Adam Brody fandom. still he is cute, yes. but i won't stalk a cohen, no. So, our point for this part is a humble: 5/10
3. Jess Mariano/Peter Petrelli (Milo Ventimiglia)
Jess: Hi.
Rory Gilmore: Hey.
Jess: Hi.
Lorelai Gilmore: Hi.
Jess: Hi.
Luke Danes: Hi.
Rory Gilmore: I have to get to school.
Jess: Yeah, me too.
Rory Gilmore: Bye.
Jess: Bye. Bye.
Lorelai Gilmore: Bye.
Rory Gilmore: Bye.
Lorelai Gilmore: Bye.
Rory Gilmore: Bye.
Luke Danes: Bye. -Jess and Rory leave...
Luke Danes: What the hell was that?
Lorelai Gilmore: That was episode one of Rory and Jess: The Early Years.
(Gilmore Girls S03E08)
Alexis Bledel, the infamous Rory Gilomore is an angel. Well, Milo Ventimiglia plays Jess Mariano devilishly enough. So this alone is enough to impress me. (Told you i was easy)
This Jess character domianted my life for about a year. In realtion ofcourse, Milo Ventimiglia came into the scene. That crooked mouth, that sexy frown, little tramp moves he put on while flirting the lady (alexis and milo were dating in real life) all was dreamy.
Just when i was getting over him, after heavy drinking, excessive googling, faith takes its toll and bam! Milo becomes a superhero! just what i needed. More charisma, more attitude, pose, frown, buff, appeal, even more crooked than ever! That writer's strike was a life saver, Heroes was sucking the life out of me. You should guess the point now, still i'm not ashamed to write it down: 8/10
4. Ronnie "The Rocket" O'Sullivan
This Essex boy not only rocks out the snooker table, also puts an almost streetball style to the royal game. Even in prim and proper bow ties and vests, Ronnie manages to look ever messy. His eyes, even though, extremely focused, locked to the que ball with a hawk like gaze, are always hazy and far off. When i first watched him in the crucible years ago, ofcourse i immediately wiki'ed and found out that he has a bipolar disorder, various addictions, had a tough family life (parents with a criminal record must be hard). So again, the bad boy spot in my brain tickled. Every now and then, I closely watch every game and personal life respectively. A smile spreads on my face when he jokes about himself, when that depressed sarcasm slouch in every word and ofcourse when he scores a massive 147 in 7 minutes. impressive in all senses. deserves a 7/10.
Oh well, the level of love in this post fagged me out. so, the essential scoring, more drooling and worshipping will continue in a sequel.
But, even from the look of this, it seems i won't be able to stay on a note which will be considered healthy...
We'll see...
however, this time the "impressers" have no idea if i exist, so boredom is out of question.
being a tv/movie/sports/music/pop/crap/ junkie, junkie of the junks, i have a ridicilously uncool standard of sophistication. pickiness level is like next to zero. never managed to be a overly sarcastic smart ass, an arts freak who finds every fuckin thing man-made is too shallow for his/her taste, nor do i ever succeeded in wearing that "coolest genious ever" costume, which may have granted me with some wisdom of speech to cross the line of just "wow"ing the shows i watch.
so anyways, "me likey!" is a random bubble floating above my head while in front of any monitor, tv or pc.
however, sadly enough, this likey!likey! situation has a twist. just like love in real life, appreciation, admiration, fancying and stuff can sometimes get out of hand.
a simple fan behaviour becomes a love affair. you can find yourself reading useless stuff about a celebrity, when did she gets a hair cut, what was she doing when she was 11, why did her last boyfriend cheated on her -- bastard! -- which shoe size? let me check her astro chart -- yay! we're compatible! --
stuff like that ruined many batshit crazy fans' life, so beware.
now, with all due respect to dr.phil, i'll put myself to test. if i score above 6, call security.
1. Shane McCutcheon (Katherine Moennig)
The L Word is certainly a mind blower. But I'm not sure it will still blow certain body parts, if Shane wasn't literally "rocking" the show. This androgynous beauty, reminds me of the popular outcast boy from colllege who constantly speaks in low tones, the emo with hangover make up, the cool girl who you wanna hang out and read NME while drinking beer from the bottle, the indie rock star who is always cute and kind to the groupies backstage but fucks and never calls back all the same and Morrison with tight pants and half closed eyes.
She is all in one. Wrapped up in a beautiful anorexic, dirty package in shape of boxers. Sure thousands of straight fans of the show drool over Shane and think they are becoming a lesbian. But no, wish this was real love sweetie, but i am not blinded enough to think that i drool over a sweet girl. This is typical, chicks dig rock stars. So i give myself 6/10 for this.
2. Seth Cohen (Adam Brody)
That nerd stream is getting old. But still i couldn't help myself to put Cohen on the list, for old times' sake. About four years ago this skinny sweetness confused me so much that, it took me like 2 years to figure out how i feel. Most scary part is, he is so vulnerable, silly to the point of stupidity, puzzled, in desperate need of attention and lonely that i found myself "mommy"ing in front of the tv, "oh, baby please don't.." kinda compassionate, mushy words were spilling out of my mouth constantly. My heart used to break when he wears that puppy look on his face. i madly want to hug him, stroke his hair, canoodle and let all of that stupid misery wash away.But one day, don't remember when, something weird happened. I realized that he was actually a man! Not even a boy. A man! God, that rush of anxiety, that blushed incest shame.
Above and all, Seth Cohen was a pretty good looking, stylish, smart young man with a hot girlfriend. He can draw like heaven, he smokes pot, has a somehow free spirit and has a boat for god sakes! So for a considerable amount of time, i switched to an Adam Brody fandom. still he is cute, yes. but i won't stalk a cohen, no. So, our point for this part is a humble: 5/10
3. Jess Mariano/Peter Petrelli (Milo Ventimiglia)
Jess: Hi.
Rory Gilmore: Hey.
Jess: Hi.
Lorelai Gilmore: Hi.
Jess: Hi.
Luke Danes: Hi.
Rory Gilmore: I have to get to school.
Jess: Yeah, me too.
Rory Gilmore: Bye.
Jess: Bye. Bye.
Lorelai Gilmore: Bye.
Rory Gilmore: Bye.
Lorelai Gilmore: Bye.
Rory Gilmore: Bye.
Luke Danes: Bye. -Jess and Rory leave...
Luke Danes: What the hell was that?
Lorelai Gilmore: That was episode one of Rory and Jess: The Early Years.
(Gilmore Girls S03E08)
Alexis Bledel, the infamous Rory Gilomore is an angel. Well, Milo Ventimiglia plays Jess Mariano devilishly enough. So this alone is enough to impress me. (Told you i was easy)
This Jess character domianted my life for about a year. In realtion ofcourse, Milo Ventimiglia came into the scene. That crooked mouth, that sexy frown, little tramp moves he put on while flirting the lady (alexis and milo were dating in real life) all was dreamy.
Just when i was getting over him, after heavy drinking, excessive googling, faith takes its toll and bam! Milo becomes a superhero! just what i needed. More charisma, more attitude, pose, frown, buff, appeal, even more crooked than ever! That writer's strike was a life saver, Heroes was sucking the life out of me. You should guess the point now, still i'm not ashamed to write it down: 8/10
4. Ronnie "The Rocket" O'Sullivan
This Essex boy not only rocks out the snooker table, also puts an almost streetball style to the royal game. Even in prim and proper bow ties and vests, Ronnie manages to look ever messy. His eyes, even though, extremely focused, locked to the que ball with a hawk like gaze, are always hazy and far off. When i first watched him in the crucible years ago, ofcourse i immediately wiki'ed and found out that he has a bipolar disorder, various addictions, had a tough family life (parents with a criminal record must be hard). So again, the bad boy spot in my brain tickled. Every now and then, I closely watch every game and personal life respectively. A smile spreads on my face when he jokes about himself, when that depressed sarcasm slouch in every word and ofcourse when he scores a massive 147 in 7 minutes. impressive in all senses. deserves a 7/10.
Oh well, the level of love in this post fagged me out. so, the essential scoring, more drooling and worshipping will continue in a sequel.
But, even from the look of this, it seems i won't be able to stay on a note which will be considered healthy...
We'll see...
10 Nisan 2008 Perşembe
Me! Me! Me! Part-deux
egoism continues...
11. compassionate hairderessers: this is kinda sick. come to think again, to enjoy a stranger's touch is really sickly strange. but maybe because of apeish non-evolver kinds, one day i found myself smiling when a relatively kind hand was washing my hair. every now and then i pop into a spa serenity kind of mood when im in compassionate hands. aww princess...
im dillusional really, and yes, sick.
12. after eight: up until now, not once have i wondered where that name came from(now i know). yet, i like after eights so much, that it may be considered dangerous. i might live only with a box or a chest or a room or ok, an island full of "mint enrobed in dark chocolates"(wiki wiki). 3 things i'll take with me if i... ah, whatever you got the concept.
13. the screaming vocalist: i'm a poopoo emoo, i'm a poopoo emo..
how amazing, most of my favorite songs has a ridicilous, out of context screaming part. i love it when the lead singer just loses himself and starts screaming all of a sudden. and usually the words are so stupid that if you scream them in real life you will probably end up in a mental institute, or rehab, or maybe you're simply drunk and pissed of. anyway, don't scream things like "I FOUND A BOX OF SHARP OBJECTS WHAT A BEAUTIFUL THING!" in public.
14. laziness: this deserves the number one spot. laziness is the most precious part of life. it is luxurious, as the geniuses at diesel ad department once put nicely.
i'm thinking of marilyn monroe sleeping with chanel no.5 on, cat naps, hours spent purring on "the nook", a good book, chocolate, milk and all those beautiful useless things...
11. compassionate hairderessers: this is kinda sick. come to think again, to enjoy a stranger's touch is really sickly strange. but maybe because of apeish non-evolver kinds, one day i found myself smiling when a relatively kind hand was washing my hair. every now and then i pop into a spa serenity kind of mood when im in compassionate hands. aww princess...
im dillusional really, and yes, sick.
12. after eight: up until now, not once have i wondered where that name came from(now i know). yet, i like after eights so much, that it may be considered dangerous. i might live only with a box or a chest or a room or ok, an island full of "mint enrobed in dark chocolates"(wiki wiki). 3 things i'll take with me if i... ah, whatever you got the concept.
13. the screaming vocalist: i'm a poopoo emoo, i'm a poopoo emo..
how amazing, most of my favorite songs has a ridicilous, out of context screaming part. i love it when the lead singer just loses himself and starts screaming all of a sudden. and usually the words are so stupid that if you scream them in real life you will probably end up in a mental institute, or rehab, or maybe you're simply drunk and pissed of. anyway, don't scream things like "I FOUND A BOX OF SHARP OBJECTS WHAT A BEAUTIFUL THING!" in public.
14. laziness: this deserves the number one spot. laziness is the most precious part of life. it is luxurious, as the geniuses at diesel ad department once put nicely.
i'm thinking of marilyn monroe sleeping with chanel no.5 on, cat naps, hours spent purring on "the nook", a good book, chocolate, milk and all those beautiful useless things...
7 Nisan 2008 Pazartesi
memory- "emo"ry- o'rly
somethings stick on me like flies on hellish summer nights.
somethings, i forget so fast that, maybe they've never existed.
the stickies are infectious. it is really frustrating not to be able to choose which memories to keep, which ones to throw away.
for example, i wanna throw away one moment recently, put it in a blue plastic bag, not even recycle.
let it rot away some place far far away. a shitty 17.15.
i remember every single detail of it. if a genie would come along, i would ask him for a chance to replace that with a recent one, which was warm, all smiles and peaceful in contrary.
but, no genies seem to answer the alarm call, so, Robbie's words from atonement rings in my mind:
ROBBIE (V.O.)
The story can resume. Our story can
resume. I will simply resume.
(...)
Dearest Cecilia, the story can resume.
The one I had been planning on that
evening walk. I can become again the
man who once walked across a Surrey
park at dusk in my best suit,
swaggering on the promise of life; the
man who, with the clarity of passion,
made love to you in the library. The
story can resume.
I will return. Find you, love you,
marry you, and live without shame.
but, no.
the story will NOT resume.
this useless "emo"ry will die. i'll keep on forgetting stuff like, what did i eat on sunday, when did i talk about my grandfather's perfumery, the main character's name on the tv show i liked some much... and the other's along with those daily junk, will be lost.
one day, i'll wake up and find myself completely blank.
and then, you will be able to write anything you like on me.
i will just tickle and giggle.
rly.
somethings, i forget so fast that, maybe they've never existed.
the stickies are infectious. it is really frustrating not to be able to choose which memories to keep, which ones to throw away.
for example, i wanna throw away one moment recently, put it in a blue plastic bag, not even recycle.
let it rot away some place far far away. a shitty 17.15.
i remember every single detail of it. if a genie would come along, i would ask him for a chance to replace that with a recent one, which was warm, all smiles and peaceful in contrary.
but, no genies seem to answer the alarm call, so, Robbie's words from atonement rings in my mind:
ROBBIE (V.O.)
The story can resume. Our story can
resume. I will simply resume.
(...)
Dearest Cecilia, the story can resume.
The one I had been planning on that
evening walk. I can become again the
man who once walked across a Surrey
park at dusk in my best suit,
swaggering on the promise of life; the
man who, with the clarity of passion,
made love to you in the library. The
story can resume.
I will return. Find you, love you,
marry you, and live without shame.
but, no.
the story will NOT resume.
this useless "emo"ry will die. i'll keep on forgetting stuff like, what did i eat on sunday, when did i talk about my grandfather's perfumery, the main character's name on the tv show i liked some much... and the other's along with those daily junk, will be lost.
one day, i'll wake up and find myself completely blank.
and then, you will be able to write anything you like on me.
i will just tickle and giggle.
rly.
4 Nisan 2008 Cuma
CUT
what a thrill ---
my thumb instead of an onion.
the top quite gone
except for a sort of a hinge
of skin,
a flap like a hat,
dead white.
then that red plush.
-- Sylvia Plath, “Cut”
You lie painfuly bruised on the floor. One arm dead on your side. It seems the pure bloody flesh can rot any time. You can smell the sickening stench of decay in seconds. It is something different now..
***
Self-mutilation or self-injury, is not just about self-punishment or past trauma, although grows mental roots there. We can say that, it is the creative reconstruction of satisfaction from “the unsatisfactory”. It is redefining your own body by immobilizing it partially, experiencing an agonizing moment of illusionary control over it. When asked why did she cut herself, a self-mutilator answers: “I wanted to test my limits”. A test of breaching the limits of being alive. It is your abstracted organ, free from the body that let’s you experience how to die. How to kill yourself, piece by piece, and yet remain immortal like “germ-cells” (Freud Sigmund. Beyond the Pleasure Principle) . However it is not a “suicide attempt”. The act of self-harm hardly carries an intention of ending life. It is just the language of the pain. The urge to speak the unspeakable. We can even say, it is a struggle to survive, by releasing the devastating load of the orderless “words” from your mind. Body becomes the text, where you can inscribe and mark the state of pain beautifuly. In fact, if we turn the phrase up side down like David Fincher’s Fight Club did (quoted in Zizek Slavoj. Organs without Bodies: On Deleuze and Consequences), it is a “near-life experience”. Peta Malins elaborates on the notion of “textual becoming” of the body in a rather ironic way:
"My breasts are for whipping(masoschism), my mouth is for emptying my stomach (anorexia), my arm is a blank canvas (tattooing), my tounge is for dissolving a trip (raving), my veins are for transporting the drug (injecting) "
Now this unique and painful “language” makes much more sense when we look deeper into it in terms of Jacques Lacan’s controversial arguement “la femme n’existe pas”, or in Zizek terms, “there are no talking vajinas...” . The intention or “need” to self-harm is more meaningful when articulated through the feminine symbolic “non-existence”. While feminine “langue” struggles to find a subtle ground in the masculine symbolic order, it creates its own matrix to cope with the dominant mechanism. Marks of mutilation is not just a metaphor, furthermore a metamorphosis of that structure. The body is the re/de-constructed “canvas” searching for new meanings and waiting for a transgressing understanding of them. Let’s picture it through the shocking sequence of Adrian Lyne’s 1987 feature “Fatal Attraction”. In the middle of the film Glenn Close’s character is struck with the feeling of awareness that she just can’t leave without Micheal Douglas’ character, Dan. She starts acting peevish from the sourness inside her. She doesn’t want him to leave, doesn’t want to let him go back to his beautiful wife’s arms. But in reality, if they are to act like “rational adults”, she is expected to be cool about his marriage and face the fact that it was just an affair, just a fling which gave them both pleasure. Unfortunately things don’t work out that way. Her state is completely unspeakable, completely out of the language system we know of, which falls inadequate to describe the agony and rage inside her. So guess what she did? No suprises, she cuts her wrists. Not to end her life right there on the kitchen floor but to scream something to this man who is completely safe out there in an orderly rational, male world. Alex Forest (Glenn Close) used her blood to say; “You can not just fuck me and leave… That hurts, but see, I can give much more pain to myself and not a single hair on my back will move. This body is mine, and I can shut it out whenever I like. I can kill every single organism in and on it, so that you will see that I can die but yet survive forever. Although you may never truly understand it...” Alex may or may have not speak these exact words, it is the view from Dan’s side we can be sure about. He watches a live show of “the other” and will never have a clue about that feeling of release there.
Pleasure attained by self-mutilation has a transcending quality. When we scan through what psychoanalysis said about the “pleasure principle”, we can see that pleasure gains its character from limitations. The illusion of pleasure is to “enjoy as little as possible”, thus, trigger the need to go beyond that prohibitions. However, beyond awaits pain, rather than pure pleasure. So the paradox of “jouissance” is the bliss of transforming pleasure to pain, and madly enough, feel the transcending satisfaction from it. The “becoming” process, the breaching of the limitations, following the path towards death like a fearless undead connotates the phrase, “playing God”. You interefere to God’s form (the body) and its limited structure. Body is invented over and over again by repetitive death trials. It is modified, even improved as pure subjective qualities attributed to it. The self-mutilator goes in and out of the womb again and again, a trip from inorganic to organic in front of his/her very eyes. In Samuel Beckett’s words, s/he yearns to “fail again, fail better..”.
The pleasure from this satisfaction is somehow necrophilic. The “undead- becoming” reminds the idea that, it is not just about the “death drive” or “excess jouissance” but also the otherness of the dead. The love for the stationary, desire to touch and feel the inorganic. Thus, the self-mutilator practises necrophillic homicide on the organ. So, the desire opens a passage to the corpse . Taking from the point where psychoanlaysis defines self-injurious acts as the need to return to mother’s womb, in parallel to the “death-drive”, we can go further to say that maybe it is just the seperated, abstracted organ not the “body” as a whole strives to go stationary in absolute darkness.
If we have found the body - the corpse- then, we can go looking for the murderer. As dead as an organ can be, it can be uncontrollably alive too. As in Zizek’s example, the self-beating scene in David Fincher’s Fight Club (1999) , the hand goes out of control of the body. It claims a character of its own while it is beating the hell out of Edward Norton.
"The self-beating begins with the hero’s hand acquiring a life of its own, escaping the hero’s control- in short turning into a partial object, or to put in Deleuze’s terms, into an organ without body" (Slavoj Zizek, Organs without Bodies)
This “split structure” shows us the chosen method to scatter the wholeness of the body and the totality of it. By producing specter doubles, desire works through out the system, breaking the unity, thus freeing the pain. Silent release from the body gives birth to a masochist and a sadist. The sadist “hand” for example, tends to posess the needy masochist part. David A. Goldfarb’s reference to Deleuze can be of use:
"Deleuze defines masochism by its symbolic structure and sharply distinguishes it from sadism, in contrast to the traditional view that sadism and masochism are complimentary. Sadism, he argues, is driven by the desire for possession; whereas, masochistic relationships are constituted by pact and mutual initiation.. "
This definition differs from the pychoanalytic view of sadism and masochism being complimentary. They are not, as the body and spirit are not. As being one of the definitive syndromes of the “borderline disorder” self-injurious acts’ intentions vary, same as the bodily structure. So, we can not conclude to a complimentary solution. One never completes the other, they even clash not to “complete” one another.
Self-mutilation resists conceptualization. It is not the subsitute of being loved in the form of being castrated. In that sense it is “de-oedipal”. The continous quality abstarcts it from the intentional engine of death-drive. The aim is not to kill, not to stop but to do it over and over again. Not to kill as a whole but to murder one by one, piece by piece. So, it is necrophillic as well as bearing “necromancerly” aims to animate it from the dead state. The Deleuzian model of “desiring-machines” can be useful to understand this fragmented structure. First the term "machine" favorably used by Gilles Deleuze, is like the alteration of pyschoanalytic "unconscious". Unlike psychoanalysis "schizoanalysis" takes the unconscious as something "based on production/formation, rather than representation/writing". Deleuze and Guattari has argued that the only way to deal with the -no-more-existing- binaries is to take one side of the binary and use it to cancel the other, thus crash the whole system. The “machinic” system is already fragmented, so we can no longer take the organs, the "partial objects" forming the desiring machine, as a full structure. So if the organs are instruments of imposed repression over desire what if there is no organs, just the body, --or what if there is no body?-- If this conception should work to de-construct the system of ordered organism, we will see that we are left with only the intensity of desire, not trapped by the partially related system. The "Body without Organs" which is a term coined out by Artaud in late 40s, can be taken as the pathway formed for the "desiring" flow. Antonin Artaud used the term “body without organs” in his manifestation entitled the Theatre of Cruelty, he states in a rather radical way that symbolically "the organs" which made the human body function, granted the men with something he did not deserve. The freedom lies in the "body without organs", which lacks the ordered functioning and resembles the "truth" of death in a way. This also addresses the idea that particles (organs) of the system are analogically the institutions that form the network of organism. They are carriers of the viruses. The parasitic.
If we take those approaches to understand pain, we can see that the origin of pain coincides with the mentioned aim to fragment the body and all it stands for. As well as being a pure subjective notion, it is also the thread that ties one to the real world. As Andrea Gutenberg notes clearly, “it helps the subject to situate itself in relation to the world: it works both as a world-constructing and as a world-reconstructing faculty”. Lacking an adequate vocabulary, “pain” strives to communicate, to find a satisfactory expression to let loose the bounds of silence. To do so, it breaks and smashes the limits of the symbolic order. The silence when any chosen “weapon” harms the body, is actually comes out as a scream. If we look closely to self-injurious acts, we’ll see that they are done in nearly absolute silence, counting little sounds of the cuts, burns etc. out. Even this can lead us to self-mutilation’s unsharable, unspeakable character by itself, since it bears the need of communication; a need to tear the wall of silence, which is the invisible boundary before the world outside. In almost all qualities mentioned the craving to breach, to transgress, to tear down is evident. The need is not just to hide, but to be “involved” at the same time.
For psychoanalyst Didier Anzieu, this limit breaking tendency is the very cause of self-harm. He argues that patients are almost lost in a world where they can not relate whether they are outside or inside a territory. Also can not distinguish between memories whether if they are on conscious level or retained by the unconscious, as they are “too traumatic to speak”. Anzieu, observes some of his patients and concludes;
“He is uncertain of the frontiers between the psychical and
bodily Egos, between the reality Ego and the ideal Ego, between what belongs to
the Self and what to others (…) a confusion of borders and limits
as symptomatic of Western culture at the end of twentieth century (…) we no longer recognize definite boundaries..”
If that is the case, self-mutilator can not relate to the truth of the traumatic memory, as s/he is unable to draw a thin line between reality and phantasms on the unconscious level. Hence, the marks and scars on the skin serves as a “memoroire” for the integration of the body and psyche. “If damage to the material skin can be remembered physically, damage to the psychic envelope can be remebered physically.” This approach takes us back where the body is re-structured as a “canvas”. The point we should highlight here is, why the painful memories or traumas are objectified this way. As it is mentioned above the self-harmer has problems to interact with the world outside. S/he struggles to transfer the dark load, hidden in his/her unconscious, to the plane of reality. The ego is confused, as it is unable to distinguish inner and outer stimuli. The body then, needs to be transformed as a coping mechanism to let the inner disturbance out by making it visible. So the intangible pain is replaced by a concrete landmark of the feeling. A mark that serves as a subsitute, a codified word that lets the self-injurer interact with reality and the world outside. By inscribing such markings and signs a new identity is constructed. Thus, the performative existence is altered.
At last, it is not a pleasent art work but mutilation is still “artly”. The body is a diary, a portrait, a caligraphy tablette. Apart from its painful becomings and transformations it preserves the aesthetic subjectivity. It can even be considered literally as pure art, since performance artists like Stellarc mutilate their bodies in front of their audiences, films like Crash (1996) -or J.G Ballard’s novel- fascinates the watching eye. The age we live in even more tickles the need to immobilize the body partially, to transform it into a machine, modify it to become a cyborg by an operation without narcotics and sedators.
The words of a self-mutilator can sum up the sinking, itching feeling of this frustration:
“I used to feel like the world was going on around me but I was not part of
it. I interacted with it like a robot. The real me was locked up inside but I
couldn’t reach it. I was sealed off and I would get really desperate to
break out.”
my thumb instead of an onion.
the top quite gone
except for a sort of a hinge
of skin,
a flap like a hat,
dead white.
then that red plush.
-- Sylvia Plath, “Cut”
You lie painfuly bruised on the floor. One arm dead on your side. It seems the pure bloody flesh can rot any time. You can smell the sickening stench of decay in seconds. It is something different now..
***
Self-mutilation or self-injury, is not just about self-punishment or past trauma, although grows mental roots there. We can say that, it is the creative reconstruction of satisfaction from “the unsatisfactory”. It is redefining your own body by immobilizing it partially, experiencing an agonizing moment of illusionary control over it. When asked why did she cut herself, a self-mutilator answers: “I wanted to test my limits”. A test of breaching the limits of being alive. It is your abstracted organ, free from the body that let’s you experience how to die. How to kill yourself, piece by piece, and yet remain immortal like “germ-cells” (Freud Sigmund. Beyond the Pleasure Principle) . However it is not a “suicide attempt”. The act of self-harm hardly carries an intention of ending life. It is just the language of the pain. The urge to speak the unspeakable. We can even say, it is a struggle to survive, by releasing the devastating load of the orderless “words” from your mind. Body becomes the text, where you can inscribe and mark the state of pain beautifuly. In fact, if we turn the phrase up side down like David Fincher’s Fight Club did (quoted in Zizek Slavoj. Organs without Bodies: On Deleuze and Consequences), it is a “near-life experience”. Peta Malins elaborates on the notion of “textual becoming” of the body in a rather ironic way:
"My breasts are for whipping(masoschism), my mouth is for emptying my stomach (anorexia), my arm is a blank canvas (tattooing), my tounge is for dissolving a trip (raving), my veins are for transporting the drug (injecting) "
Now this unique and painful “language” makes much more sense when we look deeper into it in terms of Jacques Lacan’s controversial arguement “la femme n’existe pas”, or in Zizek terms, “there are no talking vajinas...” . The intention or “need” to self-harm is more meaningful when articulated through the feminine symbolic “non-existence”. While feminine “langue” struggles to find a subtle ground in the masculine symbolic order, it creates its own matrix to cope with the dominant mechanism. Marks of mutilation is not just a metaphor, furthermore a metamorphosis of that structure. The body is the re/de-constructed “canvas” searching for new meanings and waiting for a transgressing understanding of them. Let’s picture it through the shocking sequence of Adrian Lyne’s 1987 feature “Fatal Attraction”. In the middle of the film Glenn Close’s character is struck with the feeling of awareness that she just can’t leave without Micheal Douglas’ character, Dan. She starts acting peevish from the sourness inside her. She doesn’t want him to leave, doesn’t want to let him go back to his beautiful wife’s arms. But in reality, if they are to act like “rational adults”, she is expected to be cool about his marriage and face the fact that it was just an affair, just a fling which gave them both pleasure. Unfortunately things don’t work out that way. Her state is completely unspeakable, completely out of the language system we know of, which falls inadequate to describe the agony and rage inside her. So guess what she did? No suprises, she cuts her wrists. Not to end her life right there on the kitchen floor but to scream something to this man who is completely safe out there in an orderly rational, male world. Alex Forest (Glenn Close) used her blood to say; “You can not just fuck me and leave… That hurts, but see, I can give much more pain to myself and not a single hair on my back will move. This body is mine, and I can shut it out whenever I like. I can kill every single organism in and on it, so that you will see that I can die but yet survive forever. Although you may never truly understand it...” Alex may or may have not speak these exact words, it is the view from Dan’s side we can be sure about. He watches a live show of “the other” and will never have a clue about that feeling of release there.
Pleasure attained by self-mutilation has a transcending quality. When we scan through what psychoanalysis said about the “pleasure principle”, we can see that pleasure gains its character from limitations. The illusion of pleasure is to “enjoy as little as possible”, thus, trigger the need to go beyond that prohibitions. However, beyond awaits pain, rather than pure pleasure. So the paradox of “jouissance” is the bliss of transforming pleasure to pain, and madly enough, feel the transcending satisfaction from it. The “becoming” process, the breaching of the limitations, following the path towards death like a fearless undead connotates the phrase, “playing God”. You interefere to God’s form (the body) and its limited structure. Body is invented over and over again by repetitive death trials. It is modified, even improved as pure subjective qualities attributed to it. The self-mutilator goes in and out of the womb again and again, a trip from inorganic to organic in front of his/her very eyes. In Samuel Beckett’s words, s/he yearns to “fail again, fail better..”.
The pleasure from this satisfaction is somehow necrophilic. The “undead- becoming” reminds the idea that, it is not just about the “death drive” or “excess jouissance” but also the otherness of the dead. The love for the stationary, desire to touch and feel the inorganic. Thus, the self-mutilator practises necrophillic homicide on the organ. So, the desire opens a passage to the corpse . Taking from the point where psychoanlaysis defines self-injurious acts as the need to return to mother’s womb, in parallel to the “death-drive”, we can go further to say that maybe it is just the seperated, abstracted organ not the “body” as a whole strives to go stationary in absolute darkness.
If we have found the body - the corpse- then, we can go looking for the murderer. As dead as an organ can be, it can be uncontrollably alive too. As in Zizek’s example, the self-beating scene in David Fincher’s Fight Club (1999) , the hand goes out of control of the body. It claims a character of its own while it is beating the hell out of Edward Norton.
"The self-beating begins with the hero’s hand acquiring a life of its own, escaping the hero’s control- in short turning into a partial object, or to put in Deleuze’s terms, into an organ without body" (Slavoj Zizek, Organs without Bodies)
This “split structure” shows us the chosen method to scatter the wholeness of the body and the totality of it. By producing specter doubles, desire works through out the system, breaking the unity, thus freeing the pain. Silent release from the body gives birth to a masochist and a sadist. The sadist “hand” for example, tends to posess the needy masochist part. David A. Goldfarb’s reference to Deleuze can be of use:
"Deleuze defines masochism by its symbolic structure and sharply distinguishes it from sadism, in contrast to the traditional view that sadism and masochism are complimentary. Sadism, he argues, is driven by the desire for possession; whereas, masochistic relationships are constituted by pact and mutual initiation.. "
This definition differs from the pychoanalytic view of sadism and masochism being complimentary. They are not, as the body and spirit are not. As being one of the definitive syndromes of the “borderline disorder” self-injurious acts’ intentions vary, same as the bodily structure. So, we can not conclude to a complimentary solution. One never completes the other, they even clash not to “complete” one another.
Self-mutilation resists conceptualization. It is not the subsitute of being loved in the form of being castrated. In that sense it is “de-oedipal”. The continous quality abstarcts it from the intentional engine of death-drive. The aim is not to kill, not to stop but to do it over and over again. Not to kill as a whole but to murder one by one, piece by piece. So, it is necrophillic as well as bearing “necromancerly” aims to animate it from the dead state. The Deleuzian model of “desiring-machines” can be useful to understand this fragmented structure. First the term "machine" favorably used by Gilles Deleuze, is like the alteration of pyschoanalytic "unconscious". Unlike psychoanalysis "schizoanalysis" takes the unconscious as something "based on production/formation, rather than representation/writing". Deleuze and Guattari has argued that the only way to deal with the -no-more-existing- binaries is to take one side of the binary and use it to cancel the other, thus crash the whole system. The “machinic” system is already fragmented, so we can no longer take the organs, the "partial objects" forming the desiring machine, as a full structure. So if the organs are instruments of imposed repression over desire what if there is no organs, just the body, --or what if there is no body?-- If this conception should work to de-construct the system of ordered organism, we will see that we are left with only the intensity of desire, not trapped by the partially related system. The "Body without Organs" which is a term coined out by Artaud in late 40s, can be taken as the pathway formed for the "desiring" flow. Antonin Artaud used the term “body without organs” in his manifestation entitled the Theatre of Cruelty, he states in a rather radical way that symbolically "the organs" which made the human body function, granted the men with something he did not deserve. The freedom lies in the "body without organs", which lacks the ordered functioning and resembles the "truth" of death in a way. This also addresses the idea that particles (organs) of the system are analogically the institutions that form the network of organism. They are carriers of the viruses. The parasitic.
If we take those approaches to understand pain, we can see that the origin of pain coincides with the mentioned aim to fragment the body and all it stands for. As well as being a pure subjective notion, it is also the thread that ties one to the real world. As Andrea Gutenberg notes clearly, “it helps the subject to situate itself in relation to the world: it works both as a world-constructing and as a world-reconstructing faculty”. Lacking an adequate vocabulary, “pain” strives to communicate, to find a satisfactory expression to let loose the bounds of silence. To do so, it breaks and smashes the limits of the symbolic order. The silence when any chosen “weapon” harms the body, is actually comes out as a scream. If we look closely to self-injurious acts, we’ll see that they are done in nearly absolute silence, counting little sounds of the cuts, burns etc. out. Even this can lead us to self-mutilation’s unsharable, unspeakable character by itself, since it bears the need of communication; a need to tear the wall of silence, which is the invisible boundary before the world outside. In almost all qualities mentioned the craving to breach, to transgress, to tear down is evident. The need is not just to hide, but to be “involved” at the same time.
For psychoanalyst Didier Anzieu, this limit breaking tendency is the very cause of self-harm. He argues that patients are almost lost in a world where they can not relate whether they are outside or inside a territory. Also can not distinguish between memories whether if they are on conscious level or retained by the unconscious, as they are “too traumatic to speak”. Anzieu, observes some of his patients and concludes;
“He is uncertain of the frontiers between the psychical and
bodily Egos, between the reality Ego and the ideal Ego, between what belongs to
the Self and what to others (…) a confusion of borders and limits
as symptomatic of Western culture at the end of twentieth century (…) we no longer recognize definite boundaries..”
If that is the case, self-mutilator can not relate to the truth of the traumatic memory, as s/he is unable to draw a thin line between reality and phantasms on the unconscious level. Hence, the marks and scars on the skin serves as a “memoroire” for the integration of the body and psyche. “If damage to the material skin can be remembered physically, damage to the psychic envelope can be remebered physically.” This approach takes us back where the body is re-structured as a “canvas”. The point we should highlight here is, why the painful memories or traumas are objectified this way. As it is mentioned above the self-harmer has problems to interact with the world outside. S/he struggles to transfer the dark load, hidden in his/her unconscious, to the plane of reality. The ego is confused, as it is unable to distinguish inner and outer stimuli. The body then, needs to be transformed as a coping mechanism to let the inner disturbance out by making it visible. So the intangible pain is replaced by a concrete landmark of the feeling. A mark that serves as a subsitute, a codified word that lets the self-injurer interact with reality and the world outside. By inscribing such markings and signs a new identity is constructed. Thus, the performative existence is altered.
At last, it is not a pleasent art work but mutilation is still “artly”. The body is a diary, a portrait, a caligraphy tablette. Apart from its painful becomings and transformations it preserves the aesthetic subjectivity. It can even be considered literally as pure art, since performance artists like Stellarc mutilate their bodies in front of their audiences, films like Crash (1996) -or J.G Ballard’s novel- fascinates the watching eye. The age we live in even more tickles the need to immobilize the body partially, to transform it into a machine, modify it to become a cyborg by an operation without narcotics and sedators.
The words of a self-mutilator can sum up the sinking, itching feeling of this frustration:
“I used to feel like the world was going on around me but I was not part of
it. I interacted with it like a robot. The real me was locked up inside but I
couldn’t reach it. I was sealed off and I would get really desperate to
break out.”
1 Nisan 2008 Salı
5 ways to identify happy people
dictionary of thesaurus defines happiness as, a) satisfaction b) eternal rest c) blessedness d) ecstasy e) lightness in spirit ... and so on...
all of these words, being so fancy and all, hang loose in mind. for me, happiness, like laughter, is an uncontrolable urge. like the giggle loop, it grows, it conquers, it tickles and tingles.
i'm kinda indecisive about one thing though; which one is easier? to identify a sad person or a happy one?
maybe sadness has its dark clarity, while hapiness shines. apple of the eye won't lie.
so, as far as my attitude shows, these are the silly things most happy people do when their mind tickles:
1. Smile
Not a laugh but a sunny smile, accompanied by a translucent light twinkling in the eyes. this smile mostly enhances to the point of pointless stupidity. think of how you look from outside, when you walk around with a dumbass smile on your face.
but the big difference is, when you're geniunely happy, you don't care about how you look, or what people will think. you don't have a random joke popped up on your mind all of a sudden. you're happy! yay! so who cares...
2. Clapping
Maybe not all happies clap to every exciting thing they hear. i can't imagine a 50 year old happy executive clap cheerfully when he learns his company stocks hit the highest notes. but for me, and maybe for most of the 16-year-old- girls around the world, clapping shows happines. if you realize that the person in front of you acts like this:
"Really? that's great! (clap clap)"
"OMG that'sawesome! yay! (clap clap)"
"Aww that's the cutest kitty i've ever seen (clap clap)"
"i've bought new shoe laces (clap clap)"
":) (clap clap)"
know that she is happy. but keep in mind this kind of a happy clap is not an applause. it's performed with the tips of the fingers. kinda like a hello kitty move.
ah, cuteness is like candy, it nauseates after a whole three packs.
3. Earthly pleasures
happiness comes with a boost. an undefinable, coming out of nowhere hunger towards pleasure. it is logical, since "the happy" had tasted the cheery piece of life, she won't stop until she gets the next dose. whether if you're happy because of love, work, family life or money, you seek to accompany that with earthly pleasures, like tasty food, beautiful clothes, hair products, fruity lipsticks, fun fun fun movies, exotic alcoholic beverages of sorts, upbeat songs, kittens, playsation, youtube, bubble bath, sex... all kinds of its and bits the world has to offer. go little happy go. the world is a magical place. go play!
4. Chatterbox
this is kind of a side effect. the happies are rattlebrains. they are selfish too. not a pleasurable combination. they tend to talk on and on about how happy they are. how life is great, how the sun shines, how the rain falls beautifully, how the snow flakes hit the window, what his/her boy/girlfriend said the other day (oh, how sweet), how he/she responded to that sweet gesture, then how he/she answered back, then how they hugged, kissed and make out in front of the fireplace... ok, sorry, im losing myself here. so anyway, happy people talk. la lal lalala.. shiny happy people, blah blah blah..
5. Beauty
"happy people look more beautiful than sad people." this is the cliche of all times maybe. but kinda true. if you believe that emos are beautiful, i wont argue at all. because the universe knows that they are fuckin happy IRL.
this happy glow im talking about, is not something paris hilton sticks on her face. it is not a fake smile, or a mac concealer... it is the inner light. (god, im so cheesy, i could die)
but, seriously, when you're happy, you wash your hair more often, you blush when you smile for no reason, you wear clean shirts, you smell nice, your eyes brighten...
as solid as that.
(clap clap)
31 Mart 2008 Pazartesi
jealousy
looking from the cute little kitchen window of my almost playboy mansion resemblé heart, jealousy is a neccessity. like a vessel to keep breathing. if you manage to keep the inhale/exhale rhythm tolerable, it pumps clean blood to your veins.
however, as you can imagine, things are not always as smooth as strawberry cream. so while pumping life, you can easily end up dead. strangely enough, jealousy has the potential of ripping your heart out and feed them to the pigeons in front of that cute little window.
the tricky part is this: the line between madness and cutesy is so thin that, even if you're the most talented rope dancer of all times, you may find yourself tip-toeing on the edge of lava boiling madness. in the blink of an eye. simple as that.
cute/silly part is easy. more or less it goes like this:
boy - that girl is beautifuull. jeez!
girl - oh, shut up! she's a fat ass!
b - i like fat asses.. (ehe ehe...)
g - i don't have a fat ass?!
b - i like your ass too... (heehee)
g - but you also like the fat ones?
b - yeah, but, she's beyonce for god sakes!
g - so you fancy beyonce more than me?
b - of course not! don't be silly! you're my girl...
g - (batting eye lashes) really?
b- yeah..
g - let's make out
b - let's do that...
the mad part though, is rather complicated. cause it usually involves an inner monologue more than a decent conversation. even ravings, i might say... and it goes like this:
inner self1: maybe it is nothing... maybe she's just a friend...
inner self2: but if she is, why did the bitch invites him over in the middle of the night?
i.s.1: but he didn't go, did he?
i.s.2: he would, if i didn't call right after...
i.s.1: he didn't go because, he respects me..
i.s.2: yeah, perfect, he respects me! what a relief. respect all you like. if that girl makes one more move he will be drooling all over!
i.s.1: come to think now... yeah.. he once said she has gorgeous legs.
i.s.2: he did, didn't he? what a bastard! and i stand here babble about respect! respect my ass!
i.s.1: he doesn't love me.
i.s.2: he wants to fuck her.
i.s.1: maybe he already did.
i.s.2: what maybe? most definitely he did!
i.s.1: fuck that bitch!
i.s.2: will he go to her funeral if she dies?
i.s.1: i think he will...
i.s.2: will he come visit me if i was put in jail?
i.s.1: don't think so...
i.s.2: shit, this is lame...
i.s.1: i need a drink!
so, cliche maybe, but in the end, the only self-healer is trust. because -bowing before j.t.leroy- i might say, "the heart is deceitful above all things..."
however, as you can imagine, things are not always as smooth as strawberry cream. so while pumping life, you can easily end up dead. strangely enough, jealousy has the potential of ripping your heart out and feed them to the pigeons in front of that cute little window.
the tricky part is this: the line between madness and cutesy is so thin that, even if you're the most talented rope dancer of all times, you may find yourself tip-toeing on the edge of lava boiling madness. in the blink of an eye. simple as that.
cute/silly part is easy. more or less it goes like this:
boy - that girl is beautifuull. jeez!
girl - oh, shut up! she's a fat ass!
b - i like fat asses.. (ehe ehe...)
g - i don't have a fat ass?!
b - i like your ass too... (heehee)
g - but you also like the fat ones?
b - yeah, but, she's beyonce for god sakes!
g - so you fancy beyonce more than me?
b - of course not! don't be silly! you're my girl...
g - (batting eye lashes) really?
b- yeah..
g - let's make out
b - let's do that...
the mad part though, is rather complicated. cause it usually involves an inner monologue more than a decent conversation. even ravings, i might say... and it goes like this:
inner self1: maybe it is nothing... maybe she's just a friend...
inner self2: but if she is, why did the bitch invites him over in the middle of the night?
i.s.1: but he didn't go, did he?
i.s.2: he would, if i didn't call right after...
i.s.1: he didn't go because, he respects me..
i.s.2: yeah, perfect, he respects me! what a relief. respect all you like. if that girl makes one more move he will be drooling all over!
i.s.1: come to think now... yeah.. he once said she has gorgeous legs.
i.s.2: he did, didn't he? what a bastard! and i stand here babble about respect! respect my ass!
i.s.1: he doesn't love me.
i.s.2: he wants to fuck her.
i.s.1: maybe he already did.
i.s.2: what maybe? most definitely he did!
i.s.1: fuck that bitch!
i.s.2: will he go to her funeral if she dies?
i.s.1: i think he will...
i.s.2: will he come visit me if i was put in jail?
i.s.1: don't think so...
i.s.2: shit, this is lame...
i.s.1: i need a drink!
so, cliche maybe, but in the end, the only self-healer is trust. because -bowing before j.t.leroy- i might say, "the heart is deceitful above all things..."
26 Mart 2008 Çarşamba
Songs you should NEVER listen
so, the songs below constitute extreme danger for the heart.
handle them with care, handle your mind with care. we're not on top of olympia. none of us girls have the heart of hera and i don't think none of the real boys have the mind of a heinlein robot.
that is to say, humans are fragile and mostly stupid enough to hurt themselves intentionally.
1 - damien rice - "accidental babies"
avoid if;
- you found out that you've been cheated.
- you learned that your ex has moved on so fast
- you realized that you're forgotten, while you keep thinking about the same scenes over and over again.
- he/she has a new boy/girlfriend.
- you're aware that there's no turning back, but still painfully hope that there's still a chance.
- if you miss him/her deadly, however can't help but picture with someonelse.
lines to avoid the most-if you're jealous:
"do you cum? together ever with him? and is he dark enough? enough to see your light? and do you brush your teeth before you kiss? do you miss my smell?"
lines to avoid the most - if you regret everything gone wrong, but still shamelessly hopeful:
"well i know i make you cry and i know sometimes you wanna die but do you really feel alive without me? if so: be free. if not: leave him for me. before one of us has accidental babies. "
handle them with care, handle your mind with care. we're not on top of olympia. none of us girls have the heart of hera and i don't think none of the real boys have the mind of a heinlein robot.
that is to say, humans are fragile and mostly stupid enough to hurt themselves intentionally.
1 - damien rice - "accidental babies"
avoid if;
- you found out that you've been cheated.
- you learned that your ex has moved on so fast
- you realized that you're forgotten, while you keep thinking about the same scenes over and over again.
- he/she has a new boy/girlfriend.
- you're aware that there's no turning back, but still painfully hope that there's still a chance.
- if you miss him/her deadly, however can't help but picture with someonelse.
lines to avoid the most-if you're jealous:
"do you cum? together ever with him? and is he dark enough? enough to see your light? and do you brush your teeth before you kiss? do you miss my smell?"
lines to avoid the most - if you regret everything gone wrong, but still shamelessly hopeful:
"well i know i make you cry and i know sometimes you wanna die but do you really feel alive without me? if so: be free. if not: leave him for me. before one of us has accidental babies. "
2 - brand new - "you won't know"
avoid after;
- a harsh harsh break up
avoid if;
-the person you left behind doesn't care about you a bit. even maybe barely remembers you.
- no matter how indifferent he/she reacts, you're aware of the fact that you had a long, intense, even mutually loving relationship at one point.
- you have suicidal tendencies.
- you're a fuckin emo who has a thing for razorblades.
lines to avoid most - if you're desperately in love:
"i wish that i could tell you right now, "i love you"but it looks like i won't be around,so you won't know..."
lines to avoid most - if you're, well, simply an emo:
"so they say,they say "in heaven there's no husbands and wives".on the day that i show up,they'll be completely out of their forgiveness supplies.and i cant use the telephone to tell you that i'm dead and gone...so you won't know."
3 - elvis costello - "i want you"
avoid if;
- you have an obssesive compulsive disorder. fixate almost on anything.
- you can barely sleep because of "the stupid details" about the girl or the boy.
- you can never get enough
- you're a nympho
- you can't decide whether you're in love or plain horny.
- you have the potential of murder, go berserk by the mere thought of the other guy/girl.
- you've been cheated, dumped, lied to.. same bullshit as always.
lines to avoid;
1. "it's the stupid details that my heart is breaking forit's the way your shoulders shake and what they're shaking for"
2. "it's the thought of him undressing you or you undressing"
3. "did you call his name out as he held you down? oh no my darling not with that clown"
simple isn't it?..
22 Mart 2008 Cumartesi
Me! Me! Me!
for the glory of the blog! i hereby promise to spill all my beans, here, where no one knows and no one cares..
this should be fun:
let's start with fav's...
1 - morning glory: which is an oasis album, a flower, a notebook (or generally stationary) label and the feeling i get sometimes when i somehow manage to retain a smile after i woke up . nice...
2 - peaches: they remind me of some super pink, mellow, naive summer afternoons. like them with biscuits, milk or plain as always.
3 - photo magic: being scared of narcisism as hell, i have a schizoid love hate relationship with self-photography. usually i find myself uncomfotably blushed looking at a horrendous photo of mine, but sometimes, a magical light saves the day and the pic turns out great, which then i feel like staring at a starnger's eyes. weird but tingly sweet.
4 - super silly cat behaviour: this has nothing to explain apparently. cats are silly. they act awfully meaningless and silly. them being silly makes me smile like no other.
5 - love: hey, i can be cheesy sometimes, can't i?
6 - damien rice: this one is somehow problematic. damien rice usually makes me wanna tear my heart out and eat it with jelly and custard on the side. this crystal irish man manages to trigger my inner drama queen so badly that at the end of just three songs i unleash my little emo minions to take over the life around me, which is the room i'm in simply. still love it. can't live without it.
7 - sunshine: yes, i love it. who doesn't?
8 - beauty: once, on a drunken night out, i found my self babbling about having only beautiful friends . i was determined that i can't be friends with ugly people.(disgusting i know) come to think of it, yes. all of my girls (im from the hood y'all) are beautiful. and im loving them being so uniquely good looking. i feel safe around beauty. love all things that have an essence of beauty in it. arts, nature, a glamourous dinner table, a cherry pie, shoes, all count... can't say the same thing for "beautiful" boys though.
9 - weird eyes: me and cobain have something in common. when i first read his diary, i was astonished by this sentence with his bad handwriting: "i like girls with weird eyes". Exactly. Most definitely. I loovve people with weird eyes. i like the crazy, sparkly light in them, i love their funny shapes, i love how they move like they belong to a scared bunny, i like a good glare, fire, anger and compassion too... i even like cross eyed people. weird is beautiful.
10 - gaming: when i was 8 years old, while playing with barbies, suddenly i had this shocking fear that if the years pass this fast, i may find myself not wanting to play anymore! Like all the adults around me i might have got bored of playing! ridicilous! then i kinda made a promise, that i wont ever quit playing. games are life. life is not a game though. so barbies are gone now, but thank god video games remain. i cant live without'em. blow up, build up, battle up, live it up. i passed the treshold of boredom now, i guess.
the list goes on of course... this will be a series it seems. let it be. it's mine. i can do whatever i want with it.
gg.
this should be fun:
let's start with fav's...
1 - morning glory: which is an oasis album, a flower, a notebook (or generally stationary) label and the feeling i get sometimes when i somehow manage to retain a smile after i woke up . nice...
2 - peaches: they remind me of some super pink, mellow, naive summer afternoons. like them with biscuits, milk or plain as always.
3 - photo magic: being scared of narcisism as hell, i have a schizoid love hate relationship with self-photography. usually i find myself uncomfotably blushed looking at a horrendous photo of mine, but sometimes, a magical light saves the day and the pic turns out great, which then i feel like staring at a starnger's eyes. weird but tingly sweet.
4 - super silly cat behaviour: this has nothing to explain apparently. cats are silly. they act awfully meaningless and silly. them being silly makes me smile like no other.
5 - love: hey, i can be cheesy sometimes, can't i?
6 - damien rice: this one is somehow problematic. damien rice usually makes me wanna tear my heart out and eat it with jelly and custard on the side. this crystal irish man manages to trigger my inner drama queen so badly that at the end of just three songs i unleash my little emo minions to take over the life around me, which is the room i'm in simply. still love it. can't live without it.7 - sunshine: yes, i love it. who doesn't?
8 - beauty: once, on a drunken night out, i found my self babbling about having only beautiful friends . i was determined that i can't be friends with ugly people.(disgusting i know) come to think of it, yes. all of my girls (im from the hood y'all) are beautiful. and im loving them being so uniquely good looking. i feel safe around beauty. love all things that have an essence of beauty in it. arts, nature, a glamourous dinner table, a cherry pie, shoes, all count... can't say the same thing for "beautiful" boys though.
9 - weird eyes: me and cobain have something in common. when i first read his diary, i was astonished by this sentence with his bad handwriting: "i like girls with weird eyes". Exactly. Most definitely. I loovve people with weird eyes. i like the crazy, sparkly light in them, i love their funny shapes, i love how they move like they belong to a scared bunny, i like a good glare, fire, anger and compassion too... i even like cross eyed people. weird is beautiful.
10 - gaming: when i was 8 years old, while playing with barbies, suddenly i had this shocking fear that if the years pass this fast, i may find myself not wanting to play anymore! Like all the adults around me i might have got bored of playing! ridicilous! then i kinda made a promise, that i wont ever quit playing. games are life. life is not a game though. so barbies are gone now, but thank god video games remain. i cant live without'em. blow up, build up, battle up, live it up. i passed the treshold of boredom now, i guess.
the list goes on of course... this will be a series it seems. let it be. it's mine. i can do whatever i want with it.
gg.
20 Mart 2008 Perşembe
level of cuteness
(cute?)this super cute/romantic/flo/flo/oh so sweet photo shoot of adam brody and rachel bilson reminds me of creepy stuff somehow. being one of the most iconicly chick couples of the decade, seth and summer of the o.c. were constantly thinking of marriage, moving together, this and that . As of fourth season, they were in an useless grown-up frenzy of "what will we become?", "where is this goin?" kinda shiz.
they were 17/18, right? -- sure a more superpowered oc brain will know this petite detail by heart.
too much for my teen drama senses. they should be kissing, smooching, breaking up for the reasons like, you spilled milkshake on me, didn't bring me a yoo-hoo when i most needed one, and then get back together and smooch again. im not even talking about shagging.
what the hell ive become, don't know the reason behind my ridicilous prudism. maybe beacuse i take my cutesies, clean and huggable, just like i take my teddy bear.
dont get married, dont pop out babies and hand them out to brangelina before you have a brain stained enough of vodka, a heart broken enough, a body which you came to know that you're getting bored and a bank account enough to feed at least 10 cats and an aquarium full of piranhas. i can only take supergenious juno as my girl for that matter. she's an exception, close to my heart as always.
thanks to diablo.
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