A.N.

You've freed yourself from every tie that still binds me, yet you're no freer than I am. Does this say more about you, or me?

Who do you write like?

While perusing an old copy of Writer's Digest magazine, I happened upon an article that had a link to a website that tells you which famous author your writing most resembles. I entered two separate sections of my as of yet unpublished novel, and got the same famous author both times.


My result?
Chuck Palahniuk

Who do you write like?  Go to iwl.me and find out:)

Born to run

Sometimes I feel like I need to run. And I'll sit and think to myself, 'where are you going to run to? Besides, it's raining out.' And I nod, blank expression on my face framing my eyes wild with dreams. Because I'm right. I realize where it is I want to run. I want to run back in time. I want to run until I'm the girl I was, with too much time on my hands, and the confidence to do what I'm not doing now. The confidence to Be who I Am. To be who I am when no one's looking. To be who I am WHEN everyone's looking. I miss her so much. She'd know just what to say to me. SHE'D know what to do. But a thousand 'might-have-beens' later, here I am. I'm the version of her that reigned victorious. Yet there is no victory. What's the first step in a race from myself? What's the first stride in a race toward my old self?

Books I'd like to see made into movies

IF they stayed true to the book, and did a good job, here's a list of books I'd like to see on film, if only to get people to read the books:) These are also books that I recommend a lot at work, (I'm a librarian).

Random order.

1) Rose Madder - Stephen King.
2) The stupidest Angel - Christopher Moore. (YAY! They're doing this one!)
3) Faceless - Martina Cole.
4) Forests of the heart - Charles de Lint.
5) Life expectancy - Dean Koontz.
6) Everyone worth knowing - Lauren Weisberger.
7) River God, AND The seventh scroll - Wilbur Smith
8) Stone 558 - Gerald Browne.
9) Syrup - Maxx Barry.
10) Good omens - Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen.
11) Stupid and contagious - Caprice Crane
12) Urban shaman - CE Murphy
13) Bordertown - Edited by Terri Windling. The old ones.

I may update this blog entry, explaining why I selected these books, but I may not. I truly am a fickle, fickle creature.

Slummin' it.

Last night while at work, I got into a conversation with a woman that seriously pissed me off. I had to control my face, rein it back into neutral until she left.

I'm a librarian. She asked for my help ordering a book in about Goa and Mumbai, as it turns out she is going to stay in Mumbai for three weeks in November. The other librarian asked her for more details about her trip. Turns out:
*She was going to rent a flat in Mumbai with a colleague's mother who grew up there, and she has become friends with.
*The friend's family is very affluent over there.
*She didn't want to experience the affluence of India, she wanted to see the "culture."
*She was super excited about visiting the slums of Mumbai, to 'really get in there and see the culture of Mumbai.' That was the main attraction of going to India. The slums.

So while she was talking about the slums, the other librarian said, "Well, that will be something to look forward to." The lady gushed about yes it was, then left. Which made me think...

The SLUMS OF INDIA ARE SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO?!

Fuck you lady. For real. It's such a decadent, arrogant western attitude to think that visiting a poverty stricken area makes for an exciting vacation. Let's go gawk at the poor lower caste! Do you honestly think that going there for three weeks can help you experience what it's truly like to grow up there, every minute of every day, knowing your chances of getting out are pretty fucking slim? Do you even know what the caste system is?!

It drives me crazy. People see Slum Dog Millionaire and rush off to go see it in real life. They romanticize the idea of poverty, of the noble savage, of any other variation of a fairy tale where the down trodden are where you will find the culture, instead of finding heartache, hopelessness and disease. They romanticize it to the point where they go on tours of dangerous areas; where they will go and tour the areas as if they're an exhibit, and as though that isn't not only horrifically invasive, but tacky as hell. People like to think that if you go to the poorest of a place, that that's where the true culture will be found, and yield the best time of your life, not unlike Rose's experience with the Irish on the Titanic movie.

It's possible to experience a place without gawking at people, and making an exhibition of their lives. Culture doesn't come from poverty. Culture comes from every aspect of a people, and it's also arrogant to dismiss out of hand the "affluent" side of their lives, just because you saw a goddamned movie and want to slum it for the experience.

I get wanting to stay off the beaten path when traveling, but shit. Why would you want to experience someone else's poverty? Is that going to make you a better person? Can't you feel for someone WITHOUT being in their shoes? Can you not have empathy without having to assimilate the worst of a country? Isn't that a bit unbalanced? You can't visit the worst of a country and think you know it's people. You can't visit the poorest region and say you know it's life. Limiting yourself to such an obtuse experience is cheating yourself of the experience. You're cheating the culture of a people you claim to want to know, because you're only meeting one face in the family.

Is anyone else here a triple threat?

I was flipping through the channels the other day and caught a quick clip of a preview for next week's episode of some inane show I don't watch. In the preview, the character says she's a triple threat because -
1. She can sing. 2. She can act. 3. She's pretty.
WHAT? Since when did looks fall under the category of 'talent'? When I was younger, (and the way I learned it), to be a triple threat in entertainment, one had to be able to:
1. Dance
2. Sing
3. Act
How do looks determine talent? I just thought the whole thing was ridiculous. The way we look is nothing to be proud, or ashamed of. I don't see why people get all proud of themselves for being "good looking." It's not like they had anything to do with it, they were born with
the genes they have now. Having an athletic, strong body is different, as generally we have to work for it, and maintain it. Looks are unimportant, and nothing to be egotistical about.
If we are going to call being good looking a talent, where do we draw the line at what we will consider talent? Here are a few "talents" I have if there are no limits for being a triple threat.
1. I got hit by a car and bounced off the hood and landed on my feet. There's a talent.
2. I can take any word and make it sound as if it's being said by a gospel preacher.
3. I can fold my tongue. OOO there's a talent.

Yup, watch out for Feaky. I'm gonna be a star! But don't feel bad - you will be too.

These days, it doesn't take much.

Likes and Dislikes...

People ask me quite frequently why I don't hit on certain subjects – politics, religion, etc. Sure they're important, but they're too easy and have been done to death. The main reason I avoid those topics is because they can't be done properly from a one sided point of view. I'd have to write a friggin essay about them, and people would still write big fucking letters bitching to me how they think I'm wrong. An opinion isn't wrong – it's an opinion. It may be in bad taste, politically incorrect, uneducated, ill informed, made prematurely and with undue haste – but an opinion is an opinion.

That said here are some important things I feel the need to discuss. Two little lists for your enjoyment. One of things I could do with less of, and two – things I'd like to see more of...

Things I could do with less of...

1.The expression – ____ is the new ____. And the people who say this. Things are what they are. Why does everything have to be something else? The little black dress has always been black, and thirty is only ever going to be thirty. Fuck.

2.EMO anything. Everyone feels sad when they're going through teenage hormones. It's called adolescence. Get a fucking hobby or job – snap out of it. There's no need to make a sub culture out of it.

3.Products that can't just have one use. Cell phones now are computers, phones, mp3's, radio's, alarms, GPS, camera's. Fuck. They hose you on the add-ons. If I want a camera I'll buy a camera. There's just more to go wrong when you complicate the equation.

4.Jeans with holes in them – at the store. Thanks fuckhead. I am buying new jeans because mine have holes in them already. If I want holes I can make them myself. How about this – I'll sell you my old jeans that have holes in them, and you give me a pair before you distress the shit out of them. Everybody wins.

5.People afraid to age. Here's a shock – it happens to everyone. Accept it and deal with it – quit injecting shit into your face.

6.People who obsess over their lawns. Who decided that the perfect lawn should look like a carpet – all mechanical, and cold, and unnatural – devoid of personality? Personally I like it a little wild. It's nature damn it.

Things I'd like to see more of...

1.Velcro on shoes. Hmm – actually velcro anything. I love that shit – it's magical.

2.People who sing/ dance in public – but not on a stage. Just average people shaking their asses to music only they can hear, if only to scare the yuppy fucks around them. This doesn't include people who forget to take their meds. If it isn't intentional - it isn't funny.

3.Products that actually do what they claim they can. It shouldn't be a big surprise when something does what it says it's going to. Thanks magic eraser for keeping your promise.

There's more, but you get the gist. Let me know what some things you'd like to see more of, or things you could do without. I'd better make the see more of list... Hahaha.

Fade to black...

Music

Music.

Fuck yeah!
And you know what annoys me? People don't really listen to music anymore. This isn't a burn on today's music - although... hahaha. No - what I mean, is that most people can't be bothered to be silent for the duration of a song anymore. You show someone a new song, or play an old one they haven't heard - what happens?
Chances are good they will sit there, barely hiding their impatience, biding their time until 30 seconds or so pass, and they feel they can talk over the song. Even if they love it and it blows their mind - they talk about how great it is - and it's STILL PLAYING!
*sigh*
I don't know. Maybe I just love music too much. But when I hear a song I love, it just fills me with an indescribeable feeling. Words fail. If you know - you'll get it.

I just think that people are missing out. I wonder when this happened? Remember operas centuries ago? Although - that was pretty much the precurser to television in my opinion. But people would just sit and listen for hours on end, letting the sounds, rhythm, melodies, beats, harmonies take them away. 
Old jazz (nothing against new jazz) - you had to sit and listen - the very nature of the music demanded it. If you didn't pay attention you might have missed the most amazing performance of your life. Different every time.
Hippy music in the 60's/ 70's. Come on - those minutes long instrumentals were for getting stoned yeah, but they were also for listening. People sing along to the verses, but the instrumentals are for listening to. And people did, drugged out or not.
I guess it's because in general, we are becoming more of a visual society. Never mind walkmans, discmans, now everything is video - take the music video with you! No thanks. I'd rather hear the music, and see the world around me.
Maybe that's why the world is the way it is. Everyone's so distracted by what they see on their little screens, that they forget to look at the world around them once in a while.
More than a passing glance brushing around the middle distance, as they wait for the light to change

Stained by Daylight

Stained by daylight

I'm always searching for the music. The music that fills my soul and my nights. The type of music that only lives on in the nights with no moon. Nights as dark as your eyes.

Last night you wrapped me up in your music. We were dancing in the darkest corner of our dreams where no one could see us and tell us it wasn't real. Reality always hurts us.

You gave me your voice and you pretended it was your heart, and I pretended to believe you. I let the music carry me away into the dream.

But in the cold morning there was only stillness. The quiet drowns my senses. I always run from the silence. The music stops and I slip out the door. The rising sun burns the dream to ashes.

I can't find the music - the sun is too bright for me to find it. I'm always searching for the music but I can only find it at night.

Daylight kills the dream - but I fear the dream as much as you fear me. Daylight unwraps the hold your song had over me. With my ears full of silence I start looking for the music again.

For another dance. Another collision.

I can only live in the night now. I only live in the music. I only love you when you sing.

And I wish I didn't mind.

Too many mountains between Myself, and Me.

Sometimes I feel a profoundly... unsettled feeling. A malaise if you will, when I think about who I am, and who I want to be.

It's like I get acutely aware of all the other Me's that could be in other dimensions. I wonder what I'm like. All the other possibilities of me.

How maybe they are more ME than I am. A concentrated version of me. More Me than I am. Maybe more Me than I'll ever be.

Maybe you know that feeling. That strange sensation somewhere in the region of your solar plexus/ breastbone. A wistfulness that defies words, and yet radiates a discontent that makes you lie awake at night. Not every night. But enough to make you feel like it never really goes away.

So how am I supposed to get to her? How do I be who I want to be, when I'm not even sure who she is?

I've talked myself out of so many dreams. How do I talk myself back into them?

I'm not That Girl. The girl who Believed in herself. I believed in myself with the passion of a zealot. There was no doubt. The Siren. The Moondreamer. My self assurance covered me like a warm blanket.

But now there's only the cold air of indifference and doubt washing over me; standing alone on the stage.

Maybe another Me in another dimension saw that I wasn't using what talent I had, and she stole it away. Now she's living the life I wish I had. Being the woman I want to be. How can I get it back? Where do I begin looking for it?

And when will I realize when looking for it, that it was never gone at all?