"Creation seems to come out of imperfection. It seems to come out of a striving and a frustration. And this is where I think language came from. I mean, it came from our desire to transcend our isolation and have some sort of connection with one another. And it had to be easy when it was just simple survival… Like, you know, “water”. We came up with a sound for that. Or “Saber-toothed tiger right behind you”. We came up with a sound for that. But when it gets really interesting, I think, is when we use that same system of symbols to commuicate all the abstract and intangible things that we’re experiencing. What is, like, frustration? Or what is anger or love? When I say “love”, the sound comes out of my mouth and it hits the other person’s ear, travels through this Byzantine conduit in their brain, you know, throught their memories of love or lack of love, and they register what I’m saying and say yes, they understand. But how do I know they understand? Because words are inert. They’re just symbols. They’re dead, you know? And so much of our experience is intangible. So much of what we perceive cannot be expressed, it’s unspeakable. And yet, you know, when we communicate with one another, and we feel that we have connected, and we think that we’re understood, I think we have a feeling of almost spiritual communion. And that feeling might be transient, but I think it’s what we live for."- Waking Life (2001)

Hahahahaha!

Fish expression priceless.

CAPS LOCK CANNOT CONTAIN MY FAN GIRLY JOY

Hello my darlings, she croons softly, I'll be waiting.

If I introspect anymore I will actually implode.

The only reason I do, talk to myself in my head that is, is because anything committed on paper sounds insane. Even when written in perfectly good purple ink.

The reason I don't blog as much any more is because I've forgotten who I used to blog for in the first place.

And again, my brain goes at insane rates, asking all these pointless questions, meandering and meandering, TIRELESS. I'm trying to distill my thoughts, getting vents for them, the evidence is on my walls. I have a little black spiral bound book where I write shizz but even then, my thoughts are cryptic.

I feel like I'm lying to myself, only that I'm really good at it and bad at it at the same time. Good because usually I tell the truth, bad because I can always rationalise a lie to a semi truth. I'm not good at the game because I'm being crushed by it. I don't believe me any more because well, I'm obsessed with having meaningless sex with words and twisting it and relishing the creation of nostalgia for the moment rather than actually being in the moment.

I am afraid because I am not certain of what I want. I am afraid because even what I need is elusive. See, to be aimless is not something I'm good at. Why am I doing this, what do I want to do, for whom am I doing it for (me? more uncertainty).

And then I miss people but occasionally it feels that the oceans are not what divides because I'm beginning to miss people here AND WE ARE NOT EVEN APART.

It's difficult trying to see where I fit in here. I like friends. "Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather is one of those things that give value to survival" And will always be eternally grateful for the ones that have stuck around and just let me be comfortable. Then occasionally it strikes me how much I don't know the people around me, they are here for now but seperated by cellophane. I don't know how to break it, whose wall of formidable cling wrap is it anyway?

I like the aloneness, but selfishly enough, not the loneliness. Suddenly, more than ever, it's 'Oh but I don't want to impose'. *shrugs* To be needed is gratifying and more than ever I see the influence of media which I have fed on and which has in turn,drained from me. <-- internet addictions yeyyy

Feeling like I have learnt nothing yet somehow someone is still teaching but I don't get it.

I try not to give advice any more. It's dangerous.

OMG! YES.

And Hi! No, not dead. It's just very difficult to find the will to blog when it's cold everyday. And rainy. All you want to do is snuggle under the comforters and just lay there, thinking, hey, if dracula felt this cold, no wonder he never left his velvet coffin.