Kind of pissed that "fragilis" is already taken on Gmail.
I've been looking for a universal username, something I can use for everything thenceforth. Instead of the million different email addresses I give out to different people and companies, whose passwords I keep forgetting. And the infinite, ever-increasing usernames I get sick of soon, and then just get a new one, perpetuating the cycle. Something that's me, yet not too niche or obscure or somewhat inappropriate. I want something that I can somewhat easily say aloud, too. Like for email receipts at stores (whenever the employee asks for my email address, I'm always like, "Ummm," "Umm," panicking, going blank, going through the multitude of choices in my head, trying to remember what they are, and thinking, "No, that one's waay too long...") So, fragilis. I also thought about "traumata."
I always want to start over with everything.
It's like I think that if I get a new house/place to live in, new decor, new arrangement of things, put my books away in a different order, get a new computer, find the perfect username... then everything will be right.
The carbon paper-frailty of these illusive nirvanas.
Always longing to reinvent myself.
It's hard to do the little things you want, to be good, to be the person you want to be.
If only I could murder myself every night, hack myself up into tiny pieces, and emerge anew from the carnage-y pool of slick red blood and viscera, and then carry my newborn self away, from hotel to hotel.
And I find myself dreaming of a place where it's always warm...
Where the cold doesn't seep into your bone marrow, along with the melancholy.
photo by JL Schnabel
I'm reading Cure All by Kim Parko
, a thin volume of little surreal, fascinating, grotesque, absurd short stories and prose poems. I would definitely recommend it to anyone, I think you would enjoy it.+
Dear Sir or Madam: How long has your hair grown in the years since I've seen you? I've heard that it lengthens most extravagantly in the grave. I cut a lock years ago and took it to the medicine woman. She embedded it within a hole cut in the center of my chest, and now a small but expressionless head grows there. It reminds me of the ancient times when we were parts of one being. I was the hoofed feet and you were the solid tongue. When one of us fell to the forest floor, our body still lived on. Remember the many decays and flowerings contained within our organism? How I miss the days of our singular animal.
- Kim Parko
Nick and I have been trying to come up with a term that describes the kind of jewelry I like. He called it "whimsical natural macabre pagan goth sort of thing." I laughed at that. I think of it as "witchy," which is a convenient term, because if you imagined coming upon a witch in a forest, you'd find all of those elements: there's her tie to the occult and dark spiritual forces, hex symbols, animal and human skulls, etc.; and I also associate it with witch house music. He also called it "pagany," because of its inspiration of natural shapes (bones, animals, twigs, thorns, etc). It's elaborate, tends to overemphasize the metally qualities of the materials, often rough-textured; a lot of people think of it as "savage." There's a theme of spiritualism and the supernatural, a mystical sensibility. There's a preoccupation with the macabre side of nature. There's a very heavy focus on animals: their skulls, skeletons, antlers, claws, and teeth; as well as human anatomy. It seems so ubiquitous that it feels like there should be a specific term for it by now.
This is a really interesting dream that Nick had the other night...
I had this weird dream tonight that was part of a kind of recurring dream that I've before. Well, the dream itself wasn't recurring, but the overall setting and stuff was.
Basically in the dreams I go to this place, it's just like in someone's apartment, and for some reason it's advertised as a "book club" even though it's not. I go in there and there are people sitting around on the floor, and it's dark and there are candles around. And then it starts and this older lady in a hooded robe comes out and everyone sits around as different people do different things. It's like some sort of semi-religious/spiritual cult ritual type thing. I've dreamt about it before, the same place, and I think some of the same people. Just this "club" that you can go to and participate or just watch that meets every week or something. In the dream when I was there I either said to someone or thought about how I hadn't been there in a long time. That I used to go but it's been a couple years since I last went. Just like the time since I last had the dream.
This time I went there and it started the same, there was maybe 7 or 8 people sitting around in a semi-circle in the apartment, and I went and sat down kind of in the back but next to someone that I may or may not have seen before. And it started by everyone sitting around this bed that rotates (I don't know where the bed came from since we were kind of in the living room before, but maybe we moved) and a girl sat on it and took off her pants and underwear, and two other women sat beside her, and I can't remember what they did, maybe they just talked to her or maybe they held her or gave her something, but then it was almost like she was giving birth, like she was pushing something out of herself, but there wasn't anything, it was just how she acted. Like she was just cleansing herself somehow. I felt kind of lost like it was something I should know about, just the last part in a process that I missed because I hadn't been to the previous meetings. But I guess that's what the meetings were like, they would "help" people deal with their various problems in these ritualistic kind of ways.
After that I think we just sat around and talked. There was this other guy there I didn't like who kept talking about how he spent time in China and learned these Chinese meditation techniques and things like that. And he was wearing some sort of "China" shirt and I just thought he was so lame and fake. Like good for you that you've been there, so what?
And I wasn't really talking during the entire meeting, like how I usually am, and the older lady who ran it saw me looking at this other woman there, this attractive girl who was maybe around my age or a couple years older, who I think had been there before and played some larger sort of role in the group. And she told me to come over and put my head against the girl's chest, and one hand on her breast and one hand on her hips, and close my eyes and imagine where I am, like I was supposed to visualize being in some other place and she wanted me to describe it. But I couldn't visualize anything. I closed my eyes and tried but I couldn't. And anyway I was expecting them to do something else to/with me, something maybe sexual and spiritually cleansing, but they didn't. But I guess that was just the first part in how they were trying to deal with my issues. That later I would come and they would do something else.
Afterwards when everyone left I kind of hung around and talked to the girl. And the older woman was off somewhere cleaning up or something and I hugged the girl and we had this moment and she told me to come back more often. Then this old man came out (I have no idea who he was, but apparently he was at the meeting, or at least somewhere in the back or something) and he was cleaning up food, because we had eaten something during the meeting, and told me I could take some leftover vegetables home, just like celery and tomatoes and peppers and stuff that were in bags like you get at the grocery store, so I put them in my bag. But as I put them in I noticed like grass and weeds and stuff on my bag, as if it was left in some field somewhere though obviously it wasn't, it just got more like that as I put more of the vegetables in. And then when I closed my bag I could hear something in it, I wasn't sure what, it sounded like running water or something, and I remember saying to the girl that it "sounded like a rainforest" in my bag. When I opened the bag again it was completely filled with moths. Just tons of tiny white moths filled my bag.
If you guys haven't seen Samsara
yet, I'd highly recommend it. "Samsara" is Sanskrit for "the cycle of life and death to which life on earth is bound." It's a documentary directed by Ron Fricke. But it's not a conventional documentary; there's no narrative, narrator, or stated message. It's a collection of beautifully shot scenes taken around the world, including a Japanese artist painting the faces of sex dolls, the truly terrifying artistic process of Olivier de Sagazan, an abandoned city whose rooms are buried in sand, the factory farming industry in China, a Balinese dance, Mecca, and a perfectly preserved child corpse. The viewing experience is so interesting and fascinating.
I've been meaning to watch Serial Experiments: Lain
for years now, but I'm just now getting around to it. I love how surreal, nonlinear, and disjointed it is, and all the questions it deals with; it's really like an intersection between philosophy, existentialism, technology theory, postmodernism, psychological horror, and cyberpunk. It plays with these ideas of reality and identity, like, for example, this conversation between Lain and a sort of dream, hovering/levitating, puppet-like version of her "mother":M: The Wired might actually be thought of as a highly advanced upper layer of the real world. In other words, physical reality is nothing but an illusion, a hologram of the information that flows to us through the Wired.
Lain: But Ma...
M: This is because the body, physical motion, the activity of the human brain, is merely a physical phenomenon, simply caused by synapses delivering electrical impulses.
Lain: But Mom, I...
M: The physical body exists at a less evolved plane only to verify one's existence in the universe.
Lain: Are you really, truly my mother?
Lain: Are you?
I'm so excited for Rasputina's new side project!
On Friday I checked out Sugarpill Apothecary
to see if I could find anything there to get Emily. But it is - extremely expensive, to say the least. I was kind of intrigued by the Snake and Butterfly
chocolate bars they had, but...I'm not willing to pay that much for any
chocolate bar. I got her some scrumptious-looking/sounding truffle bars from Godiva instead, and two truly lovely fashion design books, Pattern Magic
and Pattern Magic: Stretch Fabrics
by Tomoko Nakamichi. They have all these really ingenious, unique, modern, structural designs with whimsical shapes and silhouettes, like the otoshiana drop-hole skirt
. I almost wished I could keep them for myself, just so I can look through all the pretty designs.
Then I headed over to a gathering for her birthday. It was pretty fun, Ivan got very drunk (not to the unfortunate point of puking or being outlandish, though) and I took him home by bus.
On Saturday night I saw a laser show for The Dark Side of the Moon
at Seattle Center. Ivan's mom, Marisa, and her boyfriend, Alejandro, really wanted to go to the Mercury, so we headed over there, and stayed until about 2. It's strange to be around parents who aren't embarrassing. Roxanne wanted me to dance with her, and when I replied that I don't dance in public, she said, "I was the same, I didn't dance until I was 30." When I asked her how she started, she said, "I just didn't give a fuck what anyone thought anymore, and I moved my body." She kind of unnerves me, because she is just so warm and gushy and friendly that I feel inadequate by comparison. I think Ivan has a slightly warped view of me; he always thinks I'm so "sweet," "nice," "kind," "a loving person," and when I told him that some people think I'm cold, he said that on the contrary, he thought of me as "very warm."
On Sunday night I saw Amanda Palmer & The Grand Theft Orchestra at the Neptune. It was good, as anything with Amanda always is. I cried a little during the show; Amanda has this box where people can slip a piece of paper in with something bad or sad that has happened to them, and at some point during the show she reads them aloud to the audience. They were...incredibly heavy, sad, heartbreaking things. Just off the top of my head, there were things like:
~I had to stay up all night trying to convince my best friend not to kill herself, with her begging me not to fall asleep.
~I lost my sister in a bicycle accident.
~My pet died.
~He tied me down, opened a vein in his arm, and forced me to drink his blood as he took off my clothes.
~When I was in bed, my doctor called and told me I had a brain tumor.
~My father raped me.
~I watched my husband fall out of love with me.
~My stepfather punched me in the face.
~The boy I lost my virginity to and my heart, I found out had been cheating on me all summer.
~My eleven-year-old called me up in my drunken sadness.
~Panic attacks, dissociative disorder, depression.
~I called the cops because my parents were scaring me.
~I found a long blond hair in his sweater. My hair is brown.
~I got assaulted and mugged, and now I can never go home without fear.
Then she played The Bed Song, which is always emotional for me. And I was thinking about what I would have put into the box.
Yesterday I had an indoor dinner picnic with Nick. We spread a beach towel out on the carpeted floor, we had macaroni salad, rolls, Terra chips, fruit, strawberry shortcake, and pumpkin ice cream, and he put some cat treats on a Tupperware lid for Pandora, so she joined our picnic. We watched Fringe and Dexter.
Around 9, Ivan texted me saying that he felt shitty for some reason, and could he please come over to sleep with me. So I said sure and headed home, and when he got there he was a bit anxious. He had said goodbye earlier to his mom, who was leaving to go back to Buenos Aires in the morning, and it was his first day at his new job, which went well, but for some reason when he took some sinus medication for his cold, he started panicking and feeling really weird. He thinks irrational things like he's going to have a heart attack. He says, "I get bad shit into my head, and it resonates in me. I start thinking about every medication I've ever taken, and the worst side effects of all of them happening to me. It drives me up the wall." He said that he doesn't trust the people he lives with anymore, he doesn't feel safe there. I said, "Why? It's just Alex and Sam, and Dylan and Liv..." But he couldn't quite answer why. He said that he just feels alone there, and his room is so weird and empty, Zippy's not there anymore... (The beloved Zippopotamus, his 3-year-old cat, died suddenly a few weeks ago.) I showed him the "Does God Care About Women?" pamphlet that my Jehovah's Witness apartment manager gave me when I handed her the rent check, and he laughed. He started calming down and feeling more relaxed then. He has always said that I have an "anxiolytic effect" upon him.
He told me, "I wish I was always with you." I said, "Really? You don't think you'd get tired of me?" He replied, "Never. I could never get tired of you. That's impossible." I was like, "Well, people tend to do that when they see each other all the time..." And he said, "How could I ever get tired of... your calming aura? Your beauty. Your wonderful personality. Your kindness. It's impossible." I said, "...Yeah, well, somehow it happens." "To stupid people. It happens to stupid people. People who don't realize how wonderful you are. How much you have to give." Later he said, in a mocking tone, "Lack of balance is the number-one killer of relationships." "I don't think it is." "What is then, my love?" "Time."
He said that if I were a food, I would be a red velvet cupcake with vanilla frosting and a sugar thing on top in the image of a cat.
Post about my weekend to come later.
This woman who works in the building across the street, when I went over just now to pick up some papers, was coming in and she said, "Excuse me," I thought I was in her way so I said, "Sorry," and she was like, "No, no, no. I just want to say something to you. ... I just think you are so elegant, with the way you dress, and the way that you walk and carry yourself. And every time I see you I notice it." Gawww. Little unexpected compliments like that make me happy. :3
What makes me kind of angry is that some people think that we are too good for the deaths of animals. We are animals, and we shall die like animals. The idea that we deserve one thing, because of our "superiority" as a species, that we are to be granted, or are owed some kind of continuation past this mere lifetime...while other animals get only simple plain biological death, is just inconceivably, intolerably arrogant, egoistic, and presumptuous, unable to be countenanced by me. You live, you die, quite absolutely and irrevocably, darling, and then you're no better than the roadkill, the mangled unrecognizable mass of feathers you sidestep on the street.