2004-07-17 - 11:43 p.m.
I realised something today.
I know, you are saying to yourself, Noooo, how can that be? You, realising stuff? Pointless stuff on an almost daily basis? That cannot be! It just cannot beeeee!
You are a Very Sarcastic Person, and frankly I do not know what your Problem is, although perhaps it is just that I am putting words in your mouth.
But I digress. See, it's winter here in Sydneytown, but it's only just turned particularly cold lately, to the point where even "Fuck, it's cold!" fails to capture the spirit of the cool temperature and associated phenomena.
As such, the weather has this tendency to bite at you. Nip at your heels, give a territorial caress and just generally just scratch on your senses.
And if you're standing out there, unmoving, waiting for a specific something-or-other to occur or arrive, the effects of the weather are magnified. It becomes such an intrusion that you no longer exist on your own, you become you-and-the-cold. Your entire raison d'etre becomes about seperating the two, you think only of the point when you can be whole again. But this does nothing to take you away from the weather.
Only valid distraction will get you where you want to be. Sufficient movement, in your favoured form and direction, can possess you until there is no room for the weather-being. The weather-being is ineffectual, it is inconsequential, because you have Something Else.
This story is winding far further than I had intended, and so let me make summations. Story = metaphor for life, and why I get so lost in it. And why I am so desperate for my Something Else. Does this seem like such a great revelation to anyone not me? Somehow I doubt it. It's not that great for me even, just my eternal sentiments rehashed. But I understand a little better now, so that has to earn me some gold stars, brownie points, whatever.
The other incident of today is simultaneously more abstract and more concrete. In fact it was a matter of redefinition.
See, being the people we are means that we've given the idea of hell some thought. Sartre, baby, you were definitely onto something. Hell is other people. But have you ever really questioned what kind of people? Sure, the annoying ones are a pain in the arse, but this is just one answer among many.
I note this because tonight we found a dimension that was definitely hellish ... hell, hell was on earth and we had bloody front row seats.
We observed in horror, eyes wide like saucers, unable to comprehend the sheer lunacy unfolding before us.
Disney ... on ice. Oh sure, it doesn't sound particularly inauspicious. That's how they suck you in. For some inexplicable reason Shelley received tickets for her birthday, and of course, if you like disney and you like ice then logically you think some combination of the two could be mildly entertaining.
But NO. How could we know this? So like babes to the slaughter, we plowed onwards. But the second Mickey Mouse appeared on stage, and started singing, we knew something was very, very wrong. (Mickey Mouse? Funny, I don't remember him being in Beauty and The Beast. Or Minnie. Or Donald. Or Daisy. Or the Chipmunks. Or Goofy. Or the Bear from The Jungle Book. And yet there they all were, skating around in costumed glory).
Things went downhill from there. When they brought out the dancing/skating furniture and cutlery, I came to understand with absolute clarity the phrase "bad acid trip".
I'm worried about going to bed, because I know when I shut my eyes I'll see spoons bopping around. God, you know, I find ads where people dance about the fantasticness of furniture disturbing enough. Let alone the furniture dancing around itself. I'm now eyeing my furniture warily.
Luckily, I've already started to repress the trauma that was disney on ice. Although when I think about it, even the disney part was pretty appalling. If a feminist and a PC male got together and had a baby, Beauty and The Beast would be it's worst nightmare. Men are brutes, who can only ultimately be redeemed or destroyed by a Good Woman. Said Good Woman will be Smart, yet ultimately this will only be a token attribute, as her dreams are of a Good Man.
Warn the people! Disney is Bad, but Disney On Ice is Hell. I'm off to dream about men I can redeem and destroy, while pretending to sing, on ice!
I just pray that there's no dancing cutlery.
I know, you are saying to yourself, Noooo, how can that be? You, realising stuff? Pointless stuff on an almost daily basis? That cannot be! It just cannot beeeee!
You are a Very Sarcastic Person, and frankly I do not know what your Problem is, although perhaps it is just that I am putting words in your mouth.
But I digress. See, it's winter here in Sydneytown, but it's only just turned particularly cold lately, to the point where even "Fuck, it's cold!" fails to capture the spirit of the cool temperature and associated phenomena.
As such, the weather has this tendency to bite at you. Nip at your heels, give a territorial caress and just generally just scratch on your senses.
And if you're standing out there, unmoving, waiting for a specific something-or-other to occur or arrive, the effects of the weather are magnified. It becomes such an intrusion that you no longer exist on your own, you become you-and-the-cold. Your entire raison d'etre becomes about seperating the two, you think only of the point when you can be whole again. But this does nothing to take you away from the weather.
Only valid distraction will get you where you want to be. Sufficient movement, in your favoured form and direction, can possess you until there is no room for the weather-being. The weather-being is ineffectual, it is inconsequential, because you have Something Else.
This story is winding far further than I had intended, and so let me make summations. Story = metaphor for life, and why I get so lost in it. And why I am so desperate for my Something Else. Does this seem like such a great revelation to anyone not me? Somehow I doubt it. It's not that great for me even, just my eternal sentiments rehashed. But I understand a little better now, so that has to earn me some gold stars, brownie points, whatever.
The other incident of today is simultaneously more abstract and more concrete. In fact it was a matter of redefinition.
See, being the people we are means that we've given the idea of hell some thought. Sartre, baby, you were definitely onto something. Hell is other people. But have you ever really questioned what kind of people? Sure, the annoying ones are a pain in the arse, but this is just one answer among many.
I note this because tonight we found a dimension that was definitely hellish ... hell, hell was on earth and we had bloody front row seats.
We observed in horror, eyes wide like saucers, unable to comprehend the sheer lunacy unfolding before us.
Disney ... on ice. Oh sure, it doesn't sound particularly inauspicious. That's how they suck you in. For some inexplicable reason Shelley received tickets for her birthday, and of course, if you like disney and you like ice then logically you think some combination of the two could be mildly entertaining.
But NO. How could we know this? So like babes to the slaughter, we plowed onwards. But the second Mickey Mouse appeared on stage, and started singing, we knew something was very, very wrong. (Mickey Mouse? Funny, I don't remember him being in Beauty and The Beast. Or Minnie. Or Donald. Or Daisy. Or the Chipmunks. Or Goofy. Or the Bear from The Jungle Book. And yet there they all were, skating around in costumed glory).
Things went downhill from there. When they brought out the dancing/skating furniture and cutlery, I came to understand with absolute clarity the phrase "bad acid trip".
I'm worried about going to bed, because I know when I shut my eyes I'll see spoons bopping around. God, you know, I find ads where people dance about the fantasticness of furniture disturbing enough. Let alone the furniture dancing around itself. I'm now eyeing my furniture warily.
Luckily, I've already started to repress the trauma that was disney on ice. Although when I think about it, even the disney part was pretty appalling. If a feminist and a PC male got together and had a baby, Beauty and The Beast would be it's worst nightmare. Men are brutes, who can only ultimately be redeemed or destroyed by a Good Woman. Said Good Woman will be Smart, yet ultimately this will only be a token attribute, as her dreams are of a Good Man.
Warn the people! Disney is Bad, but Disney On Ice is Hell. I'm off to dream about men I can redeem and destroy, while pretending to sing, on ice!
I just pray that there's no dancing cutlery.
