30 december 2012
Remember that post, long ago, where I talked about some pathetic woman who was offended by me and my anti-religion-ness?
This time, someone on my facebook friend list just tattletaled to my parents again. I rather suspect someone who knows my family personally and goes to the same church. I have a message for that person: what an utterly despicable thing to do.
I'm sure many of you know the playground rules: tattletales are to be avoided. Tattletales are not to be trusted. And if someone tattles, the next day they'll find themselves with fewer friends than yesterday.
Perhaps that adult didn't consider this tattletaling. Perhaps the adult, with his or her misguided notions, thought that it would help me.
Here's a tip, Tattletaler: I find it rather disgusting to tattletale with the intention to help. If you want to be an upright person, tattletaling is rather defeating the point. That's disgusting. That's hypocritical, and you've never even paused to consider it.
If someone tattletales in malice, or for gossip, I don't mind. I understand it. Of course, I won't like them very much, but there's little that I find more disgusting than misguided do-gooders whose good intentions wipe out every trace of humanity from their brains.
I despise people trying to force help upon me. I absolutely despise it, and my personal hell would consist of those empty-headed do-gooders who are so deeply entrenched in themselves that they'll never see outside their own brain.
Let me explain. If I were to attempt to prevent someone from committing suicide, I would stand beside them and chat. I would try to empathize. To put it simply, I would attempt to resonate on the same frequency. I won't tell them about those who will miss them. I won't tell them that life will get better. I'll ask them about their reasons for it all.
In other words, I'll make it clear what I'm going to do, and do it in a way that makes me seem like one of them. There's a huge difference between speaking from the inside and speaking from the outside. Someone who speaks from the outside comes across as self-obsessed and little patronizing, and sometimes even idiotic.
[post is stopped because I'm too emotional to write anything coherent. Will be updated when I am less angry and my killer headache is gone. Right now I will write an angry post about my mother, and I won't have to worry about being diplomatic or sarcastic because she's a bitch and I fucking hate her. And that's the truth. I know it.]
Edit: Okay never mind I give up.
22 December 2012
About Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, and the creeping sense of foreboding it left me with
*IF YOU PLAN ON READING THE BOOK, SUSPEND BELIEF AND DO NOT STOP SUSPENDING BELIEF. DO NOT QUESTION ANYTHING ABOUT THE BOOK.
Last night I read a book - Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, the debut novel by Ransom Riggs.
Basically, the book is about a boy in modern times, whose grandfather tells him fantastically unbelievable stories about children who can fly and can turn invisible, etc. What happens next is that his grandfather is killed brutally, by some strange creatures (the official report is wild animals) and then the boy goes on a trip across the Atlantic Ocean to find the truth, or closure, or whatever.
It's a good book, very nice. The atmosphere kind of wraps around you, and you keep flipping the pages. Of course, the pictures helped with that effect. I enjoyed it quite a lot.
Then again there are certain things that tick me off. Those things about the book irritate me. It makes me angry because it's not explained, and it keeps niggling away at me.
SPOILER ALERT
Two things: the ending, and the entire 'loop' theory.
No wait, three. The adult-children bother me too.
The peculiar children live in a loop started by Miss Peregrine, repeating the day of September third over and over again. For about eighty years, apparently?
One thing that bothers me is that the loop apparently stretches across the entire world or something. It's not limited to a particular physical landscape. It doesn't have a fixed entry point. (The protagonist - I forgot his name, but that's not very important - enters through the cairn every time, I think, but apparently the wights in the submarine, at the end, entered through another point? What the fuck?)
That's not okay. It's like the author made up a half-assed fantasy world, and then drew vivid characters. It's a but like... Drawing incredibly detailed flowers, and then splashing some blue and green around for the sky and grass.
Maybe it's supposed to add to the atmosphere, but not for me. It made my experience very frustrating. It's like a camera that refuse to focus no matter what you do to it.
Another point that bothers me is the ending. The protagonist gives up his time with little to no angst at all. From what I see, he's just "oh... There's nothing much for me here... And the peculiars need me... Okay!"
That's not okay. That is very not okay. I don't care how hardened and disillusioned and cynical you are, no one gives up everything that they've ever known just for a motley bunch of strange adult-kids that they've known for three months max.
You might have a hero complex or whatever, but you'll still feel a certain amount of angst about leaving your entire universe with next to no hope of going back.
The protagonist here seems to make a difficult decision and then promptly forget all about it. I don't know why. Maybe it's to prove a point. Maybe to subtly emphasize a subtle point. Whatever, his non-reaction pisses me off.
Also the loop-hopping thing? Ridiculous. I don't claim to know about temporal whatever, but it seems to me that the author's mixing linear and non-linear timelines without explaining how they work or interact.
I imagine that if you could choose when to step out of a loop, then the protagonist could just have stepped out a few hours after he went in, sparing himself the where-were-you lecture. Hell, if you could CHOOSE when to step out, then you could spent a few centuries inside and step out BEFORE the time when you went in. There seems to be no effect at all. You don't de-age.
Ohhhh, holy shit, wait a second. That is a CHEAT. That is a CHEAT CODE, that is a NASTY LITTLE CHEAT. If the protagonist steps into the loop, and then spends a few centuries in it, then he could presumably step back into his own time. Same age, same time, a few centuries of experience.
Think of it this way: a straight line, which is our time. And a bubble attached to September third. From present time, hook a line into that bubble.
This implies that you can hook a line from anywhere into that bubble. That means that any time between the start of the bubble and modern time is FREE GAME. That's, I don't know... You could go into the bubble at 2005, and come out into 1990 to visit your deceased dad. Or something.
In my limited view, that bubble is a phenomenal CHEAT and should not exist. It's a cheat for everyone who didn't join the bubble at the start.
And the author doesn't even try to placate our anxiety. He's like, "whatever, let's go on with the plot, the laws of this universe doesn't matter, I'll tell you more when I've figured out how to twist it to fit the plot".
Um.
I'm actually plotting this out as I write. Any epiphanies I get is real-time. Thus might not be very coherent. Timelines are confusing. My head hurts. Please tell me if I've gotten anything wrong.
Okay, last thing that bothers me: the adult-children. As I was reading the book, I felt that there was something very wrong with something. I couldn't figure it out, it was like background noise. Annoying background noise.
The realisation came when I read the part about them burying Victor, at the very end.
They (the adult-children, the peculiars) had issues that would warrant immediate hospitalisation and months and years of therapy. They seem fine.
They've been stuck in the loop for eighty years. That would drive me stir-crazy, I'd commit suicide. They seem fine.
They mutilate animals and keep corpses in rooms and torment the townspeople and
ESSENTIALLY, they have normalised extremely abnormal behaviour. That is not good. That is not okay. Miss Peregrine seems nice and strict and like a normal schoolteacher. SHE IS NOT OKAY. I cannot emphasize this enough - SHE started the loop, kept them unchanging, fed them morbid news from the future, treated their abnormalities as normal (though really there isn't another way to treat it, in this situation), turned a blind eye to most of their increasingly sadistic and fucked-up past times...
Maybe that was the only thing to do, though. She couldn't treat them as freaks and expect them to coexist for eighty years. She couldn't expect them to accept eighty years without entertainment. No one expects children to be nice when their victims will forget everything the next day.
But this actually brings up another point that I forgot - what about the townspeople? They're not in the loop, since they remember nothing. They're like memories that are blown to sand the moment the loop resets. Was it really necessary to include them in the loop? How far does the loop extend, anyway? If you went to china, while in the loop, would you see the same thing? Memories repeating? How do loops every coexist? Does every loop include all the loops that have been created before it or what?
This is making me a little angry. It all feels a little half-assed and half-assed books make me want to rip it up because it's a waste of paper. At least shitty fanfiction is free and digital.
What I imagine is that they've finished a few drafts of the book, and someone goes "okay that's it, there's only the loop explanation left. Add that in somewhere and it'll be read to print", and then someone else says "okay" and prints it anyway because who listens to editors anyway?
This book left me with a feeling that the sky had just permanently turned purple. And that it's always been purple. And that you're the only delusional one who thinks that it should be blue.
Let me say this again: it's a good book. I enjoyed it.
It just left me with a subtly uncomfortable feeling that developed into full-fledged panic when I realised that it was wrong! everything was wrong! this is wrong wrong wrong wrong OH MY FUCKING GOD I FEEL NAUSEOUS.
This book should come with a warning: if you have a vivid imagination and think too much, you will feel uncomfortable and highly creeped out, and if you read it at night, and then start logically THINKING about the book, you will have a hard time falling asleep.
Moral of the post: read the book, enjoy it, FOR FUCK'S SAKE DON'T ANALYSE IT.
/EDIT/: the word is "bizarre".
Last night I read a book - Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, the debut novel by Ransom Riggs.
Basically, the book is about a boy in modern times, whose grandfather tells him fantastically unbelievable stories about children who can fly and can turn invisible, etc. What happens next is that his grandfather is killed brutally, by some strange creatures (the official report is wild animals) and then the boy goes on a trip across the Atlantic Ocean to find the truth, or closure, or whatever.
It's a good book, very nice. The atmosphere kind of wraps around you, and you keep flipping the pages. Of course, the pictures helped with that effect. I enjoyed it quite a lot.
Then again there are certain things that tick me off. Those things about the book irritate me. It makes me angry because it's not explained, and it keeps niggling away at me.
SPOILER ALERT
Two things: the ending, and the entire 'loop' theory.
No wait, three. The adult-children bother me too.
The peculiar children live in a loop started by Miss Peregrine, repeating the day of September third over and over again. For about eighty years, apparently?
One thing that bothers me is that the loop apparently stretches across the entire world or something. It's not limited to a particular physical landscape. It doesn't have a fixed entry point. (The protagonist - I forgot his name, but that's not very important - enters through the cairn every time, I think, but apparently the wights in the submarine, at the end, entered through another point? What the fuck?)
That's not okay. It's like the author made up a half-assed fantasy world, and then drew vivid characters. It's a but like... Drawing incredibly detailed flowers, and then splashing some blue and green around for the sky and grass.
Maybe it's supposed to add to the atmosphere, but not for me. It made my experience very frustrating. It's like a camera that refuse to focus no matter what you do to it.
Another point that bothers me is the ending. The protagonist gives up his time with little to no angst at all. From what I see, he's just "oh... There's nothing much for me here... And the peculiars need me... Okay!"
That's not okay. That is very not okay. I don't care how hardened and disillusioned and cynical you are, no one gives up everything that they've ever known just for a motley bunch of strange adult-kids that they've known for three months max.
You might have a hero complex or whatever, but you'll still feel a certain amount of angst about leaving your entire universe with next to no hope of going back.
The protagonist here seems to make a difficult decision and then promptly forget all about it. I don't know why. Maybe it's to prove a point. Maybe to subtly emphasize a subtle point. Whatever, his non-reaction pisses me off.
Also the loop-hopping thing? Ridiculous. I don't claim to know about temporal whatever, but it seems to me that the author's mixing linear and non-linear timelines without explaining how they work or interact.
I imagine that if you could choose when to step out of a loop, then the protagonist could just have stepped out a few hours after he went in, sparing himself the where-were-you lecture. Hell, if you could CHOOSE when to step out, then you could spent a few centuries inside and step out BEFORE the time when you went in. There seems to be no effect at all. You don't de-age.
Ohhhh, holy shit, wait a second. That is a CHEAT. That is a CHEAT CODE, that is a NASTY LITTLE CHEAT. If the protagonist steps into the loop, and then spends a few centuries in it, then he could presumably step back into his own time. Same age, same time, a few centuries of experience.
Think of it this way: a straight line, which is our time. And a bubble attached to September third. From present time, hook a line into that bubble.
This implies that you can hook a line from anywhere into that bubble. That means that any time between the start of the bubble and modern time is FREE GAME. That's, I don't know... You could go into the bubble at 2005, and come out into 1990 to visit your deceased dad. Or something.
In my limited view, that bubble is a phenomenal CHEAT and should not exist. It's a cheat for everyone who didn't join the bubble at the start.
And the author doesn't even try to placate our anxiety. He's like, "whatever, let's go on with the plot, the laws of this universe doesn't matter, I'll tell you more when I've figured out how to twist it to fit the plot".
Um.
I'm actually plotting this out as I write. Any epiphanies I get is real-time. Thus might not be very coherent. Timelines are confusing. My head hurts. Please tell me if I've gotten anything wrong.
Okay, last thing that bothers me: the adult-children. As I was reading the book, I felt that there was something very wrong with something. I couldn't figure it out, it was like background noise. Annoying background noise.
The realisation came when I read the part about them burying Victor, at the very end.
They (the adult-children, the peculiars) had issues that would warrant immediate hospitalisation and months and years of therapy. They seem fine.
They've been stuck in the loop for eighty years. That would drive me stir-crazy, I'd commit suicide. They seem fine.
They mutilate animals and keep corpses in rooms and torment the townspeople and
ESSENTIALLY, they have normalised extremely abnormal behaviour. That is not good. That is not okay. Miss Peregrine seems nice and strict and like a normal schoolteacher. SHE IS NOT OKAY. I cannot emphasize this enough - SHE started the loop, kept them unchanging, fed them morbid news from the future, treated their abnormalities as normal (though really there isn't another way to treat it, in this situation), turned a blind eye to most of their increasingly sadistic and fucked-up past times...
Maybe that was the only thing to do, though. She couldn't treat them as freaks and expect them to coexist for eighty years. She couldn't expect them to accept eighty years without entertainment. No one expects children to be nice when their victims will forget everything the next day.
But this actually brings up another point that I forgot - what about the townspeople? They're not in the loop, since they remember nothing. They're like memories that are blown to sand the moment the loop resets. Was it really necessary to include them in the loop? How far does the loop extend, anyway? If you went to china, while in the loop, would you see the same thing? Memories repeating? How do loops every coexist? Does every loop include all the loops that have been created before it or what?
This is making me a little angry. It all feels a little half-assed and half-assed books make me want to rip it up because it's a waste of paper. At least shitty fanfiction is free and digital.
What I imagine is that they've finished a few drafts of the book, and someone goes "okay that's it, there's only the loop explanation left. Add that in somewhere and it'll be read to print", and then someone else says "okay" and prints it anyway because who listens to editors anyway?
This book left me with a feeling that the sky had just permanently turned purple. And that it's always been purple. And that you're the only delusional one who thinks that it should be blue.
Let me say this again: it's a good book. I enjoyed it.
It just left me with a subtly uncomfortable feeling that developed into full-fledged panic when I realised that it was wrong! everything was wrong! this is wrong wrong wrong wrong OH MY FUCKING GOD I FEEL NAUSEOUS.
This book should come with a warning: if you have a vivid imagination and think too much, you will feel uncomfortable and highly creeped out, and if you read it at night, and then start logically THINKING about the book, you will have a hard time falling asleep.
Moral of the post: read the book, enjoy it, FOR FUCK'S SAKE DON'T ANALYSE IT.
/EDIT/: the word is "bizarre".
18 December 2012
this is actually a lot less serious than it sounds. do not be alarmed. this is a rant.
Sometimes I think about calling the cops on my mother, but I realise that it would fuck things up spectacularly, to the point where up and down aren't fixed positions anymore. "Normal" would cease to be an option, and I might as well be jumping from the frying pan straight into the fire. It's something like exchanging one unbearable problem for a lot of slightly less unbearable ones.
Point is, I don't think this unbearable problem is going to become any less unbearable for the foreseeable future. My mother... She's the kind of person who hears criticisms about herself and immediately denies them. Not once would she think about whether or not it's deserved. She doesn't really care about YOUR opinion of her, she has her OWN, and that's enough.
This means that she'll never change because of anyone or anything. This kind of means that the unbearable problem isn't getting any more bearable.
Today my mother had a screaming fit in the car, because my brother and I were fussing about something in the mall. She loves to tell others to die - things along the lines of 'your life is pointless', 'go and die', etc. My brother in the backseat started crying halfway through (she wasn't even screaming at him) and she just continued screaming and spitting into my ear.
Mountains out of molehills?
Well.
A few years back my mother used to be really violent. She'd get angry and hit me with things, and I'd get bruises and stuff. Sometimes her nails broke the skin, etc. We'd have screaming fits at each other, and she'd hit anything she could reach. (That was about the time I started the blog.)
Of course, that passed. Then again, maybe not.
Today I got out of the car during her screaming fit. I couldn't stand it any more - I didn't feel guilty or anything, more of ... hurt and disgusted. Having your mother call you a useless lump who should die isn't a pleasant feeling. Also I was disgusted by how she could completely disregard my crying brother. Anyone who can effortlessly - I do mean effortlessly, it was like she hadn't even noticed him crying - ignore a crying child is... Well, not fit to be a parent.
So I stood out there in the car park. Obviously, my mother wanted to leave, but she couldn't leave me behind (all I had was a phone, also a basic maternal instinct not to dump her kid outside). The pathetic thing was, she couldn't even be bothered to get out of the car herself. She sent my brother to get me back. In fact, my brother ran back and forth like a messenger, all because she's a shitty mother.
In the end, she resorted to screaming at me across the car park. And then manhandling me into the car.
This is what I meant by "maybe not" (refer to previous paragraphs).
I have a bruise on the outside of my left thigh, which makes it hard to sit properly, and several scratches on my right upper arm. Like, she scratched a layer of skin right off. And she's the one who keeps going on about me and my sharp nails. (Then again, she doesn't exactly do any self-examining, or think before she speaks. I, for one, would never threaten someone with things I'd never actually do.)
I don't know what's going on in her head, but I'm sick of her crap. She's an utterly disagreeable woman, and I hate spending any time with her at all. You love your mom? Great. I love mine a whole lot less than you love yours.
I hate contradictory people who don't even know that they're contradictory. In other words, I hate oblivious people who won't accept that they're oblivious, even when spoon-fed evidence of their obliviousness. In other words, my mother makes me so fucking angry I want to smash my head against a sharp metal spike.
That is not exaggeration. I do want to do that sometimes. It doesn't mean that I will do that.
I am so sick of everything. I fucking hate monotony. Also I hate physical inconveniences. Showering with one less patch of skin fucking hurts.
(I debated about attaching pictures of my arm, but decided against it because it's not exactly easy to maneuvre a camera with my left hand. I am completely right-handed.)
Point is, I don't think this unbearable problem is going to become any less unbearable for the foreseeable future. My mother... She's the kind of person who hears criticisms about herself and immediately denies them. Not once would she think about whether or not it's deserved. She doesn't really care about YOUR opinion of her, she has her OWN, and that's enough.
This means that she'll never change because of anyone or anything. This kind of means that the unbearable problem isn't getting any more bearable.
Today my mother had a screaming fit in the car, because my brother and I were fussing about something in the mall. She loves to tell others to die - things along the lines of 'your life is pointless', 'go and die', etc. My brother in the backseat started crying halfway through (she wasn't even screaming at him) and she just continued screaming and spitting into my ear.
Mountains out of molehills?
Well.
A few years back my mother used to be really violent. She'd get angry and hit me with things, and I'd get bruises and stuff. Sometimes her nails broke the skin, etc. We'd have screaming fits at each other, and she'd hit anything she could reach. (That was about the time I started the blog.)
Of course, that passed. Then again, maybe not.
Today I got out of the car during her screaming fit. I couldn't stand it any more - I didn't feel guilty or anything, more of ... hurt and disgusted. Having your mother call you a useless lump who should die isn't a pleasant feeling. Also I was disgusted by how she could completely disregard my crying brother. Anyone who can effortlessly - I do mean effortlessly, it was like she hadn't even noticed him crying - ignore a crying child is... Well, not fit to be a parent.
So I stood out there in the car park. Obviously, my mother wanted to leave, but she couldn't leave me behind (all I had was a phone, also a basic maternal instinct not to dump her kid outside). The pathetic thing was, she couldn't even be bothered to get out of the car herself. She sent my brother to get me back. In fact, my brother ran back and forth like a messenger, all because she's a shitty mother.
In the end, she resorted to screaming at me across the car park. And then manhandling me into the car.
This is what I meant by "maybe not" (refer to previous paragraphs).
I have a bruise on the outside of my left thigh, which makes it hard to sit properly, and several scratches on my right upper arm. Like, she scratched a layer of skin right off. And she's the one who keeps going on about me and my sharp nails. (Then again, she doesn't exactly do any self-examining, or think before she speaks. I, for one, would never threaten someone with things I'd never actually do.)
I don't know what's going on in her head, but I'm sick of her crap. She's an utterly disagreeable woman, and I hate spending any time with her at all. You love your mom? Great. I love mine a whole lot less than you love yours.
I hate contradictory people who don't even know that they're contradictory. In other words, I hate oblivious people who won't accept that they're oblivious, even when spoon-fed evidence of their obliviousness. In other words, my mother makes me so fucking angry I want to smash my head against a sharp metal spike.
That is not exaggeration. I do want to do that sometimes. It doesn't mean that I will do that.
I am so sick of everything. I fucking hate monotony. Also I hate physical inconveniences. Showering with one less patch of skin fucking hurts.
(I debated about attaching pictures of my arm, but decided against it because it's not exactly easy to maneuvre a camera with my left hand. I am completely right-handed.)
4 December 2012
so I realised that I have been negligent
Haven't posted anything for quite some time, I believe. If the last post's in the last month, then it's time to move my ass and post something else.
So here's a fic-thing. This is maybe what my drunken ramblings would look like if I were drunk. Which I'm not. Drunk, I mean. Idk.
...
It's cold. He likes the cold. Well, not really, not quite. He isn't sure if he likes it, or the warmth that seems so much more intense in the midst of it. He likes comfort, the assurance that there is something left for him.
It used to be that he'd press his soft, thick blankets to his chest, soaking in the warmth and trying to somehow push the downy feathers through his ribcage, all the way through his spine. There was a hollow aching pain somewhere inside. The sort that felt like a black void. The blankets helped.
But he'd thrown the well-worn blankets away a few years ago. In a fit of self-loathing, he'd decided that he didn't deserve anything like that. So now he sleeps alone with a thin barely-blanket over his knees.
He'd turn the a/c punishingly low each night, shivering miserably and squirming when the cold wind blew over his skin. He doesn't know why he does that. There's no reason for it, really. He hates himself for throwing away the blankets, so he tries to freeze himself; he hates himself for cold-acid air, so he doesn't buy any more blankets. It's just a childish, self-obsessed game of give and take.
He hates himself for that too. A deep, swirling pit of confused disgust.
And he hates that too, because it all makes no sense. Life has been good to him. Upper middle-class, two nice parents - a complete family with about enough money to afford a car and a large apartment. What else could he ask for?
But everything was gentle in its mediocrity. It was like body temperature bathwater - good enough for anyone to use, but barely there and not enough. Not much of anything at all.
That sums up his entire life. Barely there and not enough. There might have been something more, but normalcy has spoiled him, rotted him from the inside-out, outside-in. As he breathes in the frigid poison air each night, falling asleep to the sound of his rattling bones, he scratches at his arms. Digs into the skin cell by cell. Gouges out thin milk-trails of white, invisible in the darkness. Outside-in, inside-out.
Still normal. The tracks fade before he's even fully asleep. He'll never pick up a razor. Never stick a finger down his throat. No matter how pervasive his self-loathing, he'll never make a single cut. That's overboard. That's overnormal. That's not allowed.
Instead he'll turn down the the a/c even further, pinch his freezing toes with his freezing fingers, rot his soul and claw out his eyes.
He's crying. Life's been good to him. He has no right to cry.
...
I think that was about 450 words.
So here's a fic-thing. This is maybe what my drunken ramblings would look like if I were drunk. Which I'm not. Drunk, I mean. Idk.
...
It's cold. He likes the cold. Well, not really, not quite. He isn't sure if he likes it, or the warmth that seems so much more intense in the midst of it. He likes comfort, the assurance that there is something left for him.
It used to be that he'd press his soft, thick blankets to his chest, soaking in the warmth and trying to somehow push the downy feathers through his ribcage, all the way through his spine. There was a hollow aching pain somewhere inside. The sort that felt like a black void. The blankets helped.
But he'd thrown the well-worn blankets away a few years ago. In a fit of self-loathing, he'd decided that he didn't deserve anything like that. So now he sleeps alone with a thin barely-blanket over his knees.
He'd turn the a/c punishingly low each night, shivering miserably and squirming when the cold wind blew over his skin. He doesn't know why he does that. There's no reason for it, really. He hates himself for throwing away the blankets, so he tries to freeze himself; he hates himself for cold-acid air, so he doesn't buy any more blankets. It's just a childish, self-obsessed game of give and take.
He hates himself for that too. A deep, swirling pit of confused disgust.
And he hates that too, because it all makes no sense. Life has been good to him. Upper middle-class, two nice parents - a complete family with about enough money to afford a car and a large apartment. What else could he ask for?
But everything was gentle in its mediocrity. It was like body temperature bathwater - good enough for anyone to use, but barely there and not enough. Not much of anything at all.
That sums up his entire life. Barely there and not enough. There might have been something more, but normalcy has spoiled him, rotted him from the inside-out, outside-in. As he breathes in the frigid poison air each night, falling asleep to the sound of his rattling bones, he scratches at his arms. Digs into the skin cell by cell. Gouges out thin milk-trails of white, invisible in the darkness. Outside-in, inside-out.
Still normal. The tracks fade before he's even fully asleep. He'll never pick up a razor. Never stick a finger down his throat. No matter how pervasive his self-loathing, he'll never make a single cut. That's overboard. That's overnormal. That's not allowed.
Instead he'll turn down the the a/c even further, pinch his freezing toes with his freezing fingers, rot his soul and claw out his eyes.
He's crying. Life's been good to him. He has no right to cry.
...
I think that was about 450 words.
26 November 2012
a ridiculous female who doesn't like me not liking religion, apparently
I am amused and a little angry right now, because someone reported my facebook statuses to my school. They said it was religious intolerance or some other ridiculous thing.
Look, if you have a problem with me, then tell me. What do you think my school's going to do? What CAN my school do? Ask me to delete my account? In which case I'll just make a new one, thank you very much. If you're too pathetic and weak to tell me what you think, then whatever. You have an issue with ME, tell ME about it, not my school. I think that's kind of elementary.
And the anonymity isn't working very well. I've kept both my school name and real name off my facebook - I've never even explicitly stated which country I'm in, so this means that the person was someone who knows me personally, not only as an online persona. Oops! What a narrow list of people.
And here's more details: those two statuses were posted on my account, NOT to a page, NOT to someone else's wall, NOT to a group. If that doesn't scream "personal opinion", then you have more issues than I thought you did. I did NOT mention anyone's name, I did NOT mention any religion, and I did NOT mention a race. That's as vague as anyone can get while remaining coherent.
I don't understand how a vague status about religion and religious people can offend you to such an extent that you feel the need to email my school. In case you didn't know, this is called the internet, and there are worse things than female teenage atheists who think religion is more than very ridiculous. Or was that the swearing? Were vulgarities a little too harsh for your sensitive eyes? Get off the internet! Get a filter!
I don't understand what you're trying to achieve by emailing the school, but I'm afraid that your entire point has been diluted to nothing by passing through a third party. This issue is between YOU and ME, in no way does it involve my school. Get that into your brain, please. You are a ridiculously touchy woman/girl, and this issue is nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.
It DID make me laugh for quite some time, so thanks for that, anyway.
I have no idea how anyone thought that complaining to my school would be a viable solution - hint: it is not. Maybe reporting me to facebook, or messaging me, or something like that, but emailing the school? Oh my, hardcore. Did you think I would be suspended or something for having opinions? Oh I'm sorry, maybe next time when I say that I don't like warm drink. Maybe then you can report me for intolerance of temperature, I don't know.
Full explanation of statuses, because I do not regret posting them, do not regret having those opinions, and I do not regret anything about them, basically, because regret is against my principles of life - regret is a horrible, wimpy, pointless emotion. Also this is why I'm pissed at that female - and not apologetic about offending her. Life offends everyone, my dear.
"I don't know how to tolerate religion, I just get passive-aggressive."
Let me make a little longer: I dislike religion. A lot. I never fail to be irritated by it. The presence of religion makes me angry. (Why it makes me angry, though, would require a post about three times as long as this one to explain.)
Here's the definition of "intolerant": unable or unwilling to endure... unwilling to grant equal right of expression... unwilling to grant/share rights.
Here's the definition of "tolerate": to endure or resist the action of (as a drug or food) without serious side effects or discomfort... to allow to be or to be done without prohibition, hindrance, or contradiction... to put up with.
Now, in case I'm misunderstood (which I fear I already have been), "I don't know how to tolerate religion" means "I don't know how to endure religion", or "I can't put up with religion". Not "I don't know how to grant equal right of expression to religion", or "I don't know how to allow religion to be/to be done without prohibition..." etc.
Simply put: I am irritated by religion. Very much so.
EVERYONE IS ENTITLED TO THAT.
I'm sorry for the capslock, but it was necessary. Being irritated by something does not warrant a complaint to the school. And neither does being passive-aggressive about it. That's petty. It's not like I'm saying "I hate religion and I will kill all religious people", because that is WRONG. and I do NOT feel that way. Religion is what makes people say "rape is a gift from god". And don't start arguing about how that's not the religion YOU believe in - that IS a religion, the end.
"You know what's fucked up? The fact that some people need god to be good. Bullshit."
Either the person who reported me was offended by f- and b-, or she's one of those who need god in order to be good. Because there is nothing else to be offended by in this post. I still stand by this, by the way: it's plain ridiculous to claim that morality comes with theism of the Christian variety.
It's quite simple: if you treat a starving man to a meal, then you're obviously being good and kind and you have MORALS.
And who does things like that? Christians. Atheists. Buddhists. In other words, humans in general. And just like that, poof! Your "god-given morality" argument is only so much minuscule dust in the wind.
Everyone has the right to cuss. Everyone has the right to pick holes in horrible arguments. Reporting me for this is petty. Also ridiculous. Very much so.
About cussing online, and school: my school understands that it is ridiculous to expect that all teenagers remain virtuous and speak only in polite terms. Also, in this day and age, cussing has ceased to be taboo, and is now only one of the numerous ways to emphasise your point quickly and rudely - not that it's what my school told me.
Either way - I don't swear in front of teachers. Not once. Ever. I'm serious. I only swear in order to express my extreme exasperation and annoyance, when it would take ten paragraphs to convey the same emotion otherwise.
Do you ever hear anyone say "That's crazy! Not only does that violate every single rule of courtesy, but it also proves that he is a human being who is absurdly unaware of the rules of conduct and is incapable of self-preservation and a complete douchebag with no self-respect! I am amazed at his stupidity and I feel surprisingly angry!"?
No, they say "That's crazy! He's fucked up."
Look, if you have a problem with me, then tell me. What do you think my school's going to do? What CAN my school do? Ask me to delete my account? In which case I'll just make a new one, thank you very much. If you're too pathetic and weak to tell me what you think, then whatever. You have an issue with ME, tell ME about it, not my school. I think that's kind of elementary.
And the anonymity isn't working very well. I've kept both my school name and real name off my facebook - I've never even explicitly stated which country I'm in, so this means that the person was someone who knows me personally, not only as an online persona. Oops! What a narrow list of people.
And here's more details: those two statuses were posted on my account, NOT to a page, NOT to someone else's wall, NOT to a group. If that doesn't scream "personal opinion", then you have more issues than I thought you did. I did NOT mention anyone's name, I did NOT mention any religion, and I did NOT mention a race. That's as vague as anyone can get while remaining coherent.
I don't understand how a vague status about religion and religious people can offend you to such an extent that you feel the need to email my school. In case you didn't know, this is called the internet, and there are worse things than female teenage atheists who think religion is more than very ridiculous. Or was that the swearing? Were vulgarities a little too harsh for your sensitive eyes? Get off the internet! Get a filter!
I don't understand what you're trying to achieve by emailing the school, but I'm afraid that your entire point has been diluted to nothing by passing through a third party. This issue is between YOU and ME, in no way does it involve my school. Get that into your brain, please. You are a ridiculously touchy woman/girl, and this issue is nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.
It DID make me laugh for quite some time, so thanks for that, anyway.
I have no idea how anyone thought that complaining to my school would be a viable solution - hint: it is not. Maybe reporting me to facebook, or messaging me, or something like that, but emailing the school? Oh my, hardcore. Did you think I would be suspended or something for having opinions? Oh I'm sorry, maybe next time when I say that I don't like warm drink. Maybe then you can report me for intolerance of temperature, I don't know.
Full explanation of statuses, because I do not regret posting them, do not regret having those opinions, and I do not regret anything about them, basically, because regret is against my principles of life - regret is a horrible, wimpy, pointless emotion. Also this is why I'm pissed at that female - and not apologetic about offending her. Life offends everyone, my dear.
"I don't know how to tolerate religion, I just get passive-aggressive."
Let me make a little longer: I dislike religion. A lot. I never fail to be irritated by it. The presence of religion makes me angry. (Why it makes me angry, though, would require a post about three times as long as this one to explain.)
Here's the definition of "intolerant": unable or unwilling to endure... unwilling to grant equal right of expression... unwilling to grant/share rights.
Here's the definition of "tolerate": to endure or resist the action of (as a drug or food) without serious side effects or discomfort... to allow to be or to be done without prohibition, hindrance, or contradiction... to put up with.
Now, in case I'm misunderstood (which I fear I already have been), "I don't know how to tolerate religion" means "I don't know how to endure religion", or "I can't put up with religion". Not "I don't know how to grant equal right of expression to religion", or "I don't know how to allow religion to be/to be done without prohibition..." etc.
Simply put: I am irritated by religion. Very much so.
EVERYONE IS ENTITLED TO THAT.
I'm sorry for the capslock, but it was necessary. Being irritated by something does not warrant a complaint to the school. And neither does being passive-aggressive about it. That's petty. It's not like I'm saying "I hate religion and I will kill all religious people", because that is WRONG. and I do NOT feel that way. Religion is what makes people say "rape is a gift from god". And don't start arguing about how that's not the religion YOU believe in - that IS a religion, the end.
"You know what's fucked up? The fact that some people need god to be good. Bullshit."
Either the person who reported me was offended by f- and b-, or she's one of those who need god in order to be good. Because there is nothing else to be offended by in this post. I still stand by this, by the way: it's plain ridiculous to claim that morality comes with theism of the Christian variety.
It's quite simple: if you treat a starving man to a meal, then you're obviously being good and kind and you have MORALS.
And who does things like that? Christians. Atheists. Buddhists. In other words, humans in general. And just like that, poof! Your "god-given morality" argument is only so much minuscule dust in the wind.
Everyone has the right to cuss. Everyone has the right to pick holes in horrible arguments. Reporting me for this is petty. Also ridiculous. Very much so.
About cussing online, and school: my school understands that it is ridiculous to expect that all teenagers remain virtuous and speak only in polite terms. Also, in this day and age, cussing has ceased to be taboo, and is now only one of the numerous ways to emphasise your point quickly and rudely - not that it's what my school told me.
Either way - I don't swear in front of teachers. Not once. Ever. I'm serious. I only swear in order to express my extreme exasperation and annoyance, when it would take ten paragraphs to convey the same emotion otherwise.
Do you ever hear anyone say "That's crazy! Not only does that violate every single rule of courtesy, but it also proves that he is a human being who is absurdly unaware of the rules of conduct and is incapable of self-preservation and a complete douchebag with no self-respect! I am amazed at his stupidity and I feel surprisingly angry!"?
No, they say "That's crazy! He's fucked up."
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