PRODIGIES AND MORE PRODIGIES.

She's 12. TWELVE.

Inspired nonsense!

I don't understand why time and time again people are so drawn to the generic. What appeal lies in that pot of grey shit besides comfort and continuity? I feel like in the moment I realised this robotic conformity and desired to escape, everyone else should have too. People seems to think everything is great, as brilliant as triple rainbows and fairy bread but I don't get it. They tell stories that are neither interesting nor funny and they become these stories; dull and deadly. I don't appreciate much of anything anymore. Things that are good have to be actually good, and things that are bad just have to be a tiny bit bad. Kinda like a loaf of bread, and if one slice is mouldy, you don't sigh, chuck out the piece then eat the rest. You chuck out the whole damn thing. My entire social environment has darkened, I dislike so often that it's become my standard response. I've grown out of the ability to forgive them for their ignorance and flaws. I cringe and hurt when I find people are still trapped, it becomes a reflection of myself and I don't even struggle, just let them talk and I talk and we all talk alike and fall weak to our tedious minds. We question in whispering voices then let the thoughts go like helium pumped balloons. Am reading 'Oh the places you'll go!" by Dr. Seuss. Love zat man.

Quotes because everyones loves them. YUH, I AM EVERYWUN!

"In my world, everyone's a pony and they all eat rainbows and poop butterflies!"

"Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try!"

"When beetles fight these battles in a bottle with their paddles and the bottle's on a poodle and the poodle's eating noodles...they call this a muddle puddle tweetle poodle beetle noodle bottle paddle battle."

"ASAP. Whatever that means. It must mean, 'Act swiftly awesome pacyderm!"

"Gray day. Everything is gray. I watch. But nothing moves today."

So much tongue twisting goodness.

imbecile!

Sometimes I wonder how we can be so conscious of everything. I don't know why I always assume things should be of a grainy, ambiguous quality but it seems many things should, yet when we find ourselves in those very situations, those places, those moments; I expect the mind to shut up for a while, y'know? Or at least be overcome, or something. But it never does. Why is it always so clearly spelling out littles details and strings of descriptions and thoughts. Our minds can be so disruptive. See, I always imagined fainting to be an experience where you kinda snap out of it (which yeah, yeah you do) but I expect a loss of consciousness before losing actual consciousness. Does that make sense? No it doesn't but I swear I've got a point. Like for example, in the remaining seconds (when your eyes have lost sight, and your ears are excused of sound and you're falling face forward onto the floor) before you're about to faint, I thought the mind would be excessively cloudy and so full it's empty. You know the feeling? Like when you're heavy but light-headed at the same time or you're tired and alert at the same time? (If you want to try the latter, eat antihistamines while drinking coffee) But it didn't turn vacant, it kept up the chatter. "Whoa, I can't see, maybe if I keep blinking? Nope, still black. Crap man, being deaf is like being on a plane. Silence is dizzying, or maybe cause I'm dizzy already? Think I'm gonna faint. -Enter Loss of Conscious-" Guess the idea of being able to do things and experience the experience without all those constant thoughts trailing before and behind, is kind of romantic.  What a shame. But I guess that's what I don't get with realllly drunk people. So they know they're drunk right? But how do they "get all high and shit" if they know they're drunk, cause then won't it seem like they're not drunk if they know it? Or maybe alcohol just makes you an idiot who doesn't care? I don't know. Drunk people are annoying. I get so suspicious though, that everything is half due to 心理作用 (how do I translate this? Almost like 'mentally encouraged/stimulated' which only makes sense in this context). I frakking love chinese proverbs, except this one doesn't make sense now that I think about it, cause it's indicating a mental reaction but it uses the word 心/heart. Ehhhh. Okay, I should gogo like a fail yoyo otherwise I'll bounce back here. byeeeeeeeeeee.

Lemongrass & Ginger.

Such a good song. I love night time, sitting and snuggled up under my (new duvet covers) with a hot mug of (sugary chai tea) enjoying my valuable, valuable (quiet and alone) time. Analysing (vivid dreams) and ones where I felt like I was an inch close to achieving a (lucid dream), and just (missing things) cause feeling a little (sad) can feel comfortingly good. & apparently, my solution to constant anger is a fusion of ignorance and detachment which doesn't feel as bad as it seems. Cause you can't really ("get over it") can you? You can't let something make you feel (miserable) then take a walk and a few months later, bam! All misery is gone. It doesn't work like that. “We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and — in spite of True Romance magazines — we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely — at least, not all the time — but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don’t see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.” Hunter S. Thompson Insert forever alone meme. & apparently 'meme' is pronounced 'meem' and not like 'meemee', which is ..shizzsticks. Wow look at what has happened to my blogging. I don't even talk about anything. I want to give reading Calvino another go, and buy a nice leather bag because LC has influenced me (curses) and down a few of those yummy, overpriced burnt lemon & vanilla drinks. And never get sick again. MAGICAL NASAL SPRAY. & I've finally come to a major decision, tea > coffee. Man, what a battle.

Cause you are beautiful but you've got to die someday!

最熟悉，最陌生

A facebook wallpost conversation of ridiculously old chinese songs has brought me back to my year nine self. WELCOME ME BACK TO CHINESE MUSIC. I‘ve decided I will write some blogs in chinese as I did with xanga.

要不我的中文水平就会变得越来越差，爸妈从我四岁开始就送我到中文学校。我可不能浪费他们这些心血。今天晚上偶然的一个机会让我又想起小时候爱看的连续剧，喜爱的那些歌。过了那么多年，早就把这些忘在后脑的我以为这些对我来说一点价值都没了，但没想到一想起还是那么的亲切。让我很坚信的相信人就是忘不了本。听着这些歌曲仿佛自己回到了童年。看看这些中文字都觉得挺稀奇的，显得是那么的复杂，猜不透。我好庆幸自己看的懂一些。

好了好了不多写了，但决定每个月必须读一本中文书！读点著名小说什么的，深化自己的中文水平呵呵呵。病歪歪的我要去睡觉咯！

mad, mad, he's mad.

http://www.samuel-beckett.net/Text4Nothing4.html

& if you return to just samuel-beckett.net which btw is probably the most difficult site to navigate ever..just Ctrl + F 'Online Texts' = Walah! I've come to realise I am so used to reading novels that don't have any linear structure/carry a proper plotline/make any sense that I am basically only able to read texts with nothing but streams of consciousness throughout. So tiring. When you're reading someone's direct thoughts, something triggers you to catch on too and you feel like you have to read two minds simultaneously, together and separate. & there's a lot of shit you have to sift through to be able to do that in their clearest forms. Public transport will do that for me, maybe living in the hills is a good idea afterall. Anyway, read that whatever you call it. Confusion. & as I progress further along, the speed I read it accelerates like mad, then I lose my place and I don't know whether I should start again because it seems to change every time I do. Y'know what I think I will never ever ever be able to read? Plays. There's like..more punctuation than letters going on. & random fact: apparently humans are the only species that can learn just from watching. & watched a tedtalk discussing how language was picked by natural selection, and if you think of it in that way it becomes so interesting; when the entire animal kingdom is gnashing teeth and prepared to kill 007 style, and humans just need to make a frakkin noise, and we (sometimes) get what we want, and if you're a baby, you always get what you want. #loltime. cheesy pick up lines by smosh - "hey baby...you're much older than a baby..?"

flesh and bone.

I've been neglecting you my love! & I've been in the mood to blog but just haven't been on the computer. & just thought I should share the fact that reading 'Nausea' while listening to Pearl and the puppets is very entertaining cause Satre makes you want to kill yourself and Pearl and the puppets makes you feel like rainbows, singing hamsters and sunshine, and the contradiction is pretty damn glorious.

I can't explain my tendency to be drawn to passages like the following:

"What if something were to happen? What if something suddenly started throbbing? Then they would notice it was there and they'd think their hearts were going to burst. Then what good would their dykes, bulwarks, power houses, furnaces and pile drivers be to them? It can happen any time, perhaps right now: the omens are present. For example, the father of a family might go out for a walk, and, across the street, he'll see something like a red rag, blown towards him by the wind. And when the rag has gotten close to him he'll see that it is a side of rotten meat, grimy with dust, dragging itself along by crawling, skipping, a piece of writhing flesh rolling in the gutter, spasmodically shooting out spurts of blood. Or a mother might look at her child's cheek and ask him: "What's that, a pimple?" and see the flesh puff out a little, split, open, and at the bottom of the split an eye, a laughing eye might appear. Or they might feel things gently brushing against their bodies, like the caresses of reeds to swimmers in a river. And they will realize that their clothing has become living things. And someone else might feel something scratching in his mouth. He goes to the mirror, opens his mouth: and his tongue is an enormous, live centipede, rubbing its legs together and scraping his palate. He'd like to spit it out, but the centipede is a part of him and he will have to tear it out with his own hands. And a crowd of things will appear for which people will have to find new names, stone eye, great three cornered arm, toe crutch, spider jaw. And someone might be sleeping in his comfortable bed, in his quiet, warm room, and wake up naked on a bluish earth, in a forest of rustling birch trees, rising red and white towards the sky like the smokestacks of Jouxtebouville, with big bumps half way out of the ground, hairy and bulbous like onions. And birds will fly around these birch trees and pick at them with their beaks and make them bleed. Sperm will flow slowly, gently, from these wounds, sperm mixed with blood, warm and glassy with little bubbles."

— Jean-Paul Sartre (Nausea)

It's so disgustingly/horrifically satisfying. 

WHY IS EVERYONE SO SAD? THE CURE IS TO BUY A RAINBOW PROJECTING LIGHT! Or go eat tubs of apple crumble yoghurt outside pitt st mall while peter pick strums on that magnificent guitar, but be warned, don't sit under those dodgy, dodgy trees. Spiders will fall onto the pages of your book and appear to be text that has gained the ability to move.

Sho Shkairi.