Monday, January 28, 2008


Getting back to my car, after a morning of sitting in the office of a GP somewhere between delusional and disallusioned, I found that someone had lovingly carved a star into the side of my car. Lucky because the poor little minule had been uglied by her recent run in with the fridge, closely followed by the bus.

After that I was late for the next place where no-one would notice whether I was there or not, but instead of setting off immediately, as I would normally, I sat in my car a while, ate my sandwhiches and fumed gently.

The conclusion I came to; there is no justice. There is no specific right or wrong. It's wrong to destroy what is someone else's. It's wrong for us, as a whole, to fail imbed that knowledge into each member of society. It's wrong that I've got a fancy car having not (yet) done a hard days work in my life. You can pick your morality like brightly coloured sweets, and then you can be happy with the sweetness of your choice. You will always be right and you will always be someone else's wrong. If you believe in god you are right, well done. If you think it's bollocks, you're right as well. Even if you think that the important thing is not deciding, you're still right. Just make your choice be happy. I suppose the people we like are the ones who are willing to consider someone else's position on what right is.

Oh yeh, and I love you Rae Spoon!

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Someone's poem

Ho-hum. Drum. Eerie feeling, early morning.
Off to wake. You've left me. Quietly. Soundlessly.

Applying someone else's rules

1 10 11 100 101 110 111 1000 1001 ... 11111
But I don't understand why 11 becomes 100.

Friday, January 25, 2008


Someone said something to me today that made me think.

"I don't want anyone to have the ability to upset you"

Funny you should say that, I would consider it completely necessary. If someone has the ability to make you truly happy don't they, by definition, also have the ability to upset you, simply by withdrawing whatever it was that gave you joy. That's the trust isn't it? It's saying I know you can beat me at Chess, but I'll still play, and if you asked me I would even let you win, but I know you won't ask, and I'd prefer to lose anyway if that's what is required.

If you never lay yourself truly open, you can never really be reassured. Of course it's a gamble, but anything worth anything always is.

I don't, incidently, think this is what love is remotely.

Thursday, January 24, 2008


nolens volens

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Session 2 - Waaaa??

Ah lovely Pam, I think you are as nutty as me, but then again that makes the whole process a little easier.

Pam: So it sound like this third eye of yours can say some pretty cruel things.
Me: *looks a little bewildered*
Pam: I think you need to work on that inward looking eye
Me: *thinks - do I have a squint?*

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

In the early hours

I used to know someone and we used to talk at 4am. At the time I thought that I was the only person in the world (apart from you on the other end) who talked at 4am. Of course I was seventeen and thought that I had sufficient gravitational pull such that the rest of the universe was orbiting me (and I was 'studying' physics, sheesh). Since then I have realised that somehow 4am is actually a time when people who are disorientated and in love talk. Why is that?

I also know that since I paused knowing you I have never been rung by anyone emotional or upset in the early hours of the morning.

Not that I expect you to call (either of you), and that is possibly because you are not emotional or upset (of which I would hope you were not upset but suspect it not to be true every 4am), or some other option along the lines of 'you don't think I'm the right person to call'.

For that I matter I don't suppose I call either. Perhaps I am not upset. Perhaps I'm too afraid to call. Perhaps it would be selfish and I shouldn't.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Fears and fairies

As a child I used to love the flower fairies by Cicely Mary Barker. My grandma had a little book that a teacher had given her at school for being good. It was tiny and on the edge of falling apart, but all the colours inside were still there and I used to look at it for hours. I remember closing my eyes when I was alone and imagining the little Buttercup, Zinnia and Lavender fairies dancing all around my head. Come to think of it Lavender was my favourite. Somehow, at some point, in some place, this image changed and morphed into a strange and unreasonable fear of pigeons (it's actually most birds and flying things but pigeons are always bleeding there). Now when I am alone, and my eyes are shut, I image them swooping and squawking around my head. I wonder where our fears come from.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Lesbians and the neural tube

Instead of learning about Neurology (which is definitely what I should be doing) I decided to talk a little here. Today I have mostly been homosexual, and as such came across this lovely site, it's brilliant! I just decided that on evaluation, girls are just nicer, see examples. I realise that the social stigma and inability to create people could make life less easy but you know, they have smaller shoulders and their hair is softer. I think you should agree.

On a marginally more academic subject I have been marvelling at the neural tube. For those who may not already know your brain starts out as a tube. It goes something like this...
Week 1: sperm reaches egg, starts to divide
Week 2: Fair few cells in a big blob
Week 3: Blob has organised into a sheet of 3 layers of different cells (endoderm, mesoderm and ectoderm) which will for all the different tissues and organs
Week 4: Sheet begins to fold up with a groove in the middle
Week 5: It forms a tube
Week 6: one end of the tube begins to grow massively and fold up - this will be your brain, the other end will be your spinal cord (all the other organs are growing too by the way
Somehow at week 9-10 there is a person about the size of the end of your little finger will fully developed organs which will then simply grow in size.

I like the idea that complex things are simply a long sequence of simple things stacked up on top of each other.

Tricky one

A woman complains that she can't eat her peanut butter sandwiches. She says even if she does eat them she can't taste anything anyway. You notice that she has horrible halitosis and her eyes look awfully sore. What's the diagnosis Doc?

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Picture perfect

One of my all time favourite paintings, Christina's World by Andrew Wyeth, has been dancing around my head for the past few days. His appreciation of the beauty of weakness and nature almost make me want to contract TB and be schooled at home on the wide expanses of Pennsylvania. Almost.

Here she is, in all her beauty, dragging herself across the fields

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

You know

you're in trouble when he says...

Him: I do like to talk, when I'm excited about things.
Me: Like what things?
Him: Well, you know, all those things you aren't interested in.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Owed to youth.

Little girl,
Little girl,
Tell me of your woes.
For I am old,
With time to spare,
And nowhere else to go.

Dying man,
Dying man,
I've not a thing to say.
The days are full of hazy sun,
And I've got time to play.

Think I'll always drink too much coffee.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Session 1

Excert from my first 'session'.

Nice enough room, though I did find the lizard on the table a little distracting (no there was a metal lizard on the table, I'm not completely losing it). Pam was nice (as expected), blonde with big eyes, just like all the woman you want to talk to.

pam: what would you like to achieve by coming here?
me: to be happy enough not to have to.
pam: and what is happiness to you?
me: erm...I suppose I have to know that.

Spoke to my grandma today. She's a woman I'd like to be in a few years, think I stand a good chance of that too, think i'll enjoy being my mother first though. Something she said, naturally scraping a little close to me - 'Any feeling is a risk'.

Also, in an attempt to understand this crazy mixed up world, I sought to find out just exactly what all the things in my shampoo do...

An accidently terrifying picture

aqua - deionised water (also known as 'water')

sorbitol - makes it shower gel rather than shower water

sodium laureth sulphate - acts as a surfactant, which basically allows grease to come of you in the watery environment of a shower (and it makes it foamy)

cocamidopropyl betaine - does the same greasey thing as the one above but also makes the one above less irritating

decyl glucoside - and the same again, but this ones from plants

coco glucoside - same, but this ones from coconuts!

disodium cocoamphodiacetate - and again!

Polysorbate 20 - and again!

prpoyene glycol - moisturiser

sodium chloride - makes it thick with the sodium laureth sulphate (because it's a straight-chain alkyl benzene sulfonate surfactant)

tetrasodium EDTA - binds to the Ca and Mg to prevent reaction with the surfactants

citric acid - low pH to around 5.5 to cause hair follicles to lay flat and make hair look shiny (i have no idea why that happens!)

glyceryl oleate - moisturiser (from glycerin and oleic acid from vegetable oil)

Dilinoleic acid - has a funky anti-inflammatory effect on the skin

Lauryl methyl gluceth-10-hydroxypropyl dimonium chloride (bloody chemists) - supposed to increase water content in the skin, but in reality gets rinsed off

dipropylene glycol - what the perfume is diluted in

linalool - smells like flowers

hexyl cinnamal - smells like chamomile

butylphenyl methylpropional - another smelling thing

Parfum - it's just perfume

So there you go (or probably already have, well actually you can't have, wait!) That was Tesco's finest own brand (not suprisingly much the same as all the other ones).

See you tomorrow, if you'll still have me.


Gone today, here tomorrow

Strange how a relationship can teach you to be alone, but hey, I'm willing to learn. Tomorrow I give myself in. I was 'well' today, whatever that means, and tomorrow I will be 'ill'. I don't know how it will feel, but I'm told (and probably believe) it's the right thing to do. At the moment I hate the people who can live happily on their own, I hate them, and that's a sorry state of affairs really.

What you are, or more correctly what you think you are, really is a very powerful thing. Your fears about where you will fail determine what you attempt, your confidences determine success, which of course breeds confidence (well generally).

Part of me wants this to be an academic exercise, I'd like that, but I suspect that it won't be, and that is more disconcerting.

There are plenty of people around here who talk about this sort of thing, so chances are I won't be including much of it here, but possibly, we'll see.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Maori karaoke?

Yes indeed.

Fainted heart

Soft curved skin
Gentle, thin
Am I?
Will I let you in?

Looming broad
Driven down
Do you?
Will you anyhow?

Tiny air
Squeezed between us
I will, you know
Words are worthless

Fears played out
And silent dreams
Into time
Under sheets

Monday, January 07, 2008

If I were mad enough

"Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck."

Saturday, January 05, 2008

So, I've been thinking about death.

There are a number of reasons for this:-
1. I am morbid
2. I see dead people (real ones)
3. I love people, I worry about them dying
4. I have some non-descript higher function

How do we know we are going to die? I suppose by extrapolation we see him die, and him, and her, and them and sooner or later you are told you are going to and it just becomes a truth, the only inevitable thing.

Take a swan, if you see ten swans that are all white, some would say thats enough, swans are white. Perhaps you need more convincing, perhaps you need to see a hundred or a thousand white swans to say swans are white. The only problem with saying that swans are white is that the next one might be black. You haven't seen all the swans. Perhaps it's a fundamental, but necessary, flaw of the mind to extrapolate.

Why do we need to? Well I suppose chiefly to learn. You can't discover everything that is known now again, you have to accept a theory to add to it (an ability I've been told I lack). We are inherently accepting, and it takes an awful lot of effort to resist it and think.

All I'm saying is just because they died, doesn't mean I'm going to.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

More on idiocy

They lay iggs!

Well today, amongst other things, I drove into a bus. Yes, I hear you say, I'm an idiot. I'm a woman, yes. I have no spacial-awareness, yes. I wonder why I cannot manage the normal things. Why can't I check my bank balance, or drive a car, or clean the house, or eat normal things?

Suppose intelligence was measured in terms of functionality, which oddly in this particular part of town it doesn't seem to be. Well then, quite frankly, I'm an idiot.

Interestingly, an idiot is a stupid person with a mental age below three years, while a moron is a stupid person with a mental age of between seven to twelve years. I hope to qualify as a moron in the near future.

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

shrewd shrew

I looked at this poem when studying my GCSE's. There's something more to it these days. You should be careful who's dreams you stand in the corner of.

You rang your bell and I answered.
I polished your parquet floor.
I scraped out your grate
and I washed your plate
and I scrubbed till my hands were raw.

You lay on a silken pillow.
I lay on an attic cot.
That's the way it should be, you said.
That's the poor girl's lot.
You dined at eight
and slept till late.
I emptied your chamber pot.
The rich man earns his castle, you said.
The poor deserve the gate.

But I'll never say
or 'thank you ma'am'
and I'll never curtsey more.
You can bake your bread
and make your bed
and answer your own front door.

I've cleaned your plate
and I've cleaned your house
and I've cleaned the clothes you wore.
But now you're on your own, my dear.
I won't be there any more.
And I'll eat when I please
and I'll sleep where I please

and you can open your own
front door.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

And so it begins

Love can be ir-rat-ional

It's that time of year isn't it, where you think about what you are and what you should be doing.

I had a good time the last week or so. My best friend (I'm accepting of the theoretical one-sidedness of that) turned up and reminded me of a few things, it all got warm and blurry, and I cried more than usual.

I stayed with a family that is not mine, though mostly I feel that on a technicality. I am so lucky to feel welcome there. To feel that I can share moments both joyous and deeply sad, and may even contribute something of worth to those times, is a wonder, and I am more grateful than know how to say.

Mostly I've remembered the ways that I slip. Everyone has their lazy ways, their trying-to-do-it-in-the-cheapest-easiest-shortest-way kind of ways. I remember that those arent necessarily the best ways. I went out to the pub instead of studying, and contrary to the belief of some I wanted to, I wasn't sacrificing what I 'should' have been doing. I should have been there, with you and your friends, playing pool and enjoying life and people. It's not a waste, and I remembered that.

I went to church and sang songs with an athiest, a jew-christian hybrid and another of yet unknown religious outlook. It was interesting. I played games and talked about winning and drank a little.

In summary, a good time. Sometimes I know there is a guilt to be felt in wanted to do nothing, especially when everyone seems to enjoy doing things so much, so I guess I feel that too.

I hope this year is full of stories, perhaps even some nice or interesting or strange enough to put here.

Here are my resolutions (i've never made any before now)
1. Dance more - (re)start my salsa
2. Dont take short cuts - do things now because its easier than remembering to do it later