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Monthly Archives: April 2012

Fighting yourself for yourself

Because sometimes we are our worst enemies. Because the world is already full of demons we must fight, and it’s already hard enough fighting all those attacks. But when the attack comes from inside of us, it is incredibly painful.

Have you ever had to fight yourself for yourself? Or maybe this is happening with someone you know. Maybe someone who did not win the fight. I know people who did not win the fight. People who believed their internal demons.

Today Jenny posted the following video on her blog:

I like how she says she’s glad she’s broken. Aren’t we all broken? Some in some ways, some in others, but we are all damaged somehow. Something has happened or is happening, it doesn’t matter. We are all broken. And if we are all broken, doesn’t that put us all in the same boat?

So don’t leave. I won’t if you don’t.

 

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Drinking the Kool-Aid isn’t that cool, you know?

Let’s talk metaphors, shall we? And what is a metaphor? It’s a figure of speech, it’s making a comparison using two things that are otherwise unrelated. It achieves its effect via association or resemblance.

Take the phrase drinking the Kool-Aid, for instance. What could it mean? Well, if you think that’s what all are doing, you’re wrong. It’s actually a blind, uncritical acceptance or following. It’s doing what others are just without actually questioning it or critically examining it. And the phrase actually carries a negative connotation when applied to an individual or a group.

The term is a reference to the 1978 Jonestown cult massacre, where people were given a cyanide-poisoned Flavor Aid (similar to Kool-Aid) to drink. Over 900 people drank what was given to them and died.

Honestly, I prefer to question what’s given to me. No, I’m not a sheep. No, I won’t do or say something because others are doing or saying it, or because that’s what’s expected of me. I’m NOT drinking the Kool-Aid, thank you very much. So, no, I’m not an instant fan of something just because. I have to see it with my own eyes and listened to it with my own ears. And most importantly, analyze it with my own brains, thank you very much.

 

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Biting the hand that feeds you is never a good idea.

I love sayings, proverbs, and things like that. I like knowing what they mean and where they come fromThey are full of meaning and seem to survive the centuries. Like biting the hand that feeds you, for example. was first used, at least that’s what the records show, by the Greek poet Sappho around 600 BC, and it was first recorded in English in 1711.

The metaphor of a dog biting its mater’s hand is used to talk about a person repaying support with wrong. It means to turn against a benefactor, a supporter, or a friend. People forget that the hand that feeds them, or has fed them in the past, may still one day be needed. But that’s not even the biggest problem here. I think the worst thing is to see the lack of respect this person shows for someone who was once there for him/her.

It is sad to see such thing happening. But if this has been happening since Sappho was alive, what does that say about us, humans? Collins is right. “We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction.

 

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I’ll never have enough time to read all the books I want to read.

Photo courtesy of Sarah Horrigan

When I was little I always enjoyed getting lost in a book. It was always a new adventure, and I’d jump in head first. And only when that adventure was over I’d go looking for a new one. Every book was a whole new world waiting for me. There was nothing better than getting home from school, kicking my shoes off, and grabbing a book to read. If it was sunny I’d go sit outside with my book, my best friend. It was a great time, one where my only responsibility was to get good grades and learn new things.

Funny fact: I had a small blue suitcase I used to fill with books to take to the beach with me for our summer vacation. Who needs toys when you can have books, right?

Now things are different. Work provides me with money needed for bills and food. That seems to be my top priority. Not that I wouldn’t like to get lost in a book on a sunny afternoon at the park, but it feels nice to have food on the table, you know. And books became the friends I see only occasionally late at night before falling asleep or on a weekend.

But my biggest problem is not the lack of time but the fact that I keep jumping from one book to the other. I’m always reading two or three books at a time. When do we graduate from reading one book at a time to this ADD habit of having to read more than one? It’s like my brain can’t be happy with just one. Sometimes I’m in the mood for a novel, sometimes I want a short story. Sometimes I want something that will make me think, at others I just want something that will make me laugh. It all depends on how my day went, how my mood is at the moment, and how much time I have to devote to reading today.

How about you? Do you also read more than one book at a time? Do you also carry a book with you wherever you go? Do you carry more than one, just in case?

 

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Because we all have stories we’d like to pretend never happened.

The book for intellectual misfits.

Remember when I was so excited because I started reading the book that’s like laughing at a funeral? Well, I just finished reading it. If I were to be honest, I could have finished this book a few days ago, but I wanted to take my time, to savor it. I was never one to enjoy reading something too fast. I believe part of the fun in reading a book is when you catch yourself pausing at a random sentence in the book to think about what’s in there. And this happened a lot when I was reading this book.

No, I never found myself with my arm stuck inside a cow’s vagina, or got a bathtub full of baby raccoons for my birthday, but I had my fair share of embarrassing moments in life. But I think we all do, right? Can’t you think of one single moment of your life that if told someone would make you feel like a weirdo?

I could tell you about the time I was dressed as a homeless person as a child and was blinded by stage lights on someone’s shoulder. I was on that person’s shoulder, not the lights. Why would someone have stage lights on their shoulder? That’s just ridiculous.

Or I could tell you about waking up before the sun to drink carrot juice. Okay, maybe that’s not so insane, but it was this orange thing that had a hard time leaving the glass, since my grandmother refused to add water to it, so it was almost like baby food in a glass. And she’d wait for you to drink it all before she’d let you fall back asleep. My uncles had perfected the skill, and would drink without even waking up. I had to fight the urge to throw up. Fun times.

Or I could tell you about when I ran through a glass door and only realized what had happened when I saw all the blood. Best seventh birthday in the history of ever! It involved broken glass, stitches, a broken key, and popping balloons under my dress while this strange guy fixing our door had birthday cake with us.

Hey, remember how I started talking about a book and all of a sudden changed it to talking about myself? Yeah, that’s how that book goes. Well, it won’t talk about me, but it does talk about the weirdest things and at moments makes you wonder if she’s still talking about the same thing she was in the beginning of the chapter. If you’re ADD you’ll love it! It’s just like an ADD mind works. Or maybe you’ll get even more lost than usual, hard to tell. It worked for me, though.

This book made me laugh so loud my neighbors probably wondered what was wrong with me. Especially when I’d cry a few minutes later reading about how she saved her daughter from being attacked by potentially wild dogs. By the way, that chapter gave me nightmares. I had a dream where my mom was bitten by animals and then they found a tooth inside her foot and I yelled at her for not telling me about it and letting me find out about something like that through my half-brother, who’s not even her son to begin with. Insane! I mean, I’d never yell at my mom. Ever.

Anyway, if you want to laugh, and cry, and basically find out you’re not the weirdest person alive, buy the book! Now! To me, the message of the book is: we all have our own embarrassing stories we’d like to forget about, to erase from our memories, but the truth is, we are who we are because of them. Cherish them, don’t hide them.

 

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Of being stabbed and learning lessons.

When people say they felt as if they were being stabbed in the back I tend to say “I know exactly what you mean.” People say that when you consider someone a friend and that person does not consider you one it’s like being stabbed in the back. And although I’ve been betrayed before, I’ve never been stabbed in the literal sense of the word. Not once in my life I had a knife puncturing my body in such a way, so I can’t really compare. So here’s a comparison I know:

I lived in an apartment on the 12th floor. Pretty high and with a great view of the city. At night I liked to sit on the window and sing my heart out. I was convinced no one would ever know I was the crazy girl singing on a window, since it was dark and they wouldn’t see me. I’d even turn my lights off, just to be sure. And I’d sit there, with my head immerse in the darkness singing songs I’d improvise on the spot. I’d keep my legs inside, of course, so my body had to be a little twisted, but it worked out fine. And I always kept the windows just open wide enough for me to fit in, so I could hold onto the wall on one side and the glass on the other. Because I was that smart.

But one day I lost my balance. My hands immediately glued themselves to the wall and the glass. I panicked. For the few seconds that took me to get my body all back to safety I thought I was really going to die. The air left my lungs, my heart was slamming hard against my chest, my palms were sweating like crazy, blood was pumping in my ears, and the air felt suddenly so heavy I wouldn’t dare to breathe it in. I finally pulled myself inside and just kneeled on the floor, trying to get my head to stop spinning.

I want to say I never sat there again, that this was enough of a warning to keep me away from the dangers that a window on the 12th floor without a security net can offer, but I can’t. The truth is that we are human beings. We make mistakes, and keep making them until we’ve learned whatever lesson we have to learn. We just have to hope we’ll learn them fast, before we actually fall from a window.

 

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I’m a fan without a band.

The more I think about this whole thing, the more disappointed I am. I cannot believe they took the site down and that the twitter account was simply changed to something else. It’s like wanting to erase someone’s memory.

The band did exist, they have a history, they have fans. The fact that the band is no longer active does not mean their fans don’t want a place where they can congregate and share their passion. I feel betrayed, as a fan, that everything just changed names, with no regards for my feelings and devotion to a certain band I used to love and respect.

I know, they, the members of the band, are hurt. They are going through a lot and they are lost at the moment. I understand that. I feel for them. And I know the fans feel divided and lost, and have a need to do something to show their support or how much they are mourning everything that happened. I get it. But really? Is this the best way to go?

Do you know The Beatles? Have you ever heard of them? Do you know that the band is no longer active? Do you also know that there are still websites and even a twitter account devoted to the band? Do you know that people still listen to and quote their songs? Do you know why? Because the band is and always will be alive in their fans’ hearts.

I’m a fan of a band who shows no regards for the fan I am. I want the websites back. I want the twitter back. I want to be able to post on twitter “Listening to Wings on Fire by @100MonkeysMusic” and have people reply to my tweet. I want us to talk about the good old times and all the concerts we’ve been to. I saw them play live 12 times. That’s pretty awesome. And I refuse to let it go. I want to have a place in this virtual world that is the internet to shout my respect and love for the band that was a part of so many great memories.

New band, no band, I really couldn’t care less at the moment. I just want the band to exist again, active or not. I just want people to stop trying to erase my memory. I’m Joel Barisherased from existence. I’m Telly Paretta looking for something I know existed and was taken away from me. I just want my memories back.

 
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Posted by on April 21, 2012 in Just Venting Away

 

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