Face to Face02:21 Dec 19 2009
Times Read: 803
This rant is sparked by the new year coming of what I received. Again it seems the only way to make everyone happy is to do away with all the rules and let everyone have at each other. Maybe the survivors of the massacre will learn to get along with one another.
Much of what I end up reading online these days, at least as far as those unexceptional lay opinion pieces from the masses, is just so much garbled bullshit, and misconstrued opinion masquerading as fact. That or the sentence syntax and punctuation is so outstandingly poor that it is unreadable, or on the off chance that it is readable, then the daily goings on of life are so banal and pedestrian that it wouldn't be fit to line a digital birdcage.
I will say that a very few have been edifying and interesting reads. Most, though, either espouse such a tremendous amount of poppycock, or are just so poorly written, that I would sooner put a cigarette out in my left eye, my favorite eye than read them, and I do not smoke.
Most people don't interest me and some do. I don't have much respect for people who flirt on vr, and especially for those who flirt, but are 'married' in life, and their spouses have no idea what vr even is. I avoid people who will have a bad influence on me, I am extremely hard to get to know, but easy to talk to. I am what you want me to be during the rough times. I am loyal. Trustworthy. Unjudging. But I am also a blunt lass. I respect all ideas and everyone until they lose my trust. I will never hurt you unless you strike first. I can be an exceptionally adroit pianist, but I don't understand everything. I am an innocent peacock. But I can turn into the exact opposite very quickly. You'd be surprised.
If you are a bore, don't bother talking to me. I like talking to people who are open minded and accepting of ideas and get off their asses, and do what they have to do to change. Not just sit there and complain about it in their journals on vr.
My personal life is not your business unless you are one of five on vr. But if I get to know you, I'll let you know me.
I admire hard workers, and I have open eyes to the world and new ideas. I can say things you don't want to hear, I will be blunt. I can be your best friend. Or your most challenging rival. Or stranger. Betray me or go behind my back just once, there's no coming back. I am forgiving for what it seems, but I know sometimes people make mistakes. So don't mistaken my politeness for friendliness.
The more we strive towards tolerance and sensitivity. The more we're leaving others behind and branding them with the tools we're trying to create a perfect world with. I know in my country there's freedom of expression and all that, but what people don't seem to realize is that respect is also involved here. We need to agree to disagree and stop trying to shove one way of life down other people's throats. Biologically speaking we're all the same. We all are bipeds and we all come from the same zoological classification. Why then are there so many protests, wars, and actions? Why must we have the 'My way or the highway' attitude? Why can't we just accept someone for what they are regardless of politics? Why can't you just care about the person regardless of whether they are black, white, blind, gay, or chartreuse?
I like this expression about leadership. ''We all lead ourselves and we help lead our friends.'' Why can't reality be like that? I guess because there's too many people with their own opinion and everyone thinks theirs is correct, and damn everyone else who doesn't share their views.
To err is human, and human, am I. Sometimes I wish I belonged to another species. One with more intelligence.
I recommend listening to the song ''Face to Face'' by Siouxsie and the Banshees while reading this. Then you'll actually get the tone of what I'm saying. I have always been physically, emotionally, and mentally affected by music. It has an eerie sounding tone to it. This song is about lovers having a difficult time because they haven't found their own personal identity. The woman wants to stay with the man, but she knows the right thing to do is to leave. But in the end, lust gets the best of her.
I listen to this piece, the goosebumps fly across my skin. It's almost like having an orgasm. Almost. There isn't a better word to describe the effect this music has on me. I close my eyes and let the music drift through my body, enjoying every last drop of sensation, both aural and physical. The music is strong and passionate, tender and wild by turns. It makes me want to run through the rain naked as the day I was born.
Pardon the interruption, but I want to be interpolative about this before you get a mental image.
Here is conversation, I had with a poor fish on vr. I quote. ''It would be more better for a brain like yours to be in others' in today's society, lol. Some don't think more like us. Which is purely bullshit!'' and the gold fish quoted with a bit of humor. ''Yes, but sadly the world's majority has a short attention span which leads to a short thinking process. It's a shame, because no one truly appreciates anything anymore.'' I quote as as a remark. ''I thought sleeping in the nude was hip, I guess I was wrong since today's society sleeps clothed in shit of a donkey. Excuse my language.'' The gold fish came back with a quote. ''Lol. I like sleeping nude or in as little clothing as possible. Blankets and covers were introduced for that very reason; so we wouldn't have to sleep with cloths on. '' With that said, I sneered a deterrent example towards the jury. ''I sleep nude no matter what, and besides wearing a fuzzy fleece bathrobe to bed, I'm fine. I only wear to bed in the winters, there's no way in God's Garden of Eden, I'm letting a prowler look at me nude, he/she can see the bathrobe, but I punch into them til they reach the stoneage. lol. They'll fucking discover real fire soon enough when they break into this lass' parents' house, to my bedroom. It won't be lightening...a punch of Thor's lightening it shall be incoursing through my knickles to their face.''
Now, if you would love to see a Dane beat the living hell out of someone like I described. Should you think you'd even pay to see that? Poppycock! It's worth more then you would ever pay in U.S dollars, you would get in free to see the teeth of the prowler, so ladies and gentlemen of the jury, prowlers beware! Unfortunately or fortunately, it's three thirty five in the morning, and it's 19°F outside so I manage to restrain myself. You can thank me later. But talk about inspiring! It is simply amazing.
Read to the end. I promise you, You will be intrigued, at least by the slightest.
Now on to my topic du jour. Pregnant. Yes, pregnant. Now before you jump to conclusions, thinking I am pregnant, and give me a commendation as a comment. I am not pregnant! Period. It was merely a form of expression, because the poor fish, mentioned, ''Just don't get pregnant by the piano...little mixed humiano (human and piano combined) would be a bit scary and strange. :P''. I really wanted to add something funny to this line. It just didn't go. Yes, I find myself smiling. Funny.
You better be confident in a comment or I will have to smack you as if you were a poor fish like this one, who spoken of pianoforte cyesiology was over our conversation recently transformed into a gold fish, in my slang which means a person's smart yet a tiny bit not bright. It's better to be a gold fish then poor. That's really a talent, and it would be a horrible sin not to share that gift with others. If you are really that self concious about your comment ask a close friend to read it before you post it. If you don't want to ask anyone face to face then I'd be happy to help you.
I have no real reason for this journal. This isn't a diary of secret thoughts I wish to hide from the world, it is just if immortality was staring me in the face, would I seize the opportunity that would never present itself to me ever again?
Never before have I written that word, if my memory suffices. The word of immense torture of one's own soul. One that is deemed to be unable to live with everyone else on the planet. To be locked away in a special place, only to be treated like another, the word is insane.
How can they think that this helps when all it does is drive me cross eyed. The bleeding dark is not the darkness of the room, quite the opposite. It is the darkness of my heart and mind. They put me in here for what I wrote and see. They didn't even try to understand. If it is not like them it is not right. When I said get rid of the idiots, I didn't mean the ones who think differently. I meant the ones who repeatedly do stupid and idiotic things because they have no sense of enough and no sense of what they should fight and what they should fight for.
But no. What do they do? They stick all of us sane people in this god awful asylum, and tell us we're nutters! Whackos! I pity them. For when the time comes that they acknowledge the fact that we were and are right, it will be too bloody late to do anything, we are all going to perish in the dark that descends. You cannot be spared from what should rightfully rule because it is the top of the food chain.
I've had a thought. I'm just going to sit here and let them destroy themselves. Then everything can be over that much faster. Yes. It's over. Love and war have two things in common. There are no limits except your own imagination and they can both be destroyed by scorned women of which hell hath no fury. I won't fight aggressively. I'll fight passively.
With everything that is happening to our planet there is still the sense that it won't affect us or it won't happen in our life time. Let me tell you, if we don't shape up and start working together sanely, the whole damn world is gonna pay for it, both out of the pocket books and out of the lives.
I was in a nasty 'the world is against me', 'everybody's an idiot', just general deviltry mood when I wrote this, but I am calm. The beginning was just a piece of a story I thought of. Basically a lass gets committed, because her visions are too out there for the people around her. This is a rant I picture her having. It's really just an opinion, but I think it may hold some weight. It started as a rant thus ended in complete and total truth and reality. I agree. It's about us. It takes the heart of a dreamer to realize what they really want, but it takes a realist to get it.
William Faulkner once said that he had to express with words what would have been better expressed through music. Some think my words ring true to many a person, but most importantly, those of us who love the literature of words and the intoxication of music.
Some call it insanity, but I liked to refer to it as genius. After all, geniuses were unlike the others, strange in fact. Like the two of five on vr thought of my dry humor, of course I asked, and they answered. ''I find your sense of humor very honed...intelligent.'' and ''You do, but not to the point where it makes you seem like a bitch. It's dry, but has a dash of light heart on top.'' No, I am no insane idiot. I am a strange genius.
It could have been inspired by geniuses in our world such as Einstein and Mozart, because they were weird, but geniuses in their own right. So I decided, maybe these two think of themselves that way, a strange genius.
In the midst of all of these dreams, these revelations, the ones that haunt me and the ones that give me peace, there is one that shocks me the most. One that recurs, that I have dreamt since before my memory begins. So many visions, so many possible paths, so many beginnings and endings, so many might have beens' and if onlys', all of them different, yet connected by a single common thread. Whatever they were. They come to me, one after another, faces and places I have never seen before, one big jumble of sight and sound that leaves my head spinning. They were so incredibly clear, every detail shining out, taunting me. In my starved and delirious state, it took me longer than it should have to realise that they were not dreams. They were visions. The memories that had put me here in the first place. I was in all of them. Every single last vision I'd had of what the past had become, of what I might turn into, they were there and my fate was inexorably tied to them. Our paths entwined together.
I sat very still watching myself throw into the flow of the music I played. Swaying ever so slightly to the feel of it all. As I shut my eyes, I felt a tug at my heart as it started to deepen and strike a part of me that trembled with anticipation of the change. My playing excited me, it was like reading a well written book, or watching a motion picture, I had to see where it would lead, and how it would end. I had to see where the notes that enraptured me would take me. The journey this composition would take me on, and the experiences I would face as I trudged through this journey. But then the excitement turned into fear, as excitement often did.
The fear gripped me so tight that the elated heart started to pierce with anxiety. I had no idea what caused this panicked emotion. All I know is that I didn't want this journey to end, this song to stop, I didn't want to see if it would all end, because that would only mean that one experience was forever over, and no matter how much I would try, I could never get it back again.
The visions haunted me. I saw not only their death, but mine and I didn't think I could take much more of this. My sanity hung by a few silken threads. The familiarity of the piece within me, sparks my senses in my mind and I began to play a piece, a piece by Beethoven, Moonlight Sonata. If I had to choose a song to put on infinite repeat, it'd be this one. That song, to me, is the epitome of sad piano music. I don't know why I love melancholy piano, or classical music in general. It just evokes this wonderful, epic, sweeping mood. It's majestic. It also makes me feel classy, when really, I have no class at all. Although I have learned this piece and it has been difficult, it flows. The rhythms and breaks at the exact intended intervals, an experience at a 19th century victorian ball. Silence fills the air for a moment as I regain my composure. My mind races, and I feel a thin sheen of sweat form on my brow, as the things I have seen become burned into my memory.
I felt a wave of tears rip through me like the sudden shower of rain that just never seems to stop, and before I knew it was I was crying at the climbing tip of the summit, the crescendo. With the music, I plummeted down faster, and faster, sweeping into a pile of drowning grief. The moment was gone, and was never to be regained. I wept for the moments that would forever be lost into the dusty alcoves of memories. How would I find them, but never be able to old them as I once held them in those rare moments of realization. How vague and alien it would be to me.
Oh how I cried with the soothing end of the music. How I cried at the thought of never having an immortalizing moment. I had seen memories, dreams of shadows and of hatred and of death. The family I had watched over of countless times, and after many years, I began to weave a dream of my own.
''Ah, but my love. How will you be able to say that you did indeed experience such things if you continue to live ignorant in your preserved instant?'' My piano asked me quietly, reading the despair that flooded through my mind. I didn't bother to answer it. Not when my own tears were choking up my heart as well as my words.
The black keys have never looked so beautiful, and perfect rainbow never seemed so dull. The lights out never had this bright a glow, and the black keys where showing me a world a I never knew, no. A world I never knew. I play the piano, the only instruement that I know. It's simplistic form, every note, every melody a shade of black and white. No. The orchestra, a vibrant, beating cocophony, becomes a flowing rainbow of tunes that harmonize together. But I prefer those black and white keys of the piano. When I play those black and white keys, I know that is when I truly apreciate life. Then, I know that with only the simple tempo, the soft melody, and finally those grand notes. I know that is when I can truly play my Moonlight Sonata.
''There, there, love.'' My piano whispered as it gently held me in it's arms. Ah, another memory, another moment, another deluded and naive thought of another never ending journey through comfort. How weary I was making myself out to be.
''I wish I could resurrect Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and equip him with Shakespeare's pen. My life would be written without error, a musical masterpiece. Thousands of instruments would play to the tune of my heart beat. The melodic sheets would carry me to a realm of exaltation. Every page would be refined by the fingers of a gifted man. I would not question the future. I would trust in his instinct that has been praised for hundreds of years. I would delight in each strategic climax. I would enjoy the predefined pauses and rests. Oh my life would be a conversation starter for millenniums.
Alas it is not so. I write the scripts with stains of ink and poor English. I cannot go back and correct the extravagant blunders of my hands. Nor can I erase the disorder, the insolence, the unforgivable events. I can only set my heart upon the promise of repentance that the maker of the Heavens and the Earth would place my offense as far as the East is from the West. I wish that I had the chance to forever create these memories, that it would never end, so they shall never shatter. '' I cried out passionately. Pushing myself away from it's keys, staring up at it through blurred eyes.
I never revealed my deepest thoughts to anyone, nor did I ever showed affections openly. People had not attempted to explore my secrets for reasons being other than respecting me, they did their best to avoid any irritation to me that would invite sharp remarks. I was glad that they had always remained that way.
There were memories and experiences that I would like to keep totally to myself and myself only. I would always remembered the battles that I had against the votarist warrior, and the family that had touched me in a way I had least expected.
The last time we crossed spears was during the egyptian dynasties. There was my spear, teaching a potent, votarist warrior the moves for an au naturel el ard, a martial arts dance involving upraised swords, but we used our spears. Would we be fighting, he wouldn't stand a chance, because shiny as his spear might be, my spear is wielded with much more skill and control. Just to spare him the shame of loosing in Her name, Neith, in public, I agreed on an indoor dance lesson. Do I usually go into combat dressed like that? Or is it perhaps the only reason he is going to lose is because he is distracted by my appearance?
Meeting the votarist warrior, himself was something I thought could only happen with pure good luck, having the opportunity to fight alongside with him was something that have only occurred in egyptian antiquity.
''That would be the dilemma wouldn't it?'' My piano laughed, wiping away my childish tears as a parent would. If memories do not end, or do not shatter, than how shall we grow and learn? How shall we be able to point out and exclaim that we have indeed been there? We cannot live forever shut away trying to recreate, or even immortalize a simple moment that had past. It is not possible. Time would never allow such a thing.
There was another common thread that I hadn't seen before. The family and I were meant to be together in some way, either as lovers or friends. I'd seen visions where they'd stumbled on me in close proximity, sometimes it was completely innocent, other times, not. The mere thought of the family drinking that which belonged to them and them alone, filled me with such luxuria reminiscence to our mother, Lilith. Fair Lovise the peacock, I was fated. It seemed, to end up with either the father or myself. The fight never ended happily for all them, I noticed. One or more of them died in the end. Always.
Memories are beautiful messes aren't they? You could become so entangled in the likes of one but low and behold, the next time you try to pluck those scenes from the depths of your mind, the more they become blurred. It's never really a choice, but how I wish it were so.
There's been so many nights when I've sat and pondered, clawing at the confines of my mind, trying to get back that image, even the name of someone dear to me from an age that was perfect. Well almost perfect, but that's beside the point.
Even worse is the fact that the recollections that linger around are the ones that one doesn't want, or at least that's how it is for me. How I wish I had the power to see such things, though I guess in the end, its not really the encounter itself that defines one as who they are, but the reflection of said event after everything is done and over with. So, the worse are almost more important than the good.
It's still a hard concept to grasp and an even harder truth to realize, for I find myself remembering more and more everyday. No matter the attempts, the brain just can't hold the entire information one wants it to. The longer I wonder about such things, the more the ominous reality comes to be. What if that one person whom I'm trying to remember is out there looking for me? What will happen if they find me? Will they continue on after knowing that I do recognize them? Or worse yet, will they wait for me to make the first move?
One of my dreams is of a man. A man I am sure I have never seen before. I dreamt of him time and time again. It has come to a point were, if I close my eyes which I do most of the time. I will see his clear pale face and deep eyes, shining with an expression I could not understand. He was colorful though. His hair was long golden and his eyes were a deep hazel. I had allowed myself a moment of pride for remembering the names of those colors before I quickly shoved it away. Remembering was optimum. Remembering only brought me evince of smiles.
First time in a long time that I get to dream, or at least to remember any of it, I was enjoying my dream until my mind's eye, he came, yes, it was a fantastic dream, until he the wild thing appeared in between, it was suffocating and so aphrodisiacal.
I see some of my happiest and saddest moments at the piano. Sprawled across as an old dark soul, my heart beating its' last and my skin as cold as the keys that I lie upon. To whom it may concern, Freyr and Freya are alike, my potent friend, my old piano. Strung up inside, finely tuned, a weaker and a stronger side. I will play piano forever as Freya flows through me to you, my potent friend. They select their tunes as they please. Some brash, some melodic, some disastrous but all making sound in my organ soul. Being without Freyr would be like death to Freya, a brother, a lover that Freyr is. Sometimes Freya collect lust when I am dealing with Freyr's animal side. Talking, seeing, eating but She always come back to Him for in a way, Freyr is Freya. My piano wishes to be played, and part of something. Sometimes hope for a melodic tune is a deepened tone. What would Freya do without Freyr, I do not know.
Immoral Time. How I loathed it more than anything. But what was I to do? Time was forever moving, whether I was for it or against it. Time was speeding past us all, and we grow as time moves on. Time was the only immortal thing that will ever live, because time held no ends and no limitations. Without limits, that in itself was a greater fear that we secretly could not handle as mere mortals. To have an immortalized moment, was it worth it?
''With time we grow wise.'' I mumbled to myself finally coming to a conclusion is something I feel daily, that perfect panic of it never lasting forever. They're beautiful moments though, and should remind people that life is to be valued, as should every moment they make. Our job is to describe what we can and to simply live the rest as we are, creatures made of blood, sweat, dirt and, tears. Breathe deep and live, touch all that you can. Dance and sing and write and think and fall and stand and live. Then I looked at the piano that it had lifted itself from to comfort me.
''Shall I play again for you, love?'' It asked, reading my mind yet again. I only nodded, and I floated over to the piano, to play again Beethoven's 2nd movement of Pathetique murmuring to me sweet melodies of comfort and silent hopes as I started to sing the song that I know that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. It is the entire reason this is another actual entry from my existent journal of what I written, not the one on vr. You, folks are the rare few to get an insight to how I actually feel, and get to see these entries.
Yes, let the moment pass, and let it become a distant memory. Let the sweet temptation of a never changing moment slip through fingers. We are only a moment in time, to immortalize ourselves, would only prolong a fear that we always had. Death, She is a sweet moment as well, as it would become a comforting memory.
In case, upon opening of this foreign vessal of which is indistinguishable to a horror and of your waking mind to describe if immortality was staring me in the face, would I seize the opportunity that would never present itself to me ever again?
No. I wouldn't.
I rant, therefore I am.
COMMENTS
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Lovise
07:49 Dec 19 2009
I'm sorry, if I had to edit again, grammer. You're welcome for reposting your comment.
LordBaalNox
18:41 Dec 19 2009
Lovise how your words captured my eyes boring straight into my soul. I could not tear them away from the black and white text burning desire, screaming in tones on etheral planes from voices forgotton and age old mysteries.
I tore away to youtube for a moment so I could listen to "Face to Face" and feel the essence of your words more deeply.
How could I not, how could anyone not, even if goaded to refrain from doing so, imagine your naked flesh goosed with bumps and penetrative eyes while listening to this song and reading your words. It is not flirting, it is beauty.
Once again a wonderful look into your mind.
LBN
markus666
21:27 Dec 19 2009
Your writing is perfect and it can touch the heart and soul of the reader. Is like a window into your soul, but only those, that contained a pure soul, like you, can understand, the meaning of your writing. Only two words will describe you: Perfect woman.
Lovise
22:06 Dec 19 2009
Thank you, LBN for your good words. In the silken Danish and English manner, across the road and the wind, a lone whistle of wind strokes the trees, and the parchment of which I am writing on like Fenrir's violin.
My mother asked me what kind of musical instrument I wanted to be. I answered. ''Actually, I don't want to be a piano. I want to make love to a piano.''
The exchange triggered a wave of nostalgia in my mind, that I can't shake off up to this very moment. It isn't just a vague generalized nostalgia, but a very specific longing to touch the softly wielding firmness of piano keys with the gentle caress of my fingers. To smell and suck in the sandalwood and velvet aroma of a piano's mysterious womb.
To feel deep in my breast the sensual vibrations of her octave strings to celebrate in the spine tingling, toe curling euphoria as my half sobbing voice mingles with her half laughing voice in musical midnight glory.
In short, I want have piano sex tonight. -breathes heavily-
My entire mind and body is primed for it right now. I wanna make love to a beautiful, graceful, sonorous piano all night long.
She in upright position, and me sitting in front of her, now pushing her pedals, now providing her rhythm with my basso continuo, now dampening her gentle pianissimo with una corda, now going into scherzando and legato, now pulling all stops a crescendo until she screams con abandono in an orgasmic finale.
Thankfully, my mother didn't know the litres of libido that oozed inside my mind when I sat in front of the old family piano. I used to play impromptu classical, way beyond midnight, while my oh so indulgent Mama gently reminded me to go easy on the keyboard banging, so as not to wake up the whole household. LOL!
I knew she really wanted me to stop, because in her mind it was evil... Almost like having orgiastic sex in front of an audience. I was sure of this because whenever I shifted to Mozart, she had no complaints at all even if it was 2 am.
But it is such a normal occasion now that I get my hands, feet, body, and mind in a heated frenzy playing the piano. I have easy access to a piano. Piano sex! I badly want piano sex tonight!
Cowboys, truckers, and marines have it easy. They go to beer joints and brothels and engage the girls in libidinous libertine libation.
But what about this poor piano deprived lass?
I have a technique that hasn't failed so far. I go to any of the several music stores, or the several music schools, that have proliferated in the central business district of my city. I quietly sit down in front of one of my favorites, and engage it in my own version of libidinous libation. It's free. I don't have to pay. I know them, and they know me quite well by now. They don't complain. They find it a pleasure.
My secret garden, my musical brothel. I think I'll go there now while it's still peaceful and quiet. An evening delight of piano sex. Wanna come with me?
''It is not flirting, it is beauty.'' As you said as well.
LordBaalNox
22:10 Dec 19 2009
There would be nothing more erotic than walking down a quiet Danish street in the cool evening air as I glance in the shop windows to see a beautiful lady seated at a piano.
Her hair gently brushing her cheek, caressing her soft skin as her fingers dance delights over the keys.
The lighting in the shop is filtering through her light cotton dress, exposing to all those outside who happen to look in and engage a moment in the beauty of the player, those soft curves and gentle thighs.
I watch with baited breath as her key strokes become harder and faster, noticing the way her legs are clenching the thigh muscles in time to the music. I smile as my mind connects to the sweet stranger in the window her music enveloping me in wanton desire as the shop attendants' skirt around unawares of the sexual value of her auric field.
Dark shadows of shoppers filtering behind create an extreme of dark and light luminous show that dances like lovers in time to the music. My eyes close and I feel the rhythmic thump of the tune quicken my heart beat and stir my loins.
I cannot stop myself feasting on the music and the girl, I feel our hearts are thumping together, the music an erotic joining of experience no one else is sharing. Her back arched the light still streaming through her dress I can see beads of perfect water droplets trickle from her neck over the contour of her breasts.
and
I know; and for a fraction of a second she glances at me and she knows I know, her ecstasy taking us both on a furious ride through the passions of her music. I close my eyes once more and wish the music never end as the climax of the song approaches the last notes lingering on my ears and reverberating through my skin, I savour that moment for just a fraction too long as I open my eyes she is gone....................
Lovise
22:47 Dec 19 2009
As for your comment, Markus666, and to everyone else.
Yeah, I agree completely that I can capture them, but not fully. It gets lost in translation, like encoding an LP record onto an mp3 float, you just can't do it right, I mean, it's possible still. I won't say what is and isn't possible, but I don't think it can still be expressed in this dimension, or on this. It has to be expressed in a way where emotion has matter, or where a feeling can take up space, or can be transmitted into another energy.
What I mean is, that, no matter what we do, with the inscribing of words, or the drawing of pencils, the more that you act this way you are drifting farther and farther away from expressing the divinity.
Yes, it still expresses the feeling, and I have accomplished this many times before, but, when I get that feeling, words and pictures fail.
Except, that's where I have forgotten something most dear. The only way to express a feeling like that is to do it with music. It's the only way that pictures and logic can combine, and when I hear symphonies in my head when I get one of these feelings.
Because, you know, it's always altering, the music, I mean. Music is based upon sound which is really a complex pattern of various vibrations, but it's the fact that it alternates from one side to the other, like the yin yang.
Because, the yin yang is everything, and words are on one side, and the other side contains pictures, like the divisions in the brain hemispheres and so then everything is in the music including the emotion like one kind of big song under the heavens, and they say that angels can speak in music.
That's what I mean in order to express that divinity you have to talk in music, talk in pure emotion.
Music, especially piano music is the thing that inspires most because piano music is more true to my heart's emotion than anything.
As for the 'perfect woman' topic, my ideal spouse should be my equal. My other half. Someone who can criticize me. Someone who could break me down in a matter of minutes. Someone who never needs to say how they feel because it is always shown. Someone who would take my hand off a cliff if I said we would be okay. Someone who does sweet things just because, just as I would. Someone who makes mistakes. Someone who could not only push all of my buttons, but also turn me on and off at will. Someone who praises when it is deserved. I want someone who challenges me.
I want a spouse who doesn't share all of my interests. I want someone who can always open me up to new things, and vice versa. I want someone who would like to travel the world with me. I want someone to go dancing at balls with. I want someone I can see symphonies and sing with. I want someone I can take to dinner and a movie without the prospect of getting some being the reason. I want someone to read with. I want someone to sit at home and drink tea with. I want someone to break boundaries with. I want a source of inspiration. I want someone old fashioned.
I wouldn't like a spouse from the movies. I wouldn't like someone perfect and without faults. I wouldn't want someone who looks like a model. I wouldn't want someone who caters to my every need. I wouldn't want someone who cooks and cleans every night. I wouldn't want someone who goes by the books with a strict regimen. I wouldn't want someone who cares too much about their appearance. I wouldn't want someone who feels they always have to put me first. I would like someone who loves what they do. I would like someone confident in their abilities. I want someone who really loves me, but I get called an insane dyke for what I am, and love is a cruel mistress, but her brother is the strong part that carries me on and so on.
How we as women need to release ourselves from our perceptions of what the perfect woman is, beauty wise?
If you were wondering, ''What could cause such a reaction?", I suggest you take off your head phones and dowse your speakers and know that you are hearing it again in your head, and now I know that by the tears in your eyes that you are blind without it and you can no longer resist the fortified images of many a forgotten age inside and outside the waking world and your sleeping mind. Even those who shun it, and shun it fullheartdedly cannot deny the sublime.
I hope that you know that I am crying slightly while I am writing this because sometimes I feel that I have such tremendous shoes to fill.
LordBaalNox
23:07 Dec 19 2009
I would hand you a handkerchief to wipe away those tears but I feel that they would be wasted on the unemotiional cotton. I'd prefere to wipe away those tears with a finger and then share in the sweet taste of your emotion.
Why feel like you have any shoes to fill, take them off and walk barefoot in freedom and release for you have no shoes to fill for us around you.
A perfect woman is a woman who is not perfect but who is honest in there feelings and emotions and who shines a beauty from within with a passion and zest for life.
Whoever you find as your partner will surely be your soul mate.
Angelus
00:41 Dec 20 2009
I so like seeing and reading, your words.
As.. I hope you know..
Lovise
06:18 Dec 20 2009
You think so much, yet you can never find the words. Showing your strong side, these are my words. I mean, do you know what it's like, to fill shoes like the ones I try to put on? Honestly.
I can see why some hate me...
I don't think that any of them have thought up of this, and that's what a philosopher is supposed to do, isn't it?
God, I'm sorry for rambling.
I'm not schizophrenic...I just got carried away.
It's like, two things collide and out come feelings and data, and you got a mere glimpse of the data.
It was like a supernova in my head.
I think I went through at least 1,000 visions in just a couple of minutes, and they say that a picture is worth a thousand words.
I also feel the same way about your answers, but I mean, beauty unhindered. Beauty unhindered not only in the world but in the mind. It's just all getting sucked up like the Nothing.
Everything is beautiful, there are beautiful things that are being destroyed instead of being preserved for the wonder that they are.
Some things are supposed to be destroyed, but some aren't and things that are not to be destroyed yet, are.
Sorry for dealing definite generalities, but it's how my mind works because every string is connected to every other string. I dare not take that divine feeling down to the physical level....
I have so many people who love my mind, and I have so much to apreciate, so why do I still cry?
LordBaalNox
11:47 Dec 23 2009
Sometimes Lovise there is no need for words. A picture says a thousand words but there are no pictures to describe my words to you.
You are crying these tears so I say lets sit under those tears that rain down on your Piano
Its a shame I couldnt transpose the images to the reality just for one moment in time
Maell
20:41 Jan 05 2010
I have read your entry and although filled with many thoughts on various topics, I think it can be summed up simply. What comes up, must come down. Every beginning has an end, every ending having a beginning. As we die, we continue on as something else. We come back if we are unsatisfied, we leave to the next world when we are. You think, therefore you are. You are, therefore you think. All we can do is take what we have learned, what we have experienced and try and live better than we did yesterday, last year, last life, ect. Everything you have said has purpose. But as a genius in your own right and way, you must find it.
These are my thoughts.
Kglitterous
15:37 Jan 06 2010
A supposition
Several weeks ago, when I read your question, it occurred to me that the piano is you; and that a performance is an evocation, a magical connection/transformation, to a perfect you. Tears are certain recognition of the imagined difference of location between who you are, and who you will be. Travel from one destination to another is not so much an acquisition of qualities, but an unveiling of qualities that always existed in you. Tears may be anticipation for a favourite part of the composition.
I thought, "it must be nice to have a vision of who you are...", I can only summon thoughts of what I am not. I think that I should be less like this, or more like that, without a vision of any sort of whole.
However,
I think to myself, "how freudian (as a response to your tears)," it seams almost as reactionary as wanting to say, "yes, indeed, shameful," in banal reply to other comment(s).
Lovise
09:36 Jan 08 2010
''A serious writer is not to be confounded with a solemn writer. A serious writer may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay, but a solemn writer is always a bloody owl.'' A quote by Ernest Hemingway.
I want everyone to understand something before you read any of this.
This is not an anticlimax, this is not postiche, and nor is it a hypothetical 'What if' moment in my mind that I decided to use as a plot device to explain my opinions to people on my entry comments. This is the truth, and something I will not keep to myself, but I have desensitize such people in my blunted emotions.
Yes, I will share my 'honest' opinions, and I will share a few variable experiences I've gone through, but I am doing it because I show you the entries from my 'real' actual journal, not the vr journal, I only actually in reality post my 'real' entries from my 'real' actual journal. Perhaps I take a photo of it. It's all a point of perspective.
To me, it's everything.
I've been told I'm a sweet lass. I can be compassionate, and rather caring, especially to people asking for help. I always make an attempt to be helpful to someone if they ask it of me. A friend, a stranger, but always online I have maintained the aspect and aspiration to be a patient, compassionate person. I'm not saying I'm an advocate for peace, I'm only saying that I've had experience in the field of handling them.
Now, I've been told before I'm too patient with people, and that I'm not hard enough. But I've also had quite different reactions, anger. Anger at me for being too soft, for intervening in the first place. I've had a lot of people say a lot of horrible things to me. Bullshit! I don't care what they say, because I am a proud peacock, but we're not on the subject of that.
I want to tell everyone a reply.
The comments on the entry, they perhaps are seeking enlightenment to tell me that when confusion is clouding your sight, that means you are on the right track to finding the solution. Maybe I knew how long I have stayed in the fog. Or perhaps they haven't been able to see past the replies I have left to their comments within the past year. I think only a rare few are the only ones whom actually understand the comments so much. Yet, they don't even know my intent upon their responsives. I always thought they didn't understand completely. They were always needed to work to understand. I miss those whose minds know what I mean. I wish I knew why they felt so inadequate to leave such replies to my tears in that way.
Tears are a signal of the end of the old and rebirth of the new. In mythology and fantasy tales, it is said the tears of the Phoenix contained healing powers. I think all tears have the ability to heal the damaged and bruised soul. Through tears we can understand ourselves better and allow others that we trust the priviledge to see our vulnerability.
I started thinking about tears and why we cry. Some think that tears show inhumanity or weakness. Some think that tears admit defeat. I've known they're so much more than that. Tears. They live with their own mind.
I quote this from the message I sent. ''I felt like an owl all week, like my feathers were risen and glaring at the screen, in deep thought, rereading everything on the comments. I am content with them, and myself. I am not angry. It's as if the peacock has turned into an owl...''
Thank you, everyone.
I am not upset.
I am actually happy.
I am a barn owl.
TheDarkWolfman
08:35 Jan 12 2010
You seem to have many fans and many admirers as well as a way with the written word.