Feylian's World » Darkntwisty

Of bloody consequences

Feylian — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 16:39:56 +0000

Those of you who possess more computing power than say, a sponge, know that it is a spectacularly bad idea to trawl your new love’s history of the heart. You may have heard the brutal truth but actually seeing it is about on the same level of fun as playing barefoot bowls on a field of shattered window panes while taking big gulps of mustard gas.

Why do we do it though? Are we such masochists? You know it will tear rents in your soul yet you hungrily read the next bit of text, you hunt for words of love or betrayal and when you find them you experience a moment of tainted pleasure. Please sir, may I have some more blood filled porridge?*

Oh and things are going just spectacularly well with Himself‘s roommate. Understandable or not, he is throwing a brokenhearted, lonely, angry, destructive, self pitying tantrum that would do a 2 year old proud. The problem came in when I, who have known him for only a few weeks, told him pretty much verbatim, all of that. I may be right but saying so was also a VERY BAD IDEA. I’m also the cause of the roommate’s only friend (pretty much) never being home. Anyone want to take a guess who gets the Evil Bitch of the Year award?

On the upside: D’s dad was not only civil with me today but actually said, and I hope you are sitting down for this, “thank you”. May it be that the past year of tense, barely restrained bitterness is coming to an end?

*The Last Emperor- the only scene in that movie to have ever stuck with me. Innocuous white porridge with blood welling through the broken crust.

Of rambling anxiety

Feylian — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 12:53:06 +0000

As you know: I love what I do and the company that allows me to do so. However, currently thinking of my future makes me feel like my ribs are being rythmically and methodically pounded by a few million nanotech hammers. Every day I have less breathing space and this is not because my Wonderbra has decided to go Austen on me and has surreptiously turned into a full-bring-on-the-smelling-salts-corset*.

No, it is because I’m neither an employee nor an owner. The 3 non members have almost all the responsibility and stress of keeping the company afloat and almost none of the traditional perks of being an employee. Now this is incredibly freeing but it inevitably leads to wanting a slice of the awesome you help to create.

I wish they would make up their minds already. All we can do is ask. If it is no then so be it, but these endless meetings where we are ever more like whiny girlfriends begging for a wedding date is starting to get old. Please note that it is hardly fun for the members, the difference is that they are holding the ring. Having power you see, is a like a owning a panther with a bladder infection.

To continue with the blendy metaphors: Why marry someone if you don’t know if they are (lookit mom, restraint) good cooks and why whip up that 7 layered hazelnut parfait if they are not willing to marry you?***

On the other hand maybe I am just not seeing it. Maybe I am so blinded by the thought of being equal and really heard that I am missing something. Maybe I am made to be an employee, someone to be herded and shaved to the bone every now and again.

Spoke the Him last night about where we see our careers are going and I know exactly what I want to do. I want a few programmers like The Architect**, Boaz and Poet Programmer as well as a delightful venture capitalist with an avuncular interest in innovation & automation to mentor and fund us for a few months.

One tiny problem with this. Well, 2. #1: What about my current company? and #2: how will my brand new sticky pink lurve survive 72 x (14h x 365d)? The answer for both is not looking rosy folks. Actually it looks decidedly on the dried blood side of pink.

I really don’t know how to go forward. I’ve had a crap load of deals collapse on me this year, mostly due to my not knowing enough in order to save it. In my defense I’d only been busy with this new career since January, which I have to shamefacedly admit is hardly a saving grace, and I did not receive support or training but that isn’t really an excuse either. I could have done more and now I have to eat my eggless omelet while waving at the basket which contained said yolky joy. So I can understand the reluctance to let me in kitchen to play at parfait. HOWEVER, I also know that I am bloody talented. And no one is more surprised at this than your author. It rocks finding something that you can really do and do well.

/SIGH

1. Word of the day: equal (The Sage: 1. having the requisite qualities or resources to meet a task, 2. having the same quantity, measure or value as another)

2. Insight of the day: I need a real holiday. I am tired and it’s not just from the perpetual lack of sleep :/

3. State of the pool: Troubled but clear

4. Joys of the day: 1. Rediscovering a playlist that I listened to exactly this time last year and being able to contrast one year with another, 2. Dreaming of waking up between Him and D, 3. flexitime which allows me to finish this blog and spend some real time with my son and finish my work tonight :)

5. Awesomest lines: Elsa Volschenk: so vind jy my

ek is nie opsoek na jou gretige belangstelling in my doen en late,
jou sout-van-die-aarde sjarme wat my jou ego gaan laat vaar tot ‘n mate nie

ek is nie opsoek na jou stukkie insig wat jy dink my gaan stimuleer
of jou diepste seer om my siels-empatie mee te infiltreer nie

ek is ook nie opsoek na jou prentjie droom wat jy hoop ons eendag sal wees nie

ek is eintlik net hier
vir jou

sonder al die dinge wat jy glo my gaan laat aanhou soek
vir daardie iemand

wat jy nie is nie

6. Scripture line: Ephesians 4 (NIV)

¹As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. ²Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. ³Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. ⁴There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called— ⁵one Lord, one faith, one baptism; ⁶one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.

*I swear it. It looks exactly like it used to but the wire seems to be boring into my ribs. Who needs a tracheotomy when you can just poke holes in your lungs with underwire…rattling breath death by a housekeeper with an agenda. Perhaps I should explain to her that D’s inheritance is not yet all that and machine washing underwear is not the most effective tool for instant wealth. Oh wow. She might have to wait longer than I thought. I don’t have a will…this is not good.

**Incredibly talented programmer that I worked with seamlessly and that was before I realised I can do what I now know I can.

***I.e. Why should they give us ownership if we haven’t “performed” and why should we “perform” if we don’t have ownership?

Of whining

Feylian — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 13:29:52 +0000

Just a quick note as I am swamped with overdue work. Writing keywords for a financial site is not as fascinating as you might think and therefore long avoided.

Being a woman, on the whole, is a great experience*. However, every now and again we get these days of morbid, warped self image where nothing about ponderous ankles are ok. Or where your fat skirt fits…/shudder.

Where all you want to do is wear holey sweatpants, glasses, tie your hair in a conditioner soaked knot** and read blanky books about people with swords and names like Aethor the Dark Elf. Oh and most importantly HIDE while wolfing down KFC and guzzling a litre or so of Chardonnay and contemplate liposuction with a cooldrink straw and an industrial vacuum cleaner. ***

If you were wondering, guys, what you can do about this: Nothing, really. He told me this morning how lovely he thinks I am and all I could think was how on earth I was going to suck in my continental gut so that he still likes me and does not send me to Fat Camp with the other butterballs.

/pat pat to all of you with girlfriends. Women are strange, strange creatures who will not believe you if you tell them you think they are beautiful just they way they are, but magnify the hell out of a sideways comment on another woman’s walk.

1. Word of the day: myocardial infarction (a heart attack). Dunno why it is stuck in my mind but I’ve been muttering it all day.

2. Insight of the day: CC is leaving on Friday and that makes my shoulders slump so low that I can tickle my own feet without bending.

3. State of the pool: wobbly lime jelly

4. Joys of the day: 1. inching along Olifantsfontein and watching a lady snapping her fingers and jamming to what must have been an awesome album, 2. waking up to the knowledge that I will see His beautiful smile every day for the next week. 3. Trading witty banter with Krugaza-san

5. Awesomest lines: Jou skitterappel – Elsa Volschenk

ons is vallende sterre
wat soos lucifers
tussen aardse molekules
flikker omdat
swaartekrag ons
realiteit verwesenlik

as jou vallende ster
is ek bewus van jou
aardse atmosfeer

maar vergewe my wat
as ‘n eva-appel
hoort aan my eie
Newtonboom
en nie weet van
vrye
val
nie

6. Scripture line: Philippians 1:9-10

“And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ,”

*Not that I could compare but brief flights of fancy of wielding my own “sword” have convinced me of this.

**This is a scary thing to behold btw. You could use said knot to oil the dining room table.

***Which ironically, makes you feel infinitely worse about yourself and is on par with self flagellation. You then consider going the bulimic route but dismiss it as that would be admitting you binged. SIGH.

Of an evening which contained 2 poets and half a blues band

Feylian — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 10:49:36 +0000

I love the endless-possibility-feeling of a Saturday morning, when the living is easy*. An epic evening of acoustic blues at Sinkshack with Badword, Poet Programmer and the guys from The Black Cat Bones ensured a fragile morning ensconced in feather duvet and The Rattle Bag. I have no idea what I will do the rest of this quiet day and that is wonderful. I am free to do anything. Anything at all**.

I dreamt of being love. I dreamt that we were standing in each other. Your left hand fitted perfectly in the knuckle duster handle of my hips and your right encompassed my back, your fingers crossed the meniscus of my skull and fused with my brain. My hands enclosed your spinal column, nerve filaments spliced and endlessly replicating. We shared ribs, a heart and lungs. We/I breathed love.

…This either means that I have a pretty graphically anatomic view of love or, that I am a narcissist par excellence >.<.

1. Word of the day: inexorable

2. **Insight of the day: Why is it that being soaked in the maybe of something is more delicious than the reality of it?

3. State of the pool: Still clarity with the odd ripple of reflection.

4. Random thought: Almost all compliments I receive have a modifier attached to it: “sexy bitch”, “dark angel” not to mention getting Poison dedicated to yours truly a few times to many >.<

5. Awesomest lines:

As much as you can

And if you can’t shape your life the way you want,
at least try as much as you can
not to degrade it
by too much contact with the world,
by too much activity and talk.

Try not to degrade it by dragging it along,
taking it around and exposing it so often
to the daily silliness
of social events and parties,
until it comes to seem a boring hanger-on.

Constantine P Cavafy

*Summertime - I will always prefer the Billy Holiday version. There is something to be said for a fey soul like that singing a George Gershwin tune.

Of the biological process of redhot anger

Feylian — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 12:19:23 +0000

I hate being really angry. I know some people enjoy the heart-pounding high but I know that the murderous humiliation and brief hate ripping through my guts, age me faster than Dorian Gray playing kissy-kissy with his painting.

The worst part is not the rivers of boiling acid in my veins or the hissing words, it is the grainy, cold cement that is my spirit and affection after the heat fades. That horrible disengaging thing again. I tend to not engage again, ever which is not good. This time I can’t leave even if I wanted to. I really don’t see the way out here.

Well, actually I do but I am not happy about it. Who would’ve thought that the religion-lite service I attended last night would be useful*. Love your neighbour as you would yourself…and the genuine-love not the self-destructive-vodka-and-table-dancing-love.

1. Word of the day: steeks (afr), halstarrig (afr), dichotomy

2. Insight of the day: Just how long am I going to be angry about this?

3. State of the pool: Frozen spikes of never again and glooping hot tarry resentment

4. Random thought: Would a story about a guy that has an unerring instinct/super power to find the shortest possible time/distance route location work?

5. Awesomest lines: I read quite a bit this weekend but don’t have any of the books with me so here is an old favourite, Sylvia Plath – Mushrooms

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot's in the door.

6. Scripture line: Convicting…

1 Corinthians 1 (New International Version): ¹⁰I appeal to you, brothers, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another so that there may be no divisions among you and that you may be perfectly united in mind and thought.

*I’ve long since stopped pretending that I am tolerant of other forms of christian faith. I actually willingly used “heresy” in a conversation and felt only a small thrill of conservative I-shall-not-be-moved. My libertarian soul might have been screaming though…guess it was drowned out by the feel good selfrighteous high.

Of forgiveness and feeling lighter than air*

Feylian — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 21:38:51 +0000

Oh wow. There is in me so much lightness that I’m practically the Hindenberg…obviously without the horrible crashing and dying bit.

Have you any idea what it feels like to have a weight so heavy that it would dent your marrow and press into you spirit, be lifted? Of all the wasted years and the hurt I was so sure I had inflicted, this was the worst and now it is gone.

GONE. Oh sure there is still bittersweet regret but that is nothing compared to the soul shucking horror that was that little room in my head. I’ve lived with this for 9 years and now I find out that the poor lovely idiot not only doesn’t blame me but actually thinks it is his fault…

I feel like sobbing with gratitude. Thank you Lord. There is nothing to this but grace.

Now I am free. And I don’t mind turning 30 at all. Bring it on.

*The Lemmings – Man I loved that band. Poor scientologists or not their music made Sunday evenings at Bulldogs otherworldly. Back in the day every one of them looked like LOTR elves.

Of returning to form…sort of

Feylian — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 18:30:46 +0000

Ok so turning 30 is not the best birthday ever but I also realise more and more how I very blessed I am. I am loved. I don’t deserve it but I have it. So I am quitting the whining.

Who am I kidding…I can’t write anything even halfway entertaining now. Too much relived slimy-black-way-back-when devours words and I’m kneecapped anyway. Dammit, the man can write…

1. Word of the day: noctambulist

2. Insight of the day: Too much Depeche Mode is not good for you.

3. State of the pool: trying to get back to crystal sweet.

4. Random thought: When does walking fast become running and in the process do the goth glass imps cease headbutting my alveoli*?

5. Awesomest lines: “We just keep on cutting those around us, swirling ever onward: macabre, blood-stained ballerinas of death and defiance.”

6. Scripture line: 1 Peter 2

¹¹Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, which war against your soul. ¹²Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us.

*See 2.

Of glass shard chocolate drops

Feylian — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 16:31:33 +0000

It’s amazing how my patchy memory makes ghosts of people. Only to have those ghosts gently grip my wrist and in no uncertain terms remind me that they are vital and powerful and have not conveniently forgotten as I have.

I was in the throws of what I now know is a quarter life crisis, or at least something very much like it* and I was spinning in the lowest twirl of a spiral of hell bent self destruction. I was innocent and I lived in a world where the flesh-me and the story-me were twinned so anything I did was merely helping the plot along and didn’t have any real consequences*** other than making the story more “interesting”. ..I was such a freaking idiot…anyway.

He was a breathtaking/beautiful/abandoned/bitterly broken/genius/little boy/man. For a little while we loved the salvation of getting so very lost in someone else. And then it gets fuzzy. Oh no wait. He wrote me a letter, which in hindsight was the only kind thing he could have done as my bubbling tarpit of a mind was breaking him. At the time though, that letter took my last reserves of sanity. It was my 21st** birthday and I was alone in a city I, to this day, loathe. I left soon after.

The rest of this story I won’t tell because although I am not ashamed of my decision nor do I regret it, it remains a private and very consequential one. However, what I will say is that it saved my life but could not have done him much good. One thing they don’t tell you in books, except maybe Atonement, is that there is sometimes no fixing what you’ve done. No going back and making it better. There are only gaping holes in peoples lives and the knowledge that there is no hope of the luxury of forgiveness.

* Thank you John Mayer.

**which just as a sidenote, was my worst birthday ever and which inspired birthday week in the hope that such black despair could be countered by diffusing the actual day. I’ve been such a pagan :/

***In my defense I really have read a LOT of books, especially fantasy. And soppy fantasy at that.

Of wallowing

Feylian — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 10:54:13 +0000

Yes. Well. Sorry about that. I think I should get points for the sheer emo of that post.Gosh, it was the literary equivalent of cutting. This is what happens when my eyes are on me and not on God.

Of being perhaps a bit broken

Feylian — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 19:09:52 +0000

I think it might be better for me to avoid everyone I care about for a while. I think volunteering as a mercenary might be a good thing for a few weeks. This birthday is killing me. I don’t even want to turn it funny because it is not. Not even a little bit. I took quite a few bites out of Boaz today,who to his credit and his future wife’s great benefit, not only took it but seemed to be left standing. I was vicious, vitriolic and frankly, a rampant bitch.

I am so incredibly angry I feel like ripping muscles from tendons and flinging it to the acid jowled beasts that currently resemble my mental state. I would very much like to devour any joy, any light or goodness but I know before I even taste it the coals on my tongue will reduce it to bitter ash. Which is my just deserts and please don’t tell me it isn’t. You have no idea what I’ve done. And, HA!, to how many people.

All I’ve managed to since I was 17 is break my world. Only in the past 6 or so months have I been anything but a sizzling patch of nuclear waste. Now I am turning 30 and the thought of my wasted life is kinda hard to swallow. I know that I am washed by the blood of Lamb but the memories are not as merciful. And I am surrounded by these perfect, wonderful people who have no idea and if they were ever to find out would be lost to me. So I don’t really have any right to hope for love. And it explains why I am so careless with it once I am offered it.

Wow. I am so not ok right now. I will undoubtedly bounce back from this but for right now I am drowning in sorrow.

Matthew Arnold: Dover Beach

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.