YGM » Love or lack of love

Of turning into a Merchant Ivory Jackie Collins

Feylian — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 21:17:59 +0000

There is rather a lot going on my little kingdom. I’ve been dreaming stories. I actually had a poem swirling this morning but I swallowed it with the last of my coffee. I also realised that I don’t have much of an imagination, I am not good at thinking up plot lines. Or scenarios involving fantastic things. What I am good at, is daydreaming maybe-love. No matter how much I try to avoid it, it seems I am built exactly to write girlporn. But indy girlporn (as if that will make it better somehow).

Ok, before you think I mean bodice rippers (although why not) I define girlporn as romantic comedies, romance novels, chick flicks…Austen. With the exception of Austen, I avoid such things like the plague. Probably because me not avoiding would be like throwing firelighters into a hearth.

Maybe if I just give in and write it I will stop trying to turn my life into a story. That would be ever so helpful.

Will keep you posted.

PS. I got El the Legend to promise some poetry /squee

PPS. Frost aka Perfect Guy aka legitimate son of a extremely nice lady, who caused the blog and just about broke yours truly, is in love. And here is the clincher. He is in love with someone he describes as “nice and conservative” and I, because I am neither nice nor conservative, describe her as made of lard and good deeds.

Of romantic options – black mirth

Feylian — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 06:33:26 +0000

What happens when landslides meet and multiply, when both are used to pushing, testing, hungrily devouring? A brief mushroom cloud of entanglement. So it won’t. Or at least this landslide will only have the occasional sliding pebble, some loose grit perhaps. This landslide will give, otherwise, not a gram of gravel.

As for he of the ill used ellipses, he³.³, it would be fun if the aforementioned abuse of punctuation did not give me a case of the howling fantods.

VDK, him of the impossible to get. He is the lake. Lakes swallow landslides and just get fuller as the water level rises with a smug ego-ripple. He has had shovelfuls enough. Let the lake be fed with the thin slabs of sparkly ice that will have a rise in him.

Of being a bloody idiot

Feylian — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 21:43:32 +0000

No matter how old you are you will always be stuck at the age you first really inhabited your body. For me that was 17. That was my Joseph year; the year I understood who I was and this made me battle ready. The entire world was waiting for me to conquer it; I was on the brink of adventure, of sexual conquest, academic prowess and then not too long thereafter – while I was still in my glossy 20′s – Ph.D. published-success and inevitable ever-after love (who would be a mixture between Mr. Darcy and McDreamy.)

Once you have finished chuckling and wiping away tears at my naiveté, consider that most people I know have done all of this in just about the same timeline. Granted, they are now finding out that at least one of these slices of pie contain molar destroying pips but it proves that it can be done. This brings me to 2 points:

1. The more fairy tales/fiction you read, the more likely you are to believe in narrative causality;

2. The less ft/f you read, the more likely you are to achieve these lofty goals.

Why, the fuck, did modern publishers think it necessary to strip the darkness from the Grimm brothers? What purpose did it serve to take the valuable, hard learned, collective knowledge from these memes?

I’ve read a few million words in my 28 years and because I am a big girl’s blouse I read modern fairy tales where there is plenty of violence, war, pain and loss but there is very rarely a relationship gone askew. Swords, magic, elves and all the other creatures of the escapist world Tolkien created offer me a place I prefer to this life. Please rather stick a halberd in me than tell me of yet another horror of disappointed hopes. One of the most amazing women I know has checked all of the boxes as mentioned above. This year her parents very nearly destroyed her career and now her feckless husband is threatening to leave her.

So please, do not tell me of fate and soul mates.

There is only life which is hard, chaotic and where there is very little joy and comfort to be found. The worst part is that I know this. I know this because I have lived it and yet I managed to delude myself that it was still possible. Hope is a shitty thing and yet also the only thing keeping us from checking out.

Maybe one day I will not need a happy ending. In the mean time all I have is vacillating between hope, apathy and despair; I don’t know which is worse.

Of the effects of a maybe

Feylian — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 21:35:37 +0000

If you had loved me, I may have forgiven you.

Of maybe-love

Feylian — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 09:37:15 +0000

Right, get yourself settled, get something to sip and try not to cringe at the rusty writing.

Like most people I use writing to sort my thoughts out, balancing the emotional/mental cheque book as it were. I haven’t written except in conversation with Raven and CC and a few days of online chat[i].

Raven is new and also not. He is part of The Hun Bar crowd but we only clicked a few months ago. Where CC is like another lobe of my brain, he is my moral compass. He is about as flexible about knowing-thyself as an iron bar. He has me so well trained that I start responding to what I think he might have to say about my self-delusion before I even speak to him[ii] which makes me wonder how much of any new realisation I have about my behaviour is him or me…ugh. Later. Anyway, basically thanks to him I now realise that despite all my protestations to the contrary, I am a big girl’s blouse.

Lying to yourself is a lot easier than confronting /squirm causing truths like admitting to wanting Hollywood-hot-pink-love [iii]. Since The N Word ™ [iv] I have been a shallow/wanton hussy. And so now, I am rapidly going through infatuations in order to find someone.

Well, I think I may have. Whether this is yet another serving of Nile water remains to be seen. I realise that it the timing is awfully convenient and I am like a high pressure hose without a connecting pipe spraying affection everywhere. HOWEVER, this feels different.

He is funny, so funny, and he can write. He is snarky and witty and highly addictive. We tend to have 4-6 hour conversations about everything. He is a grownup though, which is more than a little scary. He mocked me about the Magic the Gathering thing and yet offered to go to a SF store in London to get me booster packs. Now that ladies and gentlemen just about buckled these old knees.

Also, he seems to think I am addictive too. We have a first date on Monday evening. I haven’t been on a date in years. Bloody daunting I tell you, especially considering that…oh lord…I don’t want to say it but it is on every billboard in my mind’s eye: what if he is not just another infatuation but my ever-after? That guy. The one that changes but somehow has stayed exactly the same fuzzy shape in my head? You know. You have a Vaseline smeared lens guy/girl in your head too.

Word of the day: beloved – I love that this is a noun.
Insight of the day: not just a giant girl’s blouse but a floral print one
State of the pool: Ponyo
Random thought of the day: Anxiety and stirrings of emotional infatuation both cause arrhythmia. No wonder your body only allows it for a few months.
Awesomest lines: NEW NEAL STEPHENSON….*passes out from the awesomeness*

[i] Wait for it /grin

[ii] He will find this worthy of a haha

[iii] Yes, I said it And I also know this is hardly a surprise to you. Yet I managed to convince myself otherwise for about 3 years. Rivers in Egypt etc.

[iv] For background read Thumbelina does a nose dive, Of pining and peer pressure, Of heartbreak timelines and JM

Of jonesing

Feylian — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 20:56:17 +0000

Would you kiss me

swipe your crooked thumbs over my heart

moulding the needles of your heroin fingers in the interstices of my ribcage

Would you trail your lips

on my jaw and hold my pulse in your palm

knowing me

Would you catch my sloshing qi

in the hollow where your heart used to be?

Of sigh/pining

Feylian — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 10:33:23 +0000

Yeah, it is that time of the year where yours truly is once again in full sigh/pining mode. You know it is bad when the facebook stalking is not so much an occasional dirty little pleasure as a full blown inspection of every picture ever uploaded – so creepy. Also, I’ve resorted to wailing which is remarkably difficult to do on Gtalk¹.

But fuck me, he is cool. Goofy, funny, MENSA-smart and of course a wielder of witty banter which is my undoing. BUT – and this is a life-size, blues-song-causing but – he has a girlfriend. To hear him speak of her you would think that Sweden spawns Irish, PHD haloed, mountain biking goddesses for whom Yeats himself would rip poems away from beloveds just to ensure that she never has to know disappointment. I’m Jack’s bitter, bitter envy.

So as you can see any overture from me is met with much extolling of HER virtues². This makes me doubt my awesomeness which in turn makes me refrain from talking to him even if my mouse hovers over his profile at least once an hour. We learnt our lesson, my precious, yes we did.

SIGH…so the /pining continues.

Will keep you updated.

¹ E.g *clears throat* “But I liiiiike him”…yeah, I know.

²You should see my face when he does this. Ah yes, frozen grimace of polite interest, you and I know each other well.

Of stumbling down memory lane or how memory shapes personality

Feylian — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 13:00:29 +0000

Due to a typical Feylian f…mess up I left my lovely Dell’s cable at a client. So now I am back in front of a PC at the office where I poured out much of my soul last year this time. Amazing how the same playlist*, same view, hell…the same emoticons on MSN, drag out growling memories best left unpoked with a pointed stick**.

But since we are here, let’s river dance on the gravel of broken-hearted-way-back-when.*** Roughly last year this time I started forming what can only be described as a spectacularly bad idea. I was falling, nay hurling, in love with someone who filed me under the same level of attractiveness as say, a small white mushroom. After declaring my fungial lurve to him he kindly said no thank you. And then the blog started. Lookit here (bottom up folks) if you want a quick catch up.

More importantly though, I found the awesome love of God. My commitment to the faith has since waned considerably**** but I’m slowly reclaiming that space in my head.

The point of this post however, is how our memories, or lack of memories, shape who we are. Rambo, Himself and I had a brief discussion on Saturday about moments in our lives which either changed us or changed the direction of our lives so radically that the concept of who we think we are changed. Is there some unchangeable core of Feylian-ness which defies change? Or am I really the sum of my experiences, or more importantly the experiences I can examine?

Keep in mind that that memories are heavily edited things. We shape our world narratively (thanks PTerry’s – narrative causality) and as we tend to be the ones telling our own life stories we will almost without fail slowly (or not so slowly depending on the level of narrativium or denial in your cellular make up) change the story until we are portrayed as we hope to be. So are we ultimately who we decide we should be? Or do we eventually become that person?

Maybe our memories do not shape us so much as our thoughts do…but how much of our thoughts consists of stories we made up to understand the world?

1. Word of the day: advent (The Sage: 1. arrival that’s been awaited – especially something momentous). In Anathem Neal Stephenson gives this word (and quite a few more) a whole new meaning.

2. Insight of the day: If you are not as moved as you used to be by a certain thing, it might be because it has become a part of you.

3. State of the pool: Contemplatively sloshing out of the reach of a retarding sun

4. Joys of the day: 1. thinking again, 2. finding joy in long avoided gospel music, 3. knowing to my marrow that I am loved, 4. my leave starts Friday…a week of reading and bliss await.

5. Awesomest lines: Still Anathem from Neal Stephenson. READ IT. It will make you a better human being.

6. Scripture lines: God is God – Stephen Curtis Chapman

And the pain falls like a curtain
On the things I once called certain
And I have to say the words I fear the most
I just don’t know

And the questions without answers
Come and paralyze the dancer
So I stand here on the stage afraid to move
Afraid to fall, oh, but fall I must
On this truth that my life has been formed from the dust

God is God and I am not
I can only see a part of the picture He’s painting
God is God and I am man
So I’ll never understand it all
For only God is God

And the sky begins to thunder
And I’m filled with awe and wonder
‘Til the only burning question that remains
Is who am I

Can I form a single mountain
Take the stars in hand and count them
Can I even take a breath without God giving it to me
He is first and last before all that has been
Beyond all that will pass

Oh, how great are the riches of His wisdom and knowledge
How unsearchable for to Him and through
Him and from Him are all things

So let us worship before the throne
Of the One who is worthy of worship alone

* Including the earphones which squish my ears until they are a warm cherise of exquisite yelping owie. What’s that? Take it off? Pah. Don’t be silly. Soundslut reporting for duty ma’am.

*** Disclaimer: I love Him. I don’t want a life where He is not part of every day of my existence in no way am I considering ever going down that road again. This post is about memory shaping personality.

****I never stopped believing in the truth though. God remains all I want and all I’ve ever needed.

Of still being in love and bad Afrikaans tv

Feylian — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 17:54:57 +0000

I am watching Boer Soek ‘n Vrou and deary me, chewing foil would be more fun. The “probing” questions, the evasive Afrikaans farmer mustachioed, plaid shirt wearing, chino wielding bore meisters makes me seriously consider whacking my extremities on gangrene causing rusted ogiesdraad. /shudder

I’ve been trying to write to, and about, Him but I can’t find the words. I can’t even explain why I love him to Him. How do you write about something that is so good? Being with him is golden. I am at peace when he is around. But not the monkish-on-a-mountain-top-meditation kind of peace…the light becomes honey, my soul is lifted and my heart swirls adrenaline through all of me. To me, He is coming home. He is life, and joy and knowing that I want to be around Him and hear what he has to say every moment of the day. He is beautiful and kind. That feral, sweet smile breaks me every time. Which pretty much means your author is shattered Lego so often that should you be unfortunate enough to be around blocky bits of gory moi, you would be stumbling and muttering foul curses while clutching your (my or your blood?) sticky red toes.

I am happy :)…sickeningly so.

1. Word of the day: substantive (The Sage: 3. being on topic and prompting thought)

2. Insight of the day: For the foreseeable future I am not cut out for management. I’ve lost my carefully cultivated corporate cool and will have to rebuild it before I can run our company.

3. State of the pool: Clear anise flavoured liquor headily swishing.

4. Joys of the day: 1. Concentrating because I feel the summer breeze and sunlight warms me. 2. Having D smile at me and imperiously and with a little tongue not yet used to hard consonants, demand a sandwich.

5. Awesomest lines: Thank you MM. Pablo Neruda…get used to this. He will be featuring quite a lot :)

“I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.”

6. Scripture line: Ephesians 3 – New International Version. Mind blowing stuff!

¹⁴For this reason I kneel before the Father, ¹⁵from whom his whole family^[a] in heaven and on earth derives its name. ¹⁶I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, ¹⁷so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, ¹⁸may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, ¹⁹and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Of rainy days and being stupid-in-love

Feylian — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 10:15:48 +0000

Sorry about the radio silence folks but I am 1. as previously mentioned in this post, the village idiot and 2. sans 3G which makes posting outside of the comfort and joy of the work place challenging. And be warned: the likelihood of this post being south of anything resembling erudition is very good*!

I’m addicted to Him. If I could mainline him I would. We were sitting in Brooklyn @ Col’Cacchio which has paper table coverings** so I started writing to him. The handwritten, public note ended with me saying that I wanted to swim in his blood…that gave me pause. But only a brief pause. Angie might have had a point with the whole vial of blood thing.

MM wanted to know why I was so quiet about Him and I really had to think about it. The intensity of this tangled new love is melting my stone soul and I am left exposed and pink skinned. Wouldn’t you protect something so valuable with the best of you? I want to wrap my words around this tiny shiny globe, shield it from the world, softly softly cup it in my hands and show only those who would not harm it, who would delight as I do, in the flutters of joy. I shout my love from the mountains*** and drag poor Him to any and every gathering of my heartfriends. Oh please, y’all know by now that my social butterfly would not retreat for mere love.

However, I know that new love is like a snakebite. If you are a snake the bite is on the feather side of kinky but if you are anyone else you’ll soon start vomiting and wishing for death so I will stop prattling on about it.

CC is leaving in less than a week. I have no idea how I am going to handle this town without him. It helps that I can wrap infatuation around me like a assassin’s cowl but at some point I will have to face that my person is leaving….just writing this has me bawling so Saturday’s party at the Hungarian Bar should be a snot fest. Luckily I have long since developed a taste for salty-bitter-tear-flavoured syrupy vodka. Anyway.

I have two brothers, Little Brother the rock star you’ve read about, and now I introduce you to Beautiful Brother. He is, well, incredibly pretty. He just came back from the UK where he found God and purpose. He has been a chef in the SA Navy, a chef on a few game farms, a hair dresser and most recently a handy man. No. He is not gay nor will he be an Indian next. He’s decided to be an electrician.

Please understand that he is pretty enough to make most women walk into solid things so he will either do really, really well as suburban housewives will have quite a bit of explaining to do to husbands about the sudden jump in household maintenance bills or he will never be hired because we are used to Butt Crack Sparky fixing the lights. I’m glad he is back though :)

1. Word of the day: pertinacity (The Sage: 1. persistent determination)

2. Insight of the day: The first summer shower washes the world awake.

3. State of the pool: gritty but ice cold india ink

4. Joys of the day: 1. Sitting next to an open window showing me the washed world, 2. Knowing that I get to see Him every day for the next 4 whole days, 3. Drinks with Tall Stories folk, CC and Him tomorrow where we’ll dissect (pun totally intended) District 9

5. Awesomest lines: No lines. I’ve been reading fantasy. Vast Touched.

6. Scripture lines: Romans 5 (New International Version)

⁶You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. ⁷Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. ⁸But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

*It is a very obscure reference but I love the way he says this phrase when The Bride pretends to be anything but a revenge queen who speaks fluent bubblegum Los Angeles accented Japanese.

**AWESOME idea. Excellent pizza too.

***Facebook…mountains…same thing really /grin