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June 2008



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Jun. 23rd, 2008


Change of scene

I have migrated to a new Username.  I felt it was time to shake out the skeletons in my closet and start up with something a little less stigmatised...

You can all find me at xstormfeatherx

Jun. 11th, 2008



It irritates me that despite man's thousands of breath-taking achievements, we still have big troubles with all getting along.  Working in an incredibly diverse office and dealing with customers from all walks of life on a daily basis makes me tolerant to the point of not caring about stupid differences like black or white, buddha or jesus.  To quote Shakespeare, "if you prick us, do we not bleed? if you poison us, do we not die?" and it has to be said that fundamentally as humans, we ARE all the same.  So why do I still hear comments  like "while HE'S not here, we can use the word 'gay' as an insult" that make me turn my head in disgust and wonder what the hell is wrong with people? 

What shocks me the most is that people have been battling for centuries to make their voices heard. Gay, straight, white, black, man, woman; all these labels we apply to ourselves and others that we've marched in protest for, that we've given equal weight and value to.  All this seems to go down the drain in puerile day to day chit-chat. 

I know people's prejudices are their own, but I hate that they share them with others.  Ok so maybe I'M being prejudiced there, but then can you blame me?  I get so sick of hearing people whose forefathers fought tooth and nail for their equal rights badmouth others in the same way that would have sparked those protests all those years ago.  Why should it sicken people if a man decides to love another man?  Why should it be difficult to trust a woman with darker skin than your own? 

The truth of the matter is, we're all the SAME.  We live and breathe the same way, and we leave this earth by only one means.  We work, we play, we procreate and we age all the same.  Your religion has NO bearing on how others perceive you - it doesn't make you grow another head, no more than being Indian equates to having a third arm.  It disgusts me that our biggest achievements are overshadowed by something so ugly.  We use the internet, our information highway, to preach hate and prejudice.  We use our advanced weaponry, our superior technology, to force other races into submission.  We scream intolerance at every turn and refuse to believe that there's anything else out there other than people who are EXACTLY the same as we are.

I'm not saying that EVERYBODY is like this.  There are those, myself included, who couldn't care less about differences in these things.  I simply see people; individuals and characters whom I have dealings with on a daily basis.  So what I have to ask myself is that if I can do it - me with my thousand flaws, insecurities and issues - if I can happily disregard these ridiculous nuances...

...then why the hell can't everybody else?

Jun. 10th, 2008


Random Thoughts

So I'm thoroughly enjoying work, but it does leave me a lot of time to think quietly to myself about a whole host of things.  Something I managed to come up with today was this:

My ideal man would have

Jared Padalecki's hair
Robert Pattinson's eyes & nose
Johnny Depp's mouth
Vin Diesel's voice
Jared Padalecki's arms
Atlas from U.K. Gladiator's torso
Jensen Ackles' legs
Billy Martin's (good Charlotte) body art

And a bad boy streak a mile wide

Just stupid musings. It's late and I'm so tired. I find it hard to collect all my thoughts sometimes. I find that being busy all day steals that valuable time I used to have to much of to just muse over various rubbish and turn it into something vaguely interesting.  At the moment I find myself robbed of my eloquence and reduced to dreaming of fantasies of the flesh and wishing I had something more to come home to than just three overly excitable and biased rattie boys...

...such is life, such is me

Jun. 8th, 2008


A long time coming...

It's hard to believe it's been just over a year since I've sat here pensively, laptop across my crossed legs, typing into this achingly empty text box, trying to inspire feeling in places that seem consistently numb. A lot has changed in a year, making this one of the most remarkable times of my life.  I've managed to find and lose those things I thought defined me, and have (it would appear) found some form of mental equilibrium that mostly keeps the monsters away.

Being single is not necessarily synonymous with being alone. I have come to terms with listening to the voices in my head, instead of shying away from those thoughts that haunted me at 2am when televised images are burning imprints into my eyes.  I realise that life is as much what you make of it, as it is what you don't. I know that soudns awfully cryptic, but to be honest, I doubt anybody really expects pure clarity from a girl whose head has been fucked with more times than the most popular Singaporean street worker.  It would appear though, that my anecdotal wit has remained, even if other, more vital parts have eluded me all these months.

Life changes at such an alarming rate.  If somebody had told me that I'd go from crying, incomprehensible maniac to the calm, composed little splash of colour I appear to be sitting here inside 12 months, I'd politely tell them to go and jump from the nearest bridge.  I had never really believed that circumstances get better, they simply evolve and become more bearable.  We as a race, humans I mean, are rather terrible at living life smoothly - we merely ignore that which we cannot explain, envision that which we cannot attain and smooth over that which we cannot repair.  Forgive me, I always did type too fast for my brain to keep up, and I realise that that sounded incredibly petulant coming from a 21 year old grad-student just starting her life in the real world.  What could I possibly know of human traits? What could I possibly realise from all my years of walling myself off?

The answer to those questions is, surprisingly, a lot.  I find that an astute sense of understanding imbues me after so long spent crying into the night, staring unseeing into the void that I comprehended as my life.  I realise that all this time spent simply watching the world - refusing to take part out of my own abject fear of feeling something other than utter despair I suppose - has granted me a power of foresight that has nothing to do with the occult religious practices I so frequently indulge in.  Maybe that's what makes me such an excellent sales person, maybe that's what makes me such a contrite pain-in-the-ass.  To be honest, I don't really mind either way. 

What I have managed to realise in the last year - despite the fear, the loneliness and the crippling self loathing - is that people can save you, even if they don't realise that they are doing anything.  People can remove or include themselves in your little personal bubble, and the consequences associated with that have a lot to do with whether or not you sink or swim.  I've left so much behind in the last year, and so many people have turned away, convinced that I can neither save myself or be saved.  But I find myself finally able to tread water and keep my lungs from filling with that choking, burning sensation I always associate with life suddenly denying me air; whether it be through the chances it throws at me, or the opportunities it denys me.  My head has always been chaos: a place where even I feared to tread too heavily for fear of awakening uncontrollable emotions that threaten to cripple the very essence of who I am and who I think I want to be.  After being assailed by pills, therapy and the cold slap of alcohol, I realise that giving in to my condition does not make me weak, it makes me that much stronger.  To deny what we are brings a hardship born of desperation to feel normal, when it is painfully obvious that such a condition or 'normality' does not exist.  I am a mess of entangled emotions, a tumult of screaming emotional baggage that no matter how far I run I cannot escape.  And so, I bow my head in acquiescence, accepting that which until now I could not come to terms with.  I defiantly embrace these obscene difficulties my psyche throws at me, throwing back my head and laughing at the impossibility of it all; of the impossibility of being just another human.  I deliberately nurture my defects, throwing them at my attackers like an assassin would knives, and somehow it all works out.  I toughen my skin, accept the blows and smile when I come out the other side still alive.

I am aware that living on the edge of such a keenly honed knife, so to speak, is possibly not the most practical of solutions for a soul such as mine, but I have to clarify my slightly ridiculous and overtly dramatic lifestyle choices by mouthing once again the phrase that sums up my life...

...my addictions always seem to hurt

Jun. 6th, 2007

judge me

I Love Geeks, And Pineapples

So, I've been finding lately that Harvest Moon DS is quite a time consuming game. I sit down, start tending to my crops and mining for ore and all of a sudden 5 hours appear to have wandered off somewhere and eluded me. Interesting, though highly unproductive. So yeah, I'm off for the summer now and I'm bored as hell. Anyone fancy taking me somewhere nice? I have my DS and have found myself getting strangely into the life of a virtual farmer...and not the banjo twanging kind. I've got 3 chickens, a cow and a horse, a field full of crops and two mines I've discovered on my various adventures in Mineral Town. If I could just work out how to get the miserable old man to give me his fishing rod I'd be made. That, and find the secret to having enough timber and stone to build everything I need without wandering off and hacking down trees like a psycho.

Anywhoo, I find that at the moment my days are filled with Harvest Moon, a strange addiction to buying pineapples (they're alive, they're my friends), a compulsion to play a lot of Bust a Move and watching far too many criminal dramas on Virgin on Demand...I've exhausted all the CSI and criminal minds I've been able to get my mitts on and there's nothing good on telly, and the outside world is just far too scary to venture into, especially with an overdraft the size of the third world debt shackled to my bank card. So in short, I'm bored. Bored of sitting on my bum and doing nothing but counting the calories I'm inserting into my body at various intervals. I want something to do. At least with Uni I was busy-or pretending to be for the sake of not getting kicked out of a seminar- which really is just as time consuming. I could get overtime at work, but the fast paced world of supermarket retail doesn't exactly make my pants warm with joy. ARGH!!! I'm DOOMED!

For Goddess' sake, somebody entertain me? A sock puppet, a magic can of tuna, I'd take anything right about now...

Love and Kisses
Miss Sockington

Jan. 30th, 2007


(no subject)

I wish:

That my cold would go away
That my sore nose would stop being sore
That my boobs were a little smaller
That my teeth were a little whiter
That I could find a pink hair dye that didn't stain my pillow/skin/face/neck/friends
That my tummy was a little flatter
That my hips were a little smaller
That my eyes were a little sparklier
That I was a little taller
That my skin was a little clearer
That my grades were a little better
That I wasn't so jealous all the time
That I could wipe the sad look off my face
That I could feel confident in myself
That I could have courage in my convictions
That I could stand up for what I want
That I could make a decision every once in a while
That, that, that....

pfft. I dunno, that I could stop wishing stupid things and just be a better fucking person. I'm so stupid

Nov. 25th, 2006


(no subject)

"We'll do it all, everything, on our own.
We don't need anything, or anyone
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know how to say how I feel.
Those three words are said too much
They're not enough.
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time chasing cars
Around our heads
I need your grace to remind me
To find my own
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life
All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see
I don't know when
confused about how aswell
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"
- Snow Patrol: 'Chasing Cars'

It's been a while since my last update. I've been so busy with life. For once I've dived in and I'm experiencing all the colours, sounds and thoughts that I've always longed for. I feel real again, in control again, and that feels nice. Life really is a mad kind of place when you're actually living it day by day. But I'm not afraid anymore, because there's one person who makes everything and anything seem possible, and completely fearless. He's become my world of late, or at least, a large portion of it. We've yelled and argued, complained and forgotten, and we're still far from idyllic, but you know what? That's perfect enough for me. We have our unhappy moments but that doesn't seem to matter anymore. Everything melts when he kisses me, like the warmest of Dali-esque paintings. I find myself casting off doubts with my clothes, to sink into strong loving arms and know that everything I've done up to this point has been right. Every doubt I've ever had, every question about my train wreck of a life, everything has been exactly where it should be. How can I say this? Because I'm living proof that even the fallen can find their angel. I've found adoration and dysfunctional perfection in eyes the colour of stormy seas and I revel in every second of that feeling. Every hang-up, every self-doubt, doesn't matter with him. I am perfect when he looks at me. In every small, simple way he brings the largest smile and the happiest feeling. I suppose this is called love, and to be honest, now I can understand why so many songs are written about it. No song could ever do it justice, it's far too euphoric a feeling...

...I'm rambling. Forgive me. To be succinct, love is heavenly, and so is he.
Bright blessings,
Jen x

Jul. 7th, 2006


(no subject)

"Happiness is frailty, wrapped in foolish desires and smelling of carnal sin..."

Today I have been sitting in bed, ignoring the world and the phonecalls that seem to come with it. I have been avidly consuming cheap yet priceless contemporary East Asian literature. When faced with a stream of consciousness that is not your own, the mind instinctively draws parallels, it extends tenuous links between yourself and the fictional life of the protagonist. No matter how alien the lifestyle, foolish pride and vanity presumes to understand and empathise with the narrator, causing the conscious to nod condescendingly in mock comprehension. I read that just one simple smell can realise the loss of happiness. But then you would be assuming that one understood the visceral meaning of the word. Happiness is fleeting, like the butterfly caught in a sudden breeze on a summer's afternoon. Its wings flutter in futility against this unwelcome current, but eventually it is swept onto a different course against its own will, and the watcher is left right back where he or she started, soon forgetting they ever saw the frail insect. And so now I find that I have migrated to somewhere less depressing, sat in the living room of this urbanised little flat I can hear the roar of the town below me as it soars upon the breeze. I sit with my back to the urban cityscape, the only stationary being in the swirl of activity around me. It lifts my spirits when I think about their chaos outside and my calm within. I smile secretly to myself, like a child with a stolen trinket, basking in the small pleasure I snatch from the busy hubbub of to-ing and fro-ing outside. I know that in a few small hours I'll be descending from my little cloud of calm and joining the rush to get to a place I don't want to go to. This week has been all about harmony; about peace and tranquility in someone else's personal space. While I find I have been uncomfortable in my own skin these past long months, migrating to live under someone else's roof has been a refreshing and relaxing experience. I would choose this life above all other, if only I could afford to. I say this not with complete conviction, for I suppose I would tire of it should it become the norm, and my happiness would soon ebb as it did before. Thus is happiness a trivial thing, dispensable and soon replaced by a newer, even more pointless pleasure. I suppose you could say that the only thing that brings a slightly more realistic and long-lived smile to my face is the pursuit of the smile itself. People, places and memories are fleeting; chasing the high really is chicken soup for the soul...

Jul. 6th, 2006


(no subject)

I crave the domestic life. The security of my own abode, the serenity and calm of my own four walls. My own cat brushing against my little toes as I curl up on my own sofa to type another epic saga based upon my own life. I crave the warmth and knowledge that comes with independence. I want to be a fully fledged part of this dysfunctional, digital and dissonant culture we all traverse. I suppose somewhere, a part of me still kicks out against the system of binaries and codes closing in around me, trying to contain me to a life where my bank balance dictates the way I live and think. But that sliver of my essence is fast adapting, mutating, to fit my domestic wish and purpose. Life isn’t about fitting in, and it certainly isn’t about standing out. Both are too hard, boundaries always shifting just two steps ahead of our every move. Life is about muddling though, about pattering stoically through life with light-hearted footsteps, looking optimistically, if a little naively, into the future.

Things never turn out the way you plan. That is one of the first lessons dealt to you by life as soon as we are old enough to understand and experience defeat. That is no excuse however for failure. Once upon a time, my understanding of defeat was imminent failure. Now I realise that defeat is just one small battle in the war that lasts a lifetime. My dreams of a domestic life may be slightly halted in their tracks by monetary and educational responsibilities, but nevertheless, I shall ‘muddle through’ to the best of my ability and reach some diluted or variegated version of my original objective. Opinions change, opportunities come and go, but resourcefulness is something that trails you through the years, although it may not be instantly realisable. It is just a case of utilising what you have and compensating for what you have not. As the old saying goes; it all works out in the end. That is not to say however that all old sayings hold grains of wisdom or truth. I’ve realised that no matter what anyone tells you, you rarely laugh about it later.

Domesticity, to perhaps coin a new phrase, manifests itself on even the most rebellious of spirits. Whether it be the desire to move into your own place, or just to do the housework, everyone derives a simple pleasure from their own domestic identity. My mother, for example, prides herself on a well-kept house, two (supposedly) beautiful children and the attainment of her dream job. In my (slightly biased) opinion, she is the epitome of the domestic goddess. She effortlessly juggles domestic living and a skilled career path; like a talented child with two hoops and one stick, she somehow rolls the two side by side, never allowing one to fall behind the other. It has always been my secret ambition to be like her, and as each year rolls by the passing comments about our similarities grow considerably in volume. She is my ally and my best friend, but also my domestic teacher. It is through her skill and determination that I have acquired my inexplicable drive for a life of domestic bliss and I am thankful for that small grain of destiny. It makes me feel a little more oriented in my otherwise unmapped life plan.

I suppose we learn as we grow, picking up attributes and traits from those we look up to. Whether it be fears, hopes or habits, we incorporate them into our ever shifting identity, creating a mis-matched aura about our own curious existence. And so I decide that this craving, this nagging fancy for my own domestic haven must be hereditary, a timeless want passed down through aeons of human life. I could try to fight it, to stay a rebellious teenager for the rest of my days, but to be honest, who can really argue with fate? Sitting here, almost 20, I realise that sometimes growing up is all you can really do. However, I sincerely doubt that doing so gracefully will ever be part of my slightly disorganised life plans...it'll all work out...eventually.

May. 15th, 2006


(no subject)

Lately there has been a lot in the regional, and indeed national, newspapers about the problems with law enforcement throughout Britain. And, in an 'it'll never happen to me' frame of mind, I resolved not to get terribley heated over the fact that our country's justice system has more holes in it than swiss cheese. After all, I reassured myself, given the blasting local authorities are being given through the media, surely some steps MUST be in action to remedy faults and make our environment a safer and more just one?

...Maybe not. After finding that my car had been broken into this morning, I telephoned the police and went through the necessary motions. Imagine my horror when I am told that no, a police officer will NOT be attending me, and that I'm just to try and get the car off of a public road please. I'm ushered away with a disinterested 'we'll call you later' and I am bid farewell. I'm stood there with my ignition in my hand and my driver's door hanging off the car. After finally calling a recovery service I get the car home where I receive two phonecalls from police officers, telling me I SHOULDN'T have moved the car an inch, and shoudln't have touched a thing. The car should have been inspected by an officer at the scene for possible fingerprints and on-scene assessments should have been made. Of course now that the car had been disturbed, there was 'no evidence' for them to examine, so once again interest is lost and the phonecall ends.

So here I am with a written-off car and absolutely no police action to show for it. What is wrong with the justice system in this country that means a motorist going 10mph above the speed limit will be caught, fined and penalised; whereas a regular criminal breaking into a innocent citizen's car cannot/will not be found? I've always been sceptical about this country's dubious methods of dealing with law and order, and now my suspicions are confirmed. We're handing over our society to criminals and what's more, we'll do it with plenty of British gusto, a lot of government excuses and a big, feckless, uninformed grin all over our sheep-like faces.

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