也许他不爱我 因为他不懂我
以为我是野草 被踩也不怕
不需要他
也许他不爱我 因为他太懂我
知道我是玫瑰 易死又带刺
他没办法
情歌里爱我的人啊
你在哪儿 懂我吗
懂我的人啊
会爱我吗
也许他不爱我 因为我不懂他
也许他不爱我
因为他发现
我不爱他
无法接受无解的我
只能继续
自我地爱你
无尽地也许着
Pasta with Stilton, jalapeño and cavolo nero
9 years ago
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
SHOCK REVEAL: I have nothing to say
It is a Wednesday night. I read all my past posts on this blog in one go (which didn't take long) and ended with my very first post, which was posted in November 2007, on a Tuesday.
I had actually wanted to produce one original blog post every day for 5 months. (!!) I suppose it was out of a yearning for some structure in my life. I probably thought that writing a public blog that is pretty much private as no one reads it would bring some routine into my life, and if reading my blog actually helps someone then that might justify my existence in the world. (Actually, at the same time, I have a problem with that logic: you are in this world to help someone else, so having actually helped someone else justifies your being here. Why should that someone else be helped if their very existence may be quite unnecessary? Is that someone else's existence more justified than mine? How? Justified by things other than helping another someone else again? Sounds kinda circular! Or not... Let's just drop it as an inability to carry out a logical mental conversation is not a trait that would win me the "I deserve to live" contest.)
Epic fail. Well, maybe not epic, as it's been less than 2 years, but a failure it most definitely was.
I dream about writing for a living sometimes. Not the kind of writing I currently do for a living, of course, but the kind of writing where I only write when I feel inspired to, and only about things I feel something about.
I guess what I dream about is actually not having to do anything for a living. Which is a rather wide-spread dream.
OK. Now that I've burst my bubble, I'm going to bed.
Well, at least I know now that it's not particularly difficult to blog after all, if this is all I'm going to say.
I had actually wanted to produce one original blog post every day for 5 months. (!!) I suppose it was out of a yearning for some structure in my life. I probably thought that writing a public blog that is pretty much private as no one reads it would bring some routine into my life, and if reading my blog actually helps someone then that might justify my existence in the world. (Actually, at the same time, I have a problem with that logic: you are in this world to help someone else, so having actually helped someone else justifies your being here. Why should that someone else be helped if their very existence may be quite unnecessary? Is that someone else's existence more justified than mine? How? Justified by things other than helping another someone else again? Sounds kinda circular! Or not... Let's just drop it as an inability to carry out a logical mental conversation is not a trait that would win me the "I deserve to live" contest.)
Epic fail. Well, maybe not epic, as it's been less than 2 years, but a failure it most definitely was.
I dream about writing for a living sometimes. Not the kind of writing I currently do for a living, of course, but the kind of writing where I only write when I feel inspired to, and only about things I feel something about.
I guess what I dream about is actually not having to do anything for a living. Which is a rather wide-spread dream.
OK. Now that I've burst my bubble, I'm going to bed.
Well, at least I know now that it's not particularly difficult to blog after all, if this is all I'm going to say.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Finders Keepers Market
I don't know what it's like in other Australian cities, but Sydney has heaps of these markets where up and coming designers of all sorts are given a space to showcase the fruits of their endeavours. These markets hope to attract some fans and customers for these guys. Finders Keepers Market is one such worthy cause. For an enticing preview to what's available, go to http://thefinderskeepers.com/profiles.php.
It just so happens that a couple I know is (isn't it funny that once you are "a couple", you are bereft the glory of the plural) holding a stall at Finders Keepers this year. The pair moved from Sydney to one of the most desolate "towns" (more like a villiage to your city dwellers) in Australia, Alice Springs (next to the big red rock in the middle of Australia), for two years. By the time they came back, they've gotten married, quit their jobs and started their own business. Hubby creates the artwork, and wife sells them (as far as I understand. Correct me if I'm wrong Katherine). A year later, their small business is flourishing, and you can even buy their work over the internet (not sure if they deliver overseas). Their work is quite unique and very stylish - I'll let you guys make up your own mind though - check out their website: http://www.studiooat.com.au/.
It just so happens that a couple I know is (isn't it funny that once you are "a couple", you are bereft the glory of the plural) holding a stall at Finders Keepers this year. The pair moved from Sydney to one of the most desolate "towns" (more like a villiage to your city dwellers) in Australia, Alice Springs (next to the big red rock in the middle of Australia), for two years. By the time they came back, they've gotten married, quit their jobs and started their own business. Hubby creates the artwork, and wife sells them (as far as I understand. Correct me if I'm wrong Katherine). A year later, their small business is flourishing, and you can even buy their work over the internet (not sure if they deliver overseas). Their work is quite unique and very stylish - I'll let you guys make up your own mind though - check out their website: http://www.studiooat.com.au/.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
How close is too close?
I'm a firm believer that relationships should be natural. And they should. But what's natural can only be natural to the extent of the nature of each person in the relationship. If one of the persons in the relationship is an abusive alcoholic who absolutely needs his/her ass wiped after each dump, that would form, at least in part, what is natural in that relationship. The other part of what is natural is up to the other person. Is the other person an ass wiper or an ass kicker?
That makes a relationship seem a lot more combative than it needs to be, most of the time, but you get my drift. If I'm emotionally needy and the other person in the relationship is not prepared to give that much front-back-and-centre-plus-pretzels-knots-and-crosses-support, then the natural state of that relationship would be like that between a Hummer and quantity-controlled petrol station: unsatisfied for one, and defeating for the other.
That might be fun, too. But for how long?
In the other extreme, if two people are so close that there's nothing they don't know about each other, nothing they don't understand, nothing they can’t give, then wouldn’t the sex be like masturbating?
That makes a relationship seem a lot more combative than it needs to be, most of the time, but you get my drift. If I'm emotionally needy and the other person in the relationship is not prepared to give that much front-back-and-centre-plus-pretzels-knots-and-crosses-support, then the natural state of that relationship would be like that between a Hummer and quantity-controlled petrol station: unsatisfied for one, and defeating for the other.
That might be fun, too. But for how long?
In the other extreme, if two people are so close that there's nothing they don't know about each other, nothing they don't understand, nothing they can’t give, then wouldn’t the sex be like masturbating?
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
He is just not that into you?
So when a woman complains about how self-centered her man is, and how impossible it is to change a man, what she is really complaining about is that her man doesn't make her feel as loved as she wants to feel. Granted that he may love her more than she could ever imagine, but therein lies another whole bucket-full of wiggly worms outside the purview of my anthropological treatise. [chortle chortle]
So as a very enlightened (male) friend once said to me, the answer to all the why's to a relationship is "He's just not that into you."
He's just not that into you.
Well, so, what can you do about it?
Before we rummage through the jungle of advices on "how to get him to love you more", I can't help but wonder (copyright Carrie Bradshaw), why does it have to be him?
If all that a woman wants is a man who truly loves her, then what does it matter who he is? We are told that if you are a lovable woman, you'd one day meet ‘a man’ who loves you (please don't talk to me about probability theory - have faith! preferably blind). So how to get the love of this elusive ‘a man’? Well we're told by the highest and most motivating of authorities that it is a simple two-step process:
Step 1: Be a lovable woman. (a job-creating, society-building, heap of damn hard work)
Step 2: Dump every guy who isn't capable of showing you enough love till you find one that does. (an emotionally – and financially – exhausting pursuit by all accounts)
Ready to give it a go?
And by the way, if you agree with my logic so far, you might also agree that it is totally pointless for a woman to love a man before she is sure that he is totally in love with her. To paraphrase Samantha, "Say 'I hate you' to a man and you'll have the best sex you've ever had, but say 'I love you', you'll never hear from the man again." I don't know, I haven't tried. [Samantha: "And thank god you haven't! But try "I hate you", I'm telling you, it works!"]
But there is one more thing: you could choose to love a man who, for all you know, doesn't love you (yet) and see what happens. Because it would make your life just that little bit more...interesting.
Life's filled with difficult choices, they say.
So as a very enlightened (male) friend once said to me, the answer to all the why's to a relationship is "He's just not that into you."
He's just not that into you.
Well, so, what can you do about it?
Before we rummage through the jungle of advices on "how to get him to love you more", I can't help but wonder (copyright Carrie Bradshaw), why does it have to be him?
If all that a woman wants is a man who truly loves her, then what does it matter who he is? We are told that if you are a lovable woman, you'd one day meet ‘a man’ who loves you (please don't talk to me about probability theory - have faith! preferably blind). So how to get the love of this elusive ‘a man’? Well we're told by the highest and most motivating of authorities that it is a simple two-step process:
Step 1: Be a lovable woman. (a job-creating, society-building, heap of damn hard work)
Step 2: Dump every guy who isn't capable of showing you enough love till you find one that does. (an emotionally – and financially – exhausting pursuit by all accounts)
Ready to give it a go?
And by the way, if you agree with my logic so far, you might also agree that it is totally pointless for a woman to love a man before she is sure that he is totally in love with her. To paraphrase Samantha, "Say 'I hate you' to a man and you'll have the best sex you've ever had, but say 'I love you', you'll never hear from the man again." I don't know, I haven't tried. [Samantha: "And thank god you haven't! But try "I hate you", I'm telling you, it works!"]
But there is one more thing: you could choose to love a man who, for all you know, doesn't love you (yet) and see what happens. Because it would make your life just that little bit more...interesting.
Life's filled with difficult choices, they say.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
what's the next number?
1,11,21,1211,111221,312211,13112221...
_____________________________________________________
It just occurred to me that the above could be interpreted both:
1. as a demonstration of how God would need to exist so as to get the ball rolling, literally; and
2. as a demonstration that evolution is necessary to keep the ball rolling...
_____________________________________________________
It just occurred to me that the above could be interpreted both:
1. as a demonstration of how God would need to exist so as to get the ball rolling, literally; and
2. as a demonstration that evolution is necessary to keep the ball rolling...
Monday, January 21, 2008
For the next day
"History is written by winners." But surviving losers teach history in their schools, too. If being able to pass on your version of events is a kind of victory, then to live is to win.
And when it comes to people, love, friendship, romance, or the big deal going on at work, where most people live on after the event and many find ways to tell the tale, the truth becomes... well... just an opinion.
One year after the event, you might say: "Oh it was the best thing that I ever did, dude", but in 2 years, you might say "I think it was just sex." In 3 years: "it was the best learning experience ever and I am a better person because of it, God willing", but in 4: "a total fuckin’ waste of my fuckin’ time". [Plus, why the hell are you still talking about it after 4 yerars?!]
That all seem quite harmless, until we try to predict the future based on our unreliable recollections of the past. Snippets, apparently from the past, run through my head, predicting future eventualities most unpleasant. Then other moments are recalled, moments in a gallery, in a kitchen, a chuckle, then peace is regained.
It hasn't been a year yet, but I have already forgotten why I felt so compelled to cry in the middle of the night, squatting against the wall in a narrow corridor. All I remember is that I did.
Some people are decidedly unsuited to long-distance relationships. People who prefer to see things as they are, contented people, people who enjoy adventures, but not by gaming with other people's minds. People who want an interesting but simple life. Most people.
But it's not all or nothing. Short films of unpleasantness habitually roll into everyone's mind when a need is unfulfilled. The need to eat, to sleep, to be mentally stimulated, to hear a voice, to swear, or to get some of that caffeine.
So nothing is all that serious, really. That's a bit sad for me now. But maybe tomorrow, or even in a few hours when I get under my sheets, it'll be a bit happy.
And when it comes to people, love, friendship, romance, or the big deal going on at work, where most people live on after the event and many find ways to tell the tale, the truth becomes... well... just an opinion.
One year after the event, you might say: "Oh it was the best thing that I ever did, dude", but in 2 years, you might say "I think it was just sex." In 3 years: "it was the best learning experience ever and I am a better person because of it, God willing", but in 4: "a total fuckin’ waste of my fuckin’ time". [Plus, why the hell are you still talking about it after 4 yerars?!]
That all seem quite harmless, until we try to predict the future based on our unreliable recollections of the past. Snippets, apparently from the past, run through my head, predicting future eventualities most unpleasant. Then other moments are recalled, moments in a gallery, in a kitchen, a chuckle, then peace is regained.
It hasn't been a year yet, but I have already forgotten why I felt so compelled to cry in the middle of the night, squatting against the wall in a narrow corridor. All I remember is that I did.
Some people are decidedly unsuited to long-distance relationships. People who prefer to see things as they are, contented people, people who enjoy adventures, but not by gaming with other people's minds. People who want an interesting but simple life. Most people.
But it's not all or nothing. Short films of unpleasantness habitually roll into everyone's mind when a need is unfulfilled. The need to eat, to sleep, to be mentally stimulated, to hear a voice, to swear, or to get some of that caffeine.
So nothing is all that serious, really. That's a bit sad for me now. But maybe tomorrow, or even in a few hours when I get under my sheets, it'll be a bit happy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
