thedarlingtonshewolf | Recent Entries

and published it under a pseudonym. It is absurd and farcical, so far from myself I can't believe it. Full of typos of course but good. it makes everyone laugh! And True about the work I do.

About the wretched work I cannot do anymore.

I make a joke of it, but the message is strong. It must be strong because certain people, too sure they see themselves in the motives and methods of the book's bad guys, have banded together and decided to 'blacken my name - a direct quote there. They are furious because they think they recognise themselves. I only know this because the husband of one of them, alarmed at his wife's venom, left me a message telling me to take care because 'something bad was coming my way,' another direct quote.

It all happened at the same time as a close friend miscarrying. She cried and begged at me; Pull me a card, she said, tell me when I'll be pregnant again! Please, please please just tell me I'll be pregnant!

I can't do this anymore. Under the ridiculous story the book has a powerful message, a message ignored by people at the studio who have bought it in the hope of seeing a little portrait of themselves. I finally came across the ultimate vanity meets stupidity this morning; a nice enough colleague whose partner has told him that he is in the book. He hasn't even read it, he just cut to the whole question of MeMeness. Vain, stupid, delusional, the whole world I have been wandering through.

I can't believe the book is so funny. But however ridiculous it is, it cannot compare to the sheer pointless stupidity of real life at that place.

There's a photo, I don't know where it is now, but it is so sweet. Black and white, late sixties or early seventies, I don't know. It shows some pretty little people, a dark haired woman laughing, and her two little kids, very blonde. They are on the porch of a caravan called Rum Jungle near or on Station Hill in Devizes. They stayed there for a while.

No father in the photograph. He was never there, until he needed something. He dipped in and out of their lives, a random and total ruler whose laws changed every day, who switched from smiles to rages with swift ease, depending on his alcohol levels.

The woman in the photograph lived most of her married life harangued, bullied, deserted, reunited, bullied again. Permanently stressed, often terrified, she developed paranoid schizophrenia, slid into psychotic episodes during which she beat her daughter often. She was never treated. She eventually lived alone without electricity or running water, tormented by voices and hallucinations of physical pain.

The boy was endlessly verbally abused by his father. Seeking approval never worked, and was made worse when he came out. He got involved with drugs, caught HIV, married, was violently abused by his partner.

And the little girl in the photo? I don't know what happened to her.

There's almost a music in it.

...is laid out in front of me, simple and clear as a map; one of those maps with 'here be dragons' and 'Terra Incognita' written along its edges, and coastlines more to do with cartographic imagination than geography.

I understand that the quest put in front of me is that of Psyche seeking Eros, to forsake everything and enter the underworld for love.

To give up that which I know, take a leap of faith and surrender all for my hope, an ideal of love that may not answer. If I knew it would answer, this wouldn't be the quest. The idea is to know it could just as easily, perhaps more easily fail than become, and yet to risk that for the hope of it. Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.

I understand. And I am going to fail before I begin. Because I do not hurt the heroes, and if the first thing needed is the sacrifice of a loving heart, I am not going to do it.

This ties in with something I asked in my heart, a long time ago. I paid for it then, I have paid for this for over 3 years now. But at last I understand it.

Turning away from this quest, all I can do is apologise to the Heart for not freeing myself to follow. It's not just because I would gamble away my little family and all the security I have...it's because I would definitely hurt the last person in the world I could bear to harm, and possibly to no good end.

I am not ready to sacrifice good people for my dream. And yes, some of this is selfish too, I admit it. I have been too hurt by not doing this quest, a long slow wound that bled me close to death. Doing it might just finish me off completely.

Still at last I know that is what this is about. At last.

All I can do is make peace with my gods about this.

In South Korea, fighting an infestation of foot and mouth, they aren't killing their pigs. They are burying them alive in mass graves.

Pigs, intelligent, sensitive... oh oh oh. I cannot bear even to find the link again, I can't bear to read it.

Humanity is shit. The sooner a plague comes and wipes us all off the face of the planet, the better.

That every delineation, every generic rule applied to society is either flawed or false.

I believe there is no real distinction between men and women, colour and gender and sexual orientation; I don't believe nurturing comes easier to women, I don't believe fighting comes easier to men. I don't believe in old age or youth. I don't believe that humanity is a simple colouring book. I believe there are millions of individuals who, if allowed to discover themselves without preconcepts of who they are and what they should become, would be rampant in genius. I believe that these preconcepts are given to train us into society, to restrain and confine us, not just from doing those things that are inimical to surviving alongside one another, but to stop us from ever standing apart. We are trained to be herd, be it god's herd or government's herd.

The rules were made by those who found themselves on top and then wanted justification to stay there. And there is no stand-by rule of behaviour, not one, that covers every human being. So all these rotes, of time, of sex, of behaviour, of religion, these are just tools. They are convenient for those who will swap comfort for control, and they are convenient for those who want control and continuity. But they have nothing to do with fact or truth. They are a meme that pleases us.

I never believe that tradition must be right solely because it has always been there. I believe that longevity may give it nuance and glamour, but a thing is not more correct or more accurate because everybody believes it. It may have other merits, but a fact is not made by popularity or the comfort it brings.

And god/goddess proves one thing every minute of every day; that if such a being exists, no written laws encompass or define that being.

Yet some things happen, inexplicably, connections are made, words heard out of the dark that later make sense, occurrences that resonate, seem fated. The question then, is, do these patterns truly exist or are we just joining the dots, looking for Jesus' face in a cappucino?

Conditioning. To stand outside it and observe it is to see the whole of human social development unravel, like a snagged thread on a jumper. It isn't even mysterious.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Hbwa00VEMc

I am not this person crying. Because this person cannot survive.

And I see that Hell is no far region, no demons waiting to torment. We are the devils and the best that can be said is that some of us may still be in training. Hell is the earth ruined, the beauty of the tiger distorted, the innocence of the lamb devoured.

Earth is Hell, and the thing that defines it as such is what we are doing to it. Hell is ruined earth.

I love Earth. I cannot bear what is happening.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
-Blake

Would you like to see what we made?

http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2006/12/13/magazine/17america.slide4.jpg&imgrefurl=http://amysteinphoto.blogspot.com/2007/04/kenny-retarded-white-tiger.html&h=503&w=650&sz=135&tbnid=QXMKGOop6DNIcM:&tbnh=106&tbnw=137&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dkenny%2Btiger&zoom=1&q=kenny+tiger&hl=&usg=__7dS31LbIFBDqctJ7VpSX2-V_QpM=&sa=X&ei=DkfiTOGcKMaWhQfOtOCjDQ&ved=0CBoQ9QEwAA

I don't know if the work is good or not, but just doing it made me feel better. It's not quite finished yet. We shall see what it's like when it is...

If ascension is to see the truth about human beings, nobody would want it.

I have an idea for a story. Suppose Jesus Christ grew up knowing he was different, a brilliant underachiever convinced that something incredible was going to happen to him. Perhaps in the retelling all these portents and tales of a special child demanded that he be a special man. His parents expected it and something within himself demanded it. With all these, how could he be ordinary? Surely he had a destiny. Who wouldn't be convinced by so many signs that they're the one? Who doesn't want to believe it? In his search for a life extraordinary and precious, he found God. He saw God and what God would and wouldn't do. Who knows what his beginning hopes were? And eventually, he saw Man,what Man would and wouldn't do. Cruelty and adulation, divine callousness, human weakness.

The story says that his love for Man transcended this, that it made him one with God. But the story is flawed for it is written by those who made God in their image, out of hope and fear. Without this sugary hope that God really does get it and care, that moment of despair, 'Why have you forsaken me?' would be the most poignant words ever recorded. He prayed the night before that the cup be taken from him. But his deaf father did nothing, because he didn't want to or because he couldn't.

So the boy of promise fulfilled the hopes of his childhood temple after his death. Prophecies of kings, the blessings of wise men and the visions of herdsmen on the mountains all turned to humiliation in front of his followers. Ignominy, torture, not a single miracle; no avoiding it, if he could get off that cross he would. So much for his heavenly power. Over, subdued politicoes and dreamers taking back the body of a betrayed demagogue, a criminal and no king. But see, it has a trick ending; he hadn't died after all. He became God. We never hear what his mother thought of his return, if he visited her in the days after his death.

Or perhaps he was given his wish by a more mysterious Cosmos, and saw truly what human beings were. No going back after that.

But the men, trying to persuade themselves that we are the point and God is like us and does like us, they made the story a human winner.

Human winning, as we see, is no triumph of love over suffering. All it is at best, is a mirror wide enough to extend beyond our immediate skin, reflecting a little of our surroundings.

But if we extended that mirror to incorporate every being that thinks and feels, we could not bear the things we do.

So we keep that mirror small and magnify ourselves at the centre. We pretend that the story is really all about us, because we don't understand anyone else's story, and we don't want to. Or we couldn't use them.

What messiah wants to admit that?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-devon-11624253

How can it be possible that a creature can be too beautiful to live? What kind of thing looks at a being like Emperor and decides that the greatest joy is to kill it? That those antlers belong on a wall rather than on a living creature?

Failing, failing, I just want to be unconscious or gone. Cannot, cannot, cannot. A world where people kill other people because they are angry or hungry or stupid is bad enough, but this...

Prince Philip once said that if he was to come back as anything it would be as a deadly virus. I hate to agree with anything this old tiger murderer says, but I can see it somehow. Wandering around covered in invisible spores, sneezing, death in a small train compartment, just removing some of the chimpmatter, human lichen covering the planet and strangling all other life. I am filled with rage, I want to find Emperor's hunter and cut their head off, mount it on a wall above a blazing fire, and invite the hunter's family round, see how much of their child's flesh they would eat before they recognised it. I want to brand them all on the forehead, because I feel Emperor had as much right to life as any of them. As any of us.

Talking to him, he is reasonable, talking to others, yes, shocked saddened, yes, horrible, now moving on...a healthy attitude. I don't have that.

What is happening to me? Why do I feel so distant from humanity? Never mind. Never mind chimpchatter.

Emperor. Right now, only you matter.

Which he followed up with fine steak in stilton sauce and mushrooms, and wedged chips. He brought home a bottle of Saint-Emilion Grand Cru, very nice. He doesn't think I have clinical depression, he thinks I am just very tired. Perhaps he's right. After all,we had a lovely evening. I feel a lot better today.

Someone sent me a bouquet today.
Deep velvet red roses
Huge russet maple leaves
Green leaves and ferns
Some pretty white fleur unknown to me
French marigolds of the type that graced every pair of curtains in 60s Ingerland.
Autumn and fire!

The sender left a note which said, 'There is plenty of beauty in the world.'

Changing things is hard when you have no energy. I must rejoin a sorta agency thing today, but I don't want to because I will need to go through security clearance with my bank to do it and I've forgotten my banking password. Again.

I feel so undervalued and unloved, this must be another dip. A trigger last night, not intentional. So here I am again, I just screamed at him, he wants me to try hard, make things happen, be constructive, and all I want to do is cry.

The Thing That Happened cannot help my mood right now. There is no point me going into work.I wish it was all over.

I wonder if I suffer clinical depression. Certainly no sleep and all the rest of it. I don't know, I have to get up and do things, I have to...

I can't.

It's a really good feeling. Wild outside, windy, every tree is abandoning summer, leaves, leaving. My back door was open, the floor covered in pawprints and leaves, russet and yellow. Beautiful, something, at last something I feel.

The sun's behind the clouds, going down soon anyway. I am happier.

I don't like to wait. I want change now if it's nice and not at all if it isn't.

Sent my photo in for the Aviva Big Picture campaign. It got chosen to be shown on the side of some building in Singapore central mall. I watched the live stream for a while and got bored. My picture hasn't been shown yet, and I don't really care one way or the other. What, am I hoping it will lead to something better? Dreams, pretty harmless narcissism. I am used to nothing changing as I want or when it should. It delays until I am bored with waiting. I'm bored with this all ready, turned away. After all, what does it do? Nothing.

Dreams, I am not surprised I dreamed of the underwater hades. He was in the country over those days, I think he has just flown back, I think he is gone again. Nothing,nothing,nothing.

I asked for a sign and he was there...but I am tired of significant nothings. I am tired of that word. Synchronicities pass for nourishment in the mansion of the famished mind. That's all these symbols are.

When I close my eyes I nearly faint. What is wrong with me? I need sleep, no good, I'm working tonight. I have this other thing on Saturday. Then something after that, and no energy, no fire to face it. I have, she told me, a gift of flame. But it feels empty as an old nest in me, a cup of nothing. What is this?

I was some kind of persephone figure, and I could make flowers grow everywhere. I was regarded as girl-like, sweet, inconsequential? certainly very young. The god of the sea drowned me. In many ways he seemed more like an underwater Hades. He meant me no ill, or he didn't seem to, he might even have wanted me, I certainly got that impression. I held onto a pack of cards...I didn't see them close up but I presumed they were tarot cards. I began to let go as I drowned, I opened my hands and they started to float away but I closed my hands before any of them went - at least I didn't see any lost. I was completely underwater by then, struggling but...

Then I was up and not drowned(!) and disputing which tree to make spring up first. I wanted loads including an oak tree (I used its ogham name, Querkus? Cwerkus?) and a palm, but I knew the first should be an olive tree. Then I decided to do three together, an olive tree, followed synonymously by a palm tree in the east and an oak tree in the west.

Can't recall anything else.

And everything changed. How wonderful!

And because I'm sworn to secrecy, I'm not writing it here. I don't want to put hands all over this memory, this moment that has lasted days now. I'm lazing in the sun today, getting over it but not. I don't want to get over it. I want to last in this apple shiny moment, leaves all crisp and rustling, wind moving, I want it to last...

Rebirth they call it. Yes, it feels like that. Not like the old me dying, but somehow, some slough of old self, old skin, has occurred. Finally a lot of chatter is stilled in my head, just old sad ideas. They aren't gone, not wiped. I can call them back at any time, not one thing has been lost. I'm just at peace, feeling more powerful. Free. One particular chain is broken, and won't bind me any more unless I insist on locking myself to it.

This is a good day. I know there will be bad days again, but this is a good day. And there will be days and days like this.

I'm happy.

is about preparation for tomorrow.

Going out, put my hair up. Can't work out whether I look good or not. Different, I think.

I want some music.

Profile

thedarlingtonshewolf

April 2011

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
					1	2
3	4	5	6	7	8	9
10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23
24	25	26	27	28	29	30

Syndicate

Page Summary

Style Credit

Base style: ColorSide by branchandroot
Theme: Heart by dancing_serpent
Resources: OpenClipart

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags

Page generated Apr. 23rd, 2025 12:14 pm

where she ran

when she ran

Recent Entries

So I wrote the book

Once upon a time

This feels right

The quest

Pigs

I believe

I could believe

A little door to hell swung upon

Hell

So I have worked

The Darkening Ascent

Horror

Plenty more...

Plenty

(no subject)

Rain

Impatience and other things.

Dream