My first post from the iPhone, took me a while no? Maybe now I'll post more frequently than once a month. But then what is there to report when the best thing that happened to me today was eat a mince pie?
Happy Christmas!
Thursday 15 December 2011
Monday 28 November 2011
Sunday 20 November 2011
I know I've been a bad girl lately
I know I've been a bad girl lately:
- I post once in a blue moon (literally)
- I post uninspired, sad vs. angry posts
- I feel the world is against me
In a desperate attempt to wake up my non-existent readers, I am posting twice in two days: a-ma-zing.
In an additional desperate attempt to cheer us all up, I am introducing you to X-factor guardian's liveblog
For anyone not from the UK, this is the most serious newspaper blogging for X-facor/scum of the earth TV. But it's amazing. It's funny, it's clever, it's indispensable.
Which makes me think, does the fact that I am reading the guardian cancel out the shame of watching X-factor?
Youkali once said to me a wise thing (one of many): even intellectual people need to embrace shitty popular culture once and a while. Pretending to be an intellectual all my life, and always having an identity crisis when I liked so much TV crap, I felt instantly better. You?
Which brings me to this post's final point: because we need a balance in life, and because I desperately need to keep up with the intellectual pretenses, I started reading "the count of monte christo" last night. The original. The one with the 50000 pages. You can of course always ask what type of intellectual has still not read this book at the age of 33. That's an easy one, I'd say: a fake one.
Anyway, have a good Sunday people. Ah and wake up please, send me a comment.
Am I alone in all this?
- I post once in a blue moon (literally)
- I post uninspired, sad vs. angry posts
- I feel the world is against me
In a desperate attempt to wake up my non-existent readers, I am posting twice in two days: a-ma-zing.
In an additional desperate attempt to cheer us all up, I am introducing you to X-factor guardian's liveblog
For anyone not from the UK, this is the most serious newspaper blogging for X-facor/scum of the earth TV. But it's amazing. It's funny, it's clever, it's indispensable.
Which makes me think, does the fact that I am reading the guardian cancel out the shame of watching X-factor?
Youkali once said to me a wise thing (one of many): even intellectual people need to embrace shitty popular culture once and a while. Pretending to be an intellectual all my life, and always having an identity crisis when I liked so much TV crap, I felt instantly better. You?
Which brings me to this post's final point: because we need a balance in life, and because I desperately need to keep up with the intellectual pretenses, I started reading "the count of monte christo" last night. The original. The one with the 50000 pages. You can of course always ask what type of intellectual has still not read this book at the age of 33. That's an easy one, I'd say: a fake one.
Anyway, have a good Sunday people. Ah and wake up please, send me a comment.
Am I alone in all this?
Saturday 19 November 2011
The fear
What is it about fear that makes people so human less?
Normal people, your friends, your colleagues, people you've known for a while, when fear strikes them you cannot recognise them anymore.
Fear can do two things to a man: either paralyse or make them entirely vicious amoral and cruel.
These are difficult times, people have no money, there is crisis everywhere, recession makes it all dark, there is no hope, people's lives might change.
Fear has crept in, everyone is feeling it now, and there's classic each man for himself.
How foolish mankind is. Always the same. Man eat man. And then what is left? After the crisis and the recession are over? After we go back to a so called normality? Where do we go back to, when so called friends have turned against each other?
Fuck it all.
We are born alone.
Normal people, your friends, your colleagues, people you've known for a while, when fear strikes them you cannot recognise them anymore.
Fear can do two things to a man: either paralyse or make them entirely vicious amoral and cruel.
These are difficult times, people have no money, there is crisis everywhere, recession makes it all dark, there is no hope, people's lives might change.
Fear has crept in, everyone is feeling it now, and there's classic each man for himself.
How foolish mankind is. Always the same. Man eat man. And then what is left? After the crisis and the recession are over? After we go back to a so called normality? Where do we go back to, when so called friends have turned against each other?
Fuck it all.
We are born alone.
Monday 14 November 2011
Art saves
In a time when education means nothing - art saves.
In a world where beauty equals fake boobs - art saves.
In a world where dancing is fake - art saves.
In a world where noone reads books anymore - art saves.
In a world where movies are hollywood blockbusters only -art saves.
God save Pina Bausch. Wim Wenders, Pedro Almodovar, Julian Barnes, Euripides and even JK Rowling.
God save the bourgeoisie that still thinks that art matters.
Art matters because Art saves.
In a world where beauty equals fake boobs - art saves.
In a world where dancing is fake - art saves.
In a world where noone reads books anymore - art saves.
In a world where movies are hollywood blockbusters only -art saves.
God save Pina Bausch. Wim Wenders, Pedro Almodovar, Julian Barnes, Euripides and even JK Rowling.
God save the bourgeoisie that still thinks that art matters.
Art matters because Art saves.
Tuesday 1 November 2011
The endless sameness of the days
One more week under way. Next week I'll be calmer, I thought last Tuesday. But this Tuesday came and went and calmer I am not. Week after week, I am stressed. I have no time to read. I have no time to write. I prepare things at the last minute. Badly. And then I struggle to make them work.
Every week I say, next week I'll feel myself again. Next week I won't run around like a headless chicken. Next week I'll have a bit of time. And next week comes, and still, I go around like a headless chicken.
When I have no time, I freeze. I feel tired constantly and I don't want to get a proper break. I try to work but I can't. I get the unproductive stress, I go from one thing to the next, doing nothing well. I spend hours on the internet, reading shit. Feeling instantly guilty for that, feeling worse.
The only thing that calms me down is a bit of time. Taking some time to write my list, cross things off one by one, feel that my in-tray is getting emptier. Even if it's not.
These are hard times: they make you feel that it's a privilege to have a job that's why you need to work your ass off.
But it's not a privilege, it's really not. When I die, I will not say, I was privileged enough to have a job. I might say, I was privileged to meet wonderful people, to have an interesting life, to feel love. Not to fucking work.
I am angry and confused. I haven't written anything about the financial situation of the world, of Greece, mostly because I am not sure I will write something profound enough. But here is the thing: this is not a normal world. This world is going to hell. This whole shit is not normal. People have the right to live without feeling thankful that someone is not shooting them dead.
Anyway, this post is now definitely verging on the utterly incoherent, but what can I do? Delete it and pretend it never existed? No way.
(Besides it makes me feel so revolutionary to write "fuck" like this all over the place)
Every week I say, next week I'll feel myself again. Next week I won't run around like a headless chicken. Next week I'll have a bit of time. And next week comes, and still, I go around like a headless chicken.
When I have no time, I freeze. I feel tired constantly and I don't want to get a proper break. I try to work but I can't. I get the unproductive stress, I go from one thing to the next, doing nothing well. I spend hours on the internet, reading shit. Feeling instantly guilty for that, feeling worse.
The only thing that calms me down is a bit of time. Taking some time to write my list, cross things off one by one, feel that my in-tray is getting emptier. Even if it's not.
These are hard times: they make you feel that it's a privilege to have a job that's why you need to work your ass off.
But it's not a privilege, it's really not. When I die, I will not say, I was privileged enough to have a job. I might say, I was privileged to meet wonderful people, to have an interesting life, to feel love. Not to fucking work.
I am angry and confused. I haven't written anything about the financial situation of the world, of Greece, mostly because I am not sure I will write something profound enough. But here is the thing: this is not a normal world. This world is going to hell. This whole shit is not normal. People have the right to live without feeling thankful that someone is not shooting them dead.
Anyway, this post is now definitely verging on the utterly incoherent, but what can I do? Delete it and pretend it never existed? No way.
(Besides it makes me feel so revolutionary to write "fuck" like this all over the place)
Thursday 20 October 2011
Love in techinicolor
It's you, it's you, it's all for you
Everything I do
I tell you all the time
Heaven is a place on earth with you
Tell me all the things you want to do
I heard that you like the bad girls
Honey, is that true?
It's better than I ever even knew
They say that the world was built for two
Only worth living if somebody is loving you
Baby now you do
Everything I do
I tell you all the time
Heaven is a place on earth with you
Tell me all the things you want to do
I heard that you like the bad girls
Honey, is that true?
It's better than I ever even knew
They say that the world was built for two
Only worth living if somebody is loving you
Baby now you do
Thursday 6 October 2011
Steve Jobs Stanford address
I am sure this will be reproduced all over the world, but it is worth it. Amazing man, amazing life.
Tuesday 4 October 2011
Grey Autumn
Days are going by.
I work.
When I don't, I feel brain-dead. I don't want to talk. I have nothing interesting to say. I feel tired.
I shop a lot. The addiction returns.
Why are there so many addictions? Why are we so prone to them? You stop eating and then you start shopping. What the fuck?
Anyway, I digress. I am tired, I was saying.
But on Tuesdays, I am myself.
I stay at home. I read and prepare for next week's class. I wonder in the empty house and look out the windows. I talk to my plants. I dig out my old music. Like the Beth Rowley version of Nobody's fault but mine. That reminds me of Motherless child. That if I were romantic, I would ask to be played at my funeral.
I sit in the empty house, trying to get psyched to start working. And I open my ancient ibook, that has all this ancient music that reminds me of a different life and a different me. And I feel like a kid in a sweet-shop. I am by myself and I can put it as loud as I want and I can sing at the top of my lungs " if I should die, and my soul becomes lost, it's nobody's fault but mine".
And this makes me feel strangely happy.
And not tired.
And a bit myself again.
Music saves.
How many times have I said that already. But it's so true.
Tuesday 20 September 2011
Some of us are lucky in life
Trying to buy a bit more time until blog-God throws me out and cancels my blog because I am not posting anything, I thought I would show you this. Enjoy :-)
I will post something (clever/nice/profound/funny/all of the above) soon.
I promise.
I will post something (clever/nice/profound/funny/all of the above) soon.
I promise.
Tuesday 6 September 2011
Thursday 1 September 2011
The importance of being absurd
Almodovar, perhaps more than any other modern director, demands the ultimate suspension of disbelief from his audience. In order to get into his world, you must leave pretence, and expectation of any standard movie story-line aside. What you get in return is often magnificent. Perhaps "the skin I live in" is not his best movie, but the absurdity of the plot, makes it one of the most Almodovar-like in years.
Immortal lines encapsulate the Almodovar universe of "I can't believe what I am seeing":
From "All about my mother"'s
- I don't want this woman holding my grandchild!
- This woman is his father!
to so many more absurd storylines...
If one is asked to describe the story of Almodovar's movies, people might think you're joking:
Lonely male nurse rapes his comatose patient and brings her back to life; mother goes back to her hometown to find the transvestite she had a son with to tell him that their child has died, only to find he has impregnated a nun who is dieing of AIDS; brilliant surgeon kidnaps his daughter almost rapist, gives him a sex change, a new skin, and the face of his dead wife and embarks of an affair with him/her... If it wasn't ridiculous it would be tragic. Or the other way round.
That's the fine line of Almodovar's films: they are so absurd that they can either be construed as ridiculous, farcical or ultimately tragic, like I-killed-my-father-and-married-my-mother kind of tragedy.
Talk to her was a true tragedy that you couldn't leave the cinema without floods of tears streaming from your face.
In the skin I live in, the tragedy is not so evident. Perhaps because it is so beautiful, it cannot be so tragic. Still it has its moments.
Perhaps for hardcore Almodovar fans, this is not enough.
But maybe the beauty will convince you...
Wednesday 31 August 2011
Monday 8 August 2011
Back for good
The boom is left half-read in the bag. Five weeks and you're still in page 200 something. It has been transported relentlessly from the room to the bag to the beach every day, full of sand. It will get finished soon I guess. But no hurry, it's the summer.
All the bags have sea shells in them randomly collected by the beaches, they mean nothing during the summer but they get instantly precious when you're back. They get proudly displayed on some table back home: they are from beach blah you say when someone asks. Next year you throw them out. They are cracked and old. They no longer remind of anything. They are useless. They served their purpose.
The new post on the blog gets postponed.
Tomorrow, you say every day.
The heat has seeped inside your brain, your cells are overheating, you have zero inspiration. You watch no news, you read no magazines, all you think of is the heat. It consumes you.
You're in the airplane, on your way back. You look at your hands, the ring is still there, they look beautiful tanned. People around you order wine and tiny sandwiches for ten euros. You seem surprised. You take out your notebook, write down things, start getting organized, start putting your affairs in order. It's only August but for you the summer is over.
Until next year.
Tuesday 21 June 2011
Massive Attack (the past)
In the empty office, deserted from my disappeared colleagues, I am listening to Massive Attack. The offices next to me are being painted, the smell seeps the walls. The heating has been closed for the summer. The office is grey and cold.
You are my angel, come from way above, to bring me love.
(Loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme.....)
The sounds are familiar, eerie, otherworldly, but modern still.
Some things never change.
Angel will always sound perfect.
So will Heat Miser (thanks Hallo Kitty).
So will Risingson (Toylike people make me boylike)
So will everything else, including the sublime Paradise Circus from Heligoland.
Repeat.
Life is dark but beautiful, when you listen to Massive Attack.
You are my angel, come from way above, to bring me love.
(Loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme, loveme.....)
The sounds are familiar, eerie, otherworldly, but modern still.
Some things never change.
Angel will always sound perfect.
So will Heat Miser (thanks Hallo Kitty).
So will Risingson (Toylike people make me boylike)
So will everything else, including the sublime Paradise Circus from Heligoland.
Repeat.
Life is dark but beautiful, when you listen to Massive Attack.
Saturday 18 June 2011
Restart
I have now started twice a different topic for today's post and deleted them both.
I am not sure what I want to say.
The first one was too banal, the second one was too personal.
I never managed to strike the right balance with this blog. I never know if what I write is too personal, and therefore irrelevant to people, or if what I write is too generic and therefore boring. Anonymity gives you some freedom, but what about my friends who read me? They know me, and I am not always sure if I want to write something so personal for them to read.
The other day, I was lying awake in my bed for ever, I couldn't sleep, and so many other times in my life, I had these brilliant ideas for a post, and never got up to writing it. Only thing was, it was about an excellent sexual encounter I once had, one that made me radically rethink certain things about love and sex and so on. Lying in my bed, I imagined the prose in my head, powerful and lyrical, strong and explicit, I imagined the whole thing. But then I couldn't write it, I couldn't bring myself to write it at all.
Can we only be free in absolute anonymity?
But then, I like sharing my thoughts with my friends that live all over the place through this blog so much.
Should I have a second blog, an alias of an alias, so I can write my dirty over-sexualized posts, dishing on exes and providing the world of explicit details of my life? Only, if you don't know who I am, it doesn't count?
I don't know, I haven't decided. Perhaps my need to discuss personal details will pass, or perhaps I will find a way to write my thoughts stripped from the personal but not turning into commonalities that have an effect on noone.
On vera...
I am not sure what I want to say.
The first one was too banal, the second one was too personal.
I never managed to strike the right balance with this blog. I never know if what I write is too personal, and therefore irrelevant to people, or if what I write is too generic and therefore boring. Anonymity gives you some freedom, but what about my friends who read me? They know me, and I am not always sure if I want to write something so personal for them to read.
The other day, I was lying awake in my bed for ever, I couldn't sleep, and so many other times in my life, I had these brilliant ideas for a post, and never got up to writing it. Only thing was, it was about an excellent sexual encounter I once had, one that made me radically rethink certain things about love and sex and so on. Lying in my bed, I imagined the prose in my head, powerful and lyrical, strong and explicit, I imagined the whole thing. But then I couldn't write it, I couldn't bring myself to write it at all.
Can we only be free in absolute anonymity?
But then, I like sharing my thoughts with my friends that live all over the place through this blog so much.
Should I have a second blog, an alias of an alias, so I can write my dirty over-sexualized posts, dishing on exes and providing the world of explicit details of my life? Only, if you don't know who I am, it doesn't count?
I don't know, I haven't decided. Perhaps my need to discuss personal details will pass, or perhaps I will find a way to write my thoughts stripped from the personal but not turning into commonalities that have an effect on noone.
On vera...
Thursday 9 June 2011
Internet shopping
I found amazing things on the internet this week!
First a lovely brand of jewelry in amazon: Pomegranate
Lovely, flirty and gold! As Hallo Kitty always said: gold is for the summer, so here we go, summer is here and Pomegranate rocks!
Find number two, courtesy of the lovely Lopi of fashion architect, it's Maria Lucia Hohan.
Everything is especially yummy, but the wedding dresses are actually the best I've seen in a while ;-)
Speaking of wedding dresses, have a look at BHLDN, their new wedding collection is on, and I think it's even better than the first!
Last, but not least: etsy!
A wonderful online shop, to buy and sell handcrafted and vintage stuff. It's full of pretty, often inexpensive things, but the Takemoto wooden glasses are simply amazing!
So, have you been paid this month?
If yes, go spend it all online...
Happy spending, fellow shopaholics!!
First a lovely brand of jewelry in amazon: Pomegranate
Lovely, flirty and gold! As Hallo Kitty always said: gold is for the summer, so here we go, summer is here and Pomegranate rocks!
Find number two, courtesy of the lovely Lopi of fashion architect, it's Maria Lucia Hohan.
Everything is especially yummy, but the wedding dresses are actually the best I've seen in a while ;-)
Speaking of wedding dresses, have a look at BHLDN, their new wedding collection is on, and I think it's even better than the first!
Last, but not least: etsy!
A wonderful online shop, to buy and sell handcrafted and vintage stuff. It's full of pretty, often inexpensive things, but the Takemoto wooden glasses are simply amazing!
So, have you been paid this month?
If yes, go spend it all online...
Happy spending, fellow shopaholics!!
Friday 3 June 2011
Mama
I don't often post videos and i am definitely not part of the "cute cats" epidemic.
This however is amazing.
I am not sure what it tells us (are animals like humans, or humans like animals- cf. the ending of "animal farm") but when I watched it (courtecy of lifo.gr) it made me feel really warm inside.
This however is amazing.
I am not sure what it tells us (are animals like humans, or humans like animals- cf. the ending of "animal farm") but when I watched it (courtecy of lifo.gr) it made me feel really warm inside.
Slow
Another week is almost over.
I sit sluggishly on the sofa, looking ahead at my empty day. I am not sure what I will do today, I don't have much to do anyway. Or, I do, but I have no brain power to start. I am sluggish too, slow, I only think of the summer.
I don't often have the time to slow down and think. I usually run around trying to do 500 things at once (and failing). When I was doing my PhD, I used to adore these slow days that I spent in my room. I used to work a bit (slowly, thinking about things in some detail and not just doing things) and then listen to a song and think about it, read a book and think about it, in general feel the things I was doing and not just doing them.
In this brief return to the severely underrated notion of sluggishness, I am spending my morning sipping coffee and browsing the net. I am reading on Greece and the situation there. It makes me sick to my stomach, I worry so much. My parents are nervous, my friends are nervous, and I am here. I have a good job and I live a good life. Nothing lasts forever, I know, and the UK finances are not exactly the healthiest in the universe, but I am fine.
I don't know what I would do if I was in Greece, I don't know what I would ask for.
I am reading, I am reading and I am still so confused. Whose fault is it? What can we do now? Is there anything that can be done and not leave Greece in ruins?
Thinking about these things, I despair and still I drink coffee and enjoy the sunshine and browse the net.
Fell sorry for ME.
I sit sluggishly on the sofa, looking ahead at my empty day. I am not sure what I will do today, I don't have much to do anyway. Or, I do, but I have no brain power to start. I am sluggish too, slow, I only think of the summer.
I don't often have the time to slow down and think. I usually run around trying to do 500 things at once (and failing). When I was doing my PhD, I used to adore these slow days that I spent in my room. I used to work a bit (slowly, thinking about things in some detail and not just doing things) and then listen to a song and think about it, read a book and think about it, in general feel the things I was doing and not just doing them.
In this brief return to the severely underrated notion of sluggishness, I am spending my morning sipping coffee and browsing the net. I am reading on Greece and the situation there. It makes me sick to my stomach, I worry so much. My parents are nervous, my friends are nervous, and I am here. I have a good job and I live a good life. Nothing lasts forever, I know, and the UK finances are not exactly the healthiest in the universe, but I am fine.
I don't know what I would do if I was in Greece, I don't know what I would ask for.
I am reading, I am reading and I am still so confused. Whose fault is it? What can we do now? Is there anything that can be done and not leave Greece in ruins?
Thinking about these things, I despair and still I drink coffee and enjoy the sunshine and browse the net.
Fell sorry for ME.
Wednesday 1 June 2011
Memory
She likes walking in the city alone. Looking at other people, strangers she stays in her own mind. She is thinking of her everyday things: what she'll cook later, that she needs to lose some weight, stuff about work. Then she might see something in the city, a person walking, a colour in a sign, something that reminds her of something from her past. When this happens, she instantly gets transported back into that memory, she gets transported somewhere in her past and she starts remembering things in detail. She starts remembering people that she had known in a distant past, for very little time and hasn't seen or thought of for years. She starts remembering songs she would dance to frantically. She starts remembering clothes she used to wear and now does not know where they are. She starts remembering of things she used to like, foods she used to cook and she no longer does.
This lasts some minutes. She might sit down on a bench and think about all this for a while. Or she might just keep walking and smiling. And then, as quickly and as suddenly as she was in that world, she leaves it again. And she is back to being herself, she is back to being in the now. And she forgets about all of these past memories, the treasures of the past until the next time something random will remind her.
This lasts some minutes. She might sit down on a bench and think about all this for a while. Or she might just keep walking and smiling. And then, as quickly and as suddenly as she was in that world, she leaves it again. And she is back to being herself, she is back to being in the now. And she forgets about all of these past memories, the treasures of the past until the next time something random will remind her.
Friday 20 May 2011
Hanna, never let me go
Art often deals with the definition of humanity.
Who is human? Who shows human characteristics? How much "difference" can we accept?
These are central concepts that (like so many other things) seem to be revisited time after time, in movie after movie, in book after book.
Hanna is such a story. Born "special" due to a secret American CIA program, Hanna is raised like a killer, ready for when Uncle Sam comes looking. Unaware of her being "different", she fleetingly tries to blend in. Yet, Hanna looks and very much acts like a girl her age. Is her difference really significant then? Isn't she human?
In "never let me go" the characters are raised in a dubious school, where all their lives they feel something is not exactly as it should be. When they finally figure out their fate, they try to reverse it by appealing to the people that they think might classify "humans" as "beings who can love". They, too, want a "normal" life, a chance in normality.
Why would we even care about what defines humanity?
I guess because of what being human implies.
If an embryo is classified as human, you cannot abort it, it's considered murder.
If a clone is considered human, you cannot use it to take it's organs, it's considered murder.
If a genetically modified kid is classified as human, you cannot use it like a killing machine, it's considered "inhumane".
The world's most important definitions are nothing but a big fat slippery slope. No-one really knows (or agrees) when an embryo starts being human, or when it is just a collection of cells. Any attempt to define it is arbitrary at best.
No-one known if someone eating shrimps is really a vegetarian.
In short, millions of years down the line of human civilization, we are not so sure about how to define many important things.
Definitions are futile. Philosophy has failed.
Art, with all its ambivalence, is all we have to debate and discuss these important things.
As always, then, art saves.
Friday 6 May 2011
And still, I cry
I love Harry Potter, I really do.
After getting courage from him to finish my PhD, in times when I thought that nothing could calm me down and my mouth was in pain with tension, I decided to revisit him in time for the grand finale. Though I always thought that the books were far from perfect, the world that JKR created is undoubtedly amazing. The symbolism, the complexity, the details, HP's world sucks me in every time. I hadn't read the books, since before the end, where reading served one goal and one goal only: to look for clues of how it would all end. This of course obscured the whole experience and made me devour the books without thinking much, without enjoying them properly. So I thought, this time I will do it differently. Indifferent to the ending, I reread all books slowly, sluggishly tasting every detail. I started the last book this morning and I really don't want it to end, for when it does Harry will be gone forevermore for me, at least until July when I will queue with all the rest of his fans to see the last installment in the movie series. I never liked the movies too much, they left so much out. And, I think, HP is not about the big things, it is about the small ones. The details that the books include, the nuances of the relationships, the inner thoughts of the characters, the little traits that page after page make these kids my friends.
So, now you know why I have been so absent lately, I have been sucked back to HP land, reading and reading, spending my days, the sunniest days Belfast had seen for a while, inside a book and not outside in the gardens, the river and the sunshine. But I really don't care, sunshine will come and go. Harry though will always stay with me, my friend forever. When I read the passages that I love - Sirius's death, Voldemort's rebirth, the Yule ball, Hermione's isolation in book three, Harry's constant quest for love and affection, Snape's story - I cry. And I always cry as if these things are happening to a friend.
Because, I guess, they are.
After getting courage from him to finish my PhD, in times when I thought that nothing could calm me down and my mouth was in pain with tension, I decided to revisit him in time for the grand finale. Though I always thought that the books were far from perfect, the world that JKR created is undoubtedly amazing. The symbolism, the complexity, the details, HP's world sucks me in every time. I hadn't read the books, since before the end, where reading served one goal and one goal only: to look for clues of how it would all end. This of course obscured the whole experience and made me devour the books without thinking much, without enjoying them properly. So I thought, this time I will do it differently. Indifferent to the ending, I reread all books slowly, sluggishly tasting every detail. I started the last book this morning and I really don't want it to end, for when it does Harry will be gone forevermore for me, at least until July when I will queue with all the rest of his fans to see the last installment in the movie series. I never liked the movies too much, they left so much out. And, I think, HP is not about the big things, it is about the small ones. The details that the books include, the nuances of the relationships, the inner thoughts of the characters, the little traits that page after page make these kids my friends.
So, now you know why I have been so absent lately, I have been sucked back to HP land, reading and reading, spending my days, the sunniest days Belfast had seen for a while, inside a book and not outside in the gardens, the river and the sunshine. But I really don't care, sunshine will come and go. Harry though will always stay with me, my friend forever. When I read the passages that I love - Sirius's death, Voldemort's rebirth, the Yule ball, Hermione's isolation in book three, Harry's constant quest for love and affection, Snape's story - I cry. And I always cry as if these things are happening to a friend.
Because, I guess, they are.
Sunday 10 April 2011
Strangers?
Blanche Dubois from "a streetcar named desire", famously professed that she "always depended on the kindness of strangers". I, myself have been prone to it in this blog, here and here.
But today I want to talk about sort of the opposite feeling, the comfort that comes from being with people you know, people you know very well. Strangers can be exciting and fun. Nothing is at stake with them, if they are nice, all is good, if they are not, nothing is lost really. But people you know, people you know and love can bring another dimension to your life.
With the exception of one person, I live my day to day life here surrounded by strangers. They are all nice people, I've known them now for 4 years (!) but they are not really my friends, my emotional investment to them is sort of minimal. We meet regularly, we talk about work, we moan about life, we bitch about bosses/boyfriends etc but in the end, perhaps solely due to the fact that we don't know each other for long, our relationships are shallow.
Nothing wrong with shallow, don't get me wrong. But we need more, I think. I pass my days thinking that it's ok, I can talk to my real friends on skype/phone, it's all fine. But then, when my friends come here, and I spend a couple of days of normality, with normal people that know me well, going for coffees and all, I think that, fuck this, fuck strangers, love is all that matters.
But today I want to talk about sort of the opposite feeling, the comfort that comes from being with people you know, people you know very well. Strangers can be exciting and fun. Nothing is at stake with them, if they are nice, all is good, if they are not, nothing is lost really. But people you know, people you know and love can bring another dimension to your life.
With the exception of one person, I live my day to day life here surrounded by strangers. They are all nice people, I've known them now for 4 years (!) but they are not really my friends, my emotional investment to them is sort of minimal. We meet regularly, we talk about work, we moan about life, we bitch about bosses/boyfriends etc but in the end, perhaps solely due to the fact that we don't know each other for long, our relationships are shallow.
Nothing wrong with shallow, don't get me wrong. But we need more, I think. I pass my days thinking that it's ok, I can talk to my real friends on skype/phone, it's all fine. But then, when my friends come here, and I spend a couple of days of normality, with normal people that know me well, going for coffees and all, I think that, fuck this, fuck strangers, love is all that matters.
Friday 1 April 2011
Sunday 20 March 2011
Growing up
March hasn't been a good month for posting so far, mostly due to me being über busy at work. Today's post is about exactly that: challenges at work when you're über busy.
Normally, what I do when I am busy is that I sit down and do things. Sure, I am master procrastinator, but I am also fairly efficient when my work also involves others. Unfortunately, when people decide to collaborate two things can happen: either people do what they need to do or the want to fuck each other over and do fuck all because they know that there are people around to clean up the mess and do their work. I have had to put up with the second possibility many times and I usually say nothing, I sit there and take it. Why? Don't know, I often reply that it is because I am "not a confrontational person", but I think that's bullshit. It's not that I am not confrontational, it's that I am a wimp. I cannot tell people what to do. Who am I to tell people what to do anyways? If people don't behave like adults why should I try to turn them into ones? People like not to respect others, unless they are specifically forced to do so. It is sad but true. And the only person that can inspire respect towards yourself is you.
So this week, I didn't do what I normally do, I didn't turn the other cheek. This week I bit back. I sent emails, I confronted people, I called a spade a spade. In the process I had a terrible headache and I cried often. But in the end, I was ok. And I felt very strong. I felt that people should not mess with me. Does this mean that life is a jungle? I guess so, but then again, this is how it is.
Normally, what I do when I am busy is that I sit down and do things. Sure, I am master procrastinator, but I am also fairly efficient when my work also involves others. Unfortunately, when people decide to collaborate two things can happen: either people do what they need to do or the want to fuck each other over and do fuck all because they know that there are people around to clean up the mess and do their work. I have had to put up with the second possibility many times and I usually say nothing, I sit there and take it. Why? Don't know, I often reply that it is because I am "not a confrontational person", but I think that's bullshit. It's not that I am not confrontational, it's that I am a wimp. I cannot tell people what to do. Who am I to tell people what to do anyways? If people don't behave like adults why should I try to turn them into ones? People like not to respect others, unless they are specifically forced to do so. It is sad but true. And the only person that can inspire respect towards yourself is you.
So this week, I didn't do what I normally do, I didn't turn the other cheek. This week I bit back. I sent emails, I confronted people, I called a spade a spade. In the process I had a terrible headache and I cried often. But in the end, I was ok. And I felt very strong. I felt that people should not mess with me. Does this mean that life is a jungle? I guess so, but then again, this is how it is.
Tuesday 1 March 2011
Note to self
: write something about 'the fighter', this year's most accomplished, best movie.
Write something about the predictability of the Oscars (not)
Write something about the predictability of the Oscars (not)
Wednesday 23 February 2011
I hate facebook
I have been meaning to write a post on why I hate facebook for a long time, but I always postponed it. And then today i read this and i can postpone it no more.
Although I see the point of it all, I still regard facebook as a giant gossip machine, complete with narcissism and need for procrastination and all. Don't get me wrong, I, too, am a narcissist. I, too, am a procrastinator (and a huge one at that). Also, most of my friends are on facebook. But for some reason, and without trying to be holier than thou, I just cannot bring myself to join a thing where you state your relationship status for the world to see, I cannot join a thing which will send email alerts to my 'friends' if I break up and I cannot ultimately join a place where friends come in inverted commas. You can opt out of all these hideous little details, some of my friends tell me, you can only use facebook as a way to keep touch with old friends. To which I defiantly reply: I don't care, I really really don't. If I like these old friends, I am going to call them, email them, make some time for them. I don't need 150 virtual friends seeing my pictures from my last holiday- or my idiotic narcissistic self-portraits, with an angle, from above, to look thinner.
I will just continue my lonely self-imposed facebook exile and will miss out on all of these things. I have no idea if some people from primary school would like to find me and giggle hysterically at my pictures. I am sure I can live without all this.
Although I see the point of it all, I still regard facebook as a giant gossip machine, complete with narcissism and need for procrastination and all. Don't get me wrong, I, too, am a narcissist. I, too, am a procrastinator (and a huge one at that). Also, most of my friends are on facebook. But for some reason, and without trying to be holier than thou, I just cannot bring myself to join a thing where you state your relationship status for the world to see, I cannot join a thing which will send email alerts to my 'friends' if I break up and I cannot ultimately join a place where friends come in inverted commas. You can opt out of all these hideous little details, some of my friends tell me, you can only use facebook as a way to keep touch with old friends. To which I defiantly reply: I don't care, I really really don't. If I like these old friends, I am going to call them, email them, make some time for them. I don't need 150 virtual friends seeing my pictures from my last holiday- or my idiotic narcissistic self-portraits, with an angle, from above, to look thinner.
I will just continue my lonely self-imposed facebook exile and will miss out on all of these things. I have no idea if some people from primary school would like to find me and giggle hysterically at my pictures. I am sure I can live without all this.
Tuesday 22 February 2011
Be Creative
For a good cause:
http://movingfaces.emptyfilm.com/
For art:
Just for yourself.
Be creative.
Do something. Beautiful.
Don't just sit there and think.
Thinking is not doing.
Sing.
Draw.
Cook.
Do something. Be creative. Just for yourself.
http://movingfaces.emptyfilm.com/
For art:
Just for yourself.
Be creative.
Do something. Beautiful.
Don't just sit there and think.
Thinking is not doing.
Sing.
Draw.
Cook.
Do something. Be creative. Just for yourself.
Thursday 17 February 2011
Cold War
Can it really be that there are mainstream people that do a good job?
Mark her name: Janelle Monaé
Tuesday 15 February 2011
How is this called?
This is called the domino effect.
Defined as: The domino effect is a chain reaction that occurs when a small change causes a similar change nearby, which then will cause another similar change, and so on in linear sequence. The term is best known as a mechanical effect, and is used as an analogy to a falling row of dominoes. It typically refers to a linked sequence of events where the time between successive events is relatively small. It can be used literally (an observed series of actual collisions) or metaphorically (causal linkages within systems such as global finance or politics) (from wikipedia)
And the question is: is this odd? Should we have not been expecting all this?
Repression, depression and extreme power in the hands of few, it doesn't take a genius to predict where all this is going...
Don't know where all this will end, the good case scenario says in a different world, the bad case scenario says in loads of death and no real change. One thing is however certain: the domino continues...
Defined as: The domino effect is a chain reaction that occurs when a small change causes a similar change nearby, which then will cause another similar change, and so on in linear sequence. The term is best known as a mechanical effect, and is used as an analogy to a falling row of dominoes. It typically refers to a linked sequence of events where the time between successive events is relatively small. It can be used literally (an observed series of actual collisions) or metaphorically (causal linkages within systems such as global finance or politics) (from wikipedia)
And the question is: is this odd? Should we have not been expecting all this?
Repression, depression and extreme power in the hands of few, it doesn't take a genius to predict where all this is going...
Don't know where all this will end, the good case scenario says in a different world, the bad case scenario says in loads of death and no real change. One thing is however certain: the domino continues...
Friday 4 February 2011
Scattered thoughts
Perhaps there is nothing more to be said about what is happening in Egypt and what just happened in Tunisia before that, apart from us watching again the amazing movie Persepolis. It's all been said there.
But perhaps things are not exactly the same: fascism, oligarchy and suppression takes many forms and Egypt and Tunisia were not extremely religious countries, the way Satrapi's Iran is in Persepolis.
I am following the news, listening to Chomsky's comments, Obama's empty words and can't help thinking that it all started with a boy who set himself on fire.
Is that what it takes?
But perhaps things are not exactly the same: fascism, oligarchy and suppression takes many forms and Egypt and Tunisia were not extremely religious countries, the way Satrapi's Iran is in Persepolis.
I am following the news, listening to Chomsky's comments, Obama's empty words and can't help thinking that it all started with a boy who set himself on fire.
Is that what it takes?
Saturday 29 January 2011
Inadequate
Black Swan is a beautiful movie.
It is beautifully directed, beautifully acted. Its lead actress is beautiful. The cinematography is beautiful.
But unfortunately it is so simplistic, that it is really inadequate. It doesn't live up to its own hype and in the end it is forgettable.
The story is such a cliché: innocent but obsessive ballerina (insert any profession here) dreams to play in swan lake, embodying simultaneously the white and the black swan. Unable to be in touch with the dark side, and throrougly assisted by her own psychological issues, she creates an alternate hallucinating reality where a fellow ballerina is after her and her role, and in the end she loses her mind. She becomes consumed with by the role she so desperately tries to identify with and in the end, only in death can she find the union between her two sides that she so craves for.
Simple? Yes (if you don't believe me just watch/read any production of swan lake).
Simplistic? It didn't have to be but it is.
I am trying to think why this movie didn't work for me. I wanted to see it so much, it ticked so many boxes. But in the end I left the theatre entirely unimpressed and emotionally distanced.
I think the problem of this movie is that it pretends to be something else, for so long, that in the end, when the truth is clear to the audience, the rest of the movie feels like a cheat. Why did it have to pretend to be a 'psychological horror movie'? Was it only in order to make us feel Nina's claustrophobia and paranoia? I am sure you could do that without the fake horror bits. Everyone feels that people are after them, but they don't visualize it as a horror movie...
What is left in the end? - I don't know.
Barbara Hershey was over the top, but good, in the role of the pushy mother.
Natalie Portman was very good in the first half, I think.
Female masturbation scenes are the thing du jour, so I guess, that's also a plus.
And my favorite scene of the movie: when Nina grows her black wings dancing. Impeccably done, beautiful scene.
But in the end, as always, what is beauty without substance?
Thursday 27 January 2011
Thursday 20 January 2011
The same
I think the biggest problem with growing up is losing your identity. Not exactly sure if young people do have one in any case, but let me explain what I mean.
You come into this world, young, naive and clueless. Do you have an identity, do you have an opinion? Well, you sort of do (kids do say 'i like this','I don't like that') but they are swiftly silenced by their parents, who quickly impose their own beliefs and desires to their children, creating an army of spooky mini-me's.
Then you grow up, reaching adolecence, and you try to find a voice, you read a little, travel a little, see a movie or two, talk with a couple of people who are different than you. You think you have an opinion, you think you are starting to find yourself. Only to find out,perhaps years later, that you did exactly what your 'generation' did: everybody raised in the same time, in the same country (or perhaps in the whole world) likes, behaves, thinks of the same things. Childern of the sixties, the Romantics, the yuppies, Genration X and so on and so forth.
Then you get older still and you really think you'll get it. You get a job, you become more mature and you think you can actually see the real you. But then the other tragedy happens, you find the person you love. And then all your own self is stiffled inside the all-singing, all-dancing monster of couple-dom. There you really lose yourself and you really do not know where your own thoughts, desires, opinions start and where the better half's end.
Having all this fairly pessimistic story in mind, it was a real pleasure for me to see my friend R who is seven months pregnant. Normally pregnant people go through yet another transformation: from their normal selves to this 'mommy' thing, who doesn't have another topic of discussion and concern apart from the unborn child (for things to become only worse when the child arrives - but let's leave this one asside). For someone who has no children, my biggest fear for when this time comes is how will I keep my individuality when the little person arrives. So, it has been such a pleasure to see that other people can actually do that, they can still be themselves even with a belly superimposed on them. And having children (or about to) does not necessarily entail a total loss of self.
Could we be in it to win it, us mothers-to-be of the new milleium?
You come into this world, young, naive and clueless. Do you have an identity, do you have an opinion? Well, you sort of do (kids do say 'i like this','I don't like that') but they are swiftly silenced by their parents, who quickly impose their own beliefs and desires to their children, creating an army of spooky mini-me's.
Then you grow up, reaching adolecence, and you try to find a voice, you read a little, travel a little, see a movie or two, talk with a couple of people who are different than you. You think you have an opinion, you think you are starting to find yourself. Only to find out,perhaps years later, that you did exactly what your 'generation' did: everybody raised in the same time, in the same country (or perhaps in the whole world) likes, behaves, thinks of the same things. Childern of the sixties, the Romantics, the yuppies, Genration X and so on and so forth.
Then you get older still and you really think you'll get it. You get a job, you become more mature and you think you can actually see the real you. But then the other tragedy happens, you find the person you love. And then all your own self is stiffled inside the all-singing, all-dancing monster of couple-dom. There you really lose yourself and you really do not know where your own thoughts, desires, opinions start and where the better half's end.
Having all this fairly pessimistic story in mind, it was a real pleasure for me to see my friend R who is seven months pregnant. Normally pregnant people go through yet another transformation: from their normal selves to this 'mommy' thing, who doesn't have another topic of discussion and concern apart from the unborn child (for things to become only worse when the child arrives - but let's leave this one asside). For someone who has no children, my biggest fear for when this time comes is how will I keep my individuality when the little person arrives. So, it has been such a pleasure to see that other people can actually do that, they can still be themselves even with a belly superimposed on them. And having children (or about to) does not necessarily entail a total loss of self.
Could we be in it to win it, us mothers-to-be of the new milleium?
Friday 7 January 2011
Important questions?
What is a new year? What does it mean? What does it bring?
It can be one of the same, you can continue doing exactly what you did the previous year and pretend that it's ok.
You can continue doing exactly the same than the previous year, minus a bleep in January, when you pretend that you've changed.
You can try to change - but fail.
Or you can think about it.
I don't mean 'think about it' in a cliché way, we are all so grateful and we need to evaluate our lives etc. You can really just sit and think about it. You can think, what's going on, do I like myself, am I cool, am I nice to other people, am I nice to myself? Do I like my life?
I think this is perhaps the best question one can ask oneself: do I like my life? Is it 'me', this life, does it suit me? Is it what I always wanted to do, is this where I always wanted to be?
Not all our childhood dreams come true, but there is a sense in which we need to be true to ourselves, at least as much as we can be. We need to remember and remind ourselves what we used to like, what we wanted to be like. And when what we are really, really doesn't match that, perhaps we need to consider changing. Not for any other reason but because clichés are true, and we only live once. And before you die, you know, you need to look back and regardless of anything else, you need to be able to say that you were happy. You need to say that you had one chance in this world and you didn't blow it.
And if what I say doesn't persuade you, I suggest you read The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Tolstoy.
Other than that, Happy New Year everyone, and Happy New Decade!
It can be one of the same, you can continue doing exactly what you did the previous year and pretend that it's ok.
You can continue doing exactly the same than the previous year, minus a bleep in January, when you pretend that you've changed.
You can try to change - but fail.
Or you can think about it.
I don't mean 'think about it' in a cliché way, we are all so grateful and we need to evaluate our lives etc. You can really just sit and think about it. You can think, what's going on, do I like myself, am I cool, am I nice to other people, am I nice to myself? Do I like my life?
I think this is perhaps the best question one can ask oneself: do I like my life? Is it 'me', this life, does it suit me? Is it what I always wanted to do, is this where I always wanted to be?
Not all our childhood dreams come true, but there is a sense in which we need to be true to ourselves, at least as much as we can be. We need to remember and remind ourselves what we used to like, what we wanted to be like. And when what we are really, really doesn't match that, perhaps we need to consider changing. Not for any other reason but because clichés are true, and we only live once. And before you die, you know, you need to look back and regardless of anything else, you need to be able to say that you were happy. You need to say that you had one chance in this world and you didn't blow it.
And if what I say doesn't persuade you, I suggest you read The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Tolstoy.
Other than that, Happy New Year everyone, and Happy New Decade!
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