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| 12:00am 03/03/2004 |
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mood:  amused
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Delayed update this month, if at all.
Life has decided to be diffucult. Do not fret, my little ones; I do have a lot of stuff to put up. |
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| 12:17am 03/11/2003 |
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mood:  blah
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I'm sorry I've been forgetting this journal! Update for this month is delayed, as I'm busy with the Nanowrimo challenge.
Journal for said challenge can be found here. :) |
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| 09:04am 01/08/2003 |
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mood:  accomplished
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My apologies for not being able to update last month. Various things, such as a vacation to Poland and some bad internet cannectioning, got in the way.
Anyway, new update. :) |
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| Oy... |
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| 10:55am 01/06/2003 |
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mood:  anxious
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I had an update planned for today, and I find that I can't log in. Not to FTP, not to the host site. I'm guessing something must've been screwed up with the recent problems they were having.
Well, I sent them an e-mail requesting help; let's hope I get it. |
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| 11:34am 29/04/2003 |
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mood:  content
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I have set a date for the launching of Neffinesse.dk - 1. of May.
Go me. |
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| On being different. |
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| 01:52pm 22/04/2003 |
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mood:  thoughtful
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You were not allowed to be different in my old school.
I could give many examples, most of course pertaining to me, but let me instead tell you of a classmate I had.
His name was Stefan; he lived alone with his mother and his sister, his Spanish father off somewhere, no one was sure were. So, yes, Stefan was a problem child, and things - from what I hear - have not been getting better for him.
In school he not only hung out with the bad crowd, he was the bad crowd. But he was also different, and nothing amused him more than to make this clear to the teachers.
One day, in sewing class, we were made to create small fluffy replicas of the school's hideous mascot. We could make it whatever colour we wanted with whatever colour hair and whatever expression as long as it was happy.
So Stefan wanted to make it green (as it were) with red hair (just as it were) and a cheerful smile. But he wanted to make the eyes black with a white pupil, rather than the other way around.
This, the teacher screeched, was not allowed. This was Different.
He insisted stubbornly; given that some people were cheerfully making mascots out of coal black material, surely it would hurt no one if he did it this way.
It would, the teacher insisted. White on black looked Bad. Different.
Stefan was sent to the prinicipal and we went back to work, trying not to seem like we were on his side. When he came back we were silent, pretending he wasn't there; pretending he'd never been away.
He made it with black pupils over white eyes. |
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| 08:52pm 02/04/2003 |
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mood:  creative
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A story! Slight incest warning...
( Origins of the Kingdom )
The reviews I've gotten for it have told me in no uncertain terms that I should write more. So I'm pondering something with Aghanim at the center. |
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| An old, recycled post... |
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| 05:27pm 25/03/2003 |
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mood: thoughtful
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... From another journal of mine:
Y'know...
I didn't really think about it till today, but a few days ago, I was visiting the New Carlsberg Glyptotek (a museum) and... I was left alone. No security guards or retired couples giving me dirty looks or anything!
Just a year ago or so, when my hair was longer than to reach just my shoulders and my curves were... less prominent (I was a late bloomer; shut up), whenever I visited the Glyptotek, which is my favourite museum, I would be stalked by guards and get nasty condescending looks by the "distinguished" folks walking about in there. And it hurt me, because I love that place, but that atmosphere of, "You're not welcome here, you juvenile delinquent," kept me far away.
Now my hair is chopped up to be more business-like, I've grown slightly and I suppose I tend to look more cynical than I did back then - and no one glared at me.
As relieved as I am over this developement, I'm also struck by the injustice. I've loved and adored history from when I first saw Elsinore castle tower above me with towers and turrets, only to be more enthralled as we were guided through the history and rooms. Soon after followed my obsession with the antique times, and let me tell you, the Glyptotek has some of largest collections of Roman, Greek and Egyptian art in all of Denmark.
I loved these things. And there has never - never - been a single incident of vandalism in that place, by teenagers or otherwise. Yet, because I looked young and weren't accompanied by adults, I was viewed as a trouble-maker from the moment I set foot inside. It's a disgusting trend, and it persists.
... and I've no idea what to do about it. |
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| Pettiness |
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| 01:51pm 17/03/2003 |
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mood: thoughtful
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It permeates every walk of life, every single day, and I must wonder why. Why bother?
But then, that is the very essence of the concept, isn't it? Things so small, so incignificant, that caring about them for any long period of time - or, indeed, act upon them - is really... stupid. Things that are either cruel for the sake of being cruel or whispering of things, hidden in the darkness, that you've no power to change.
Jealousy, that worst of creatures. I used to be insanely jealous a few people; despised all their work because of it, though I'd reluctantly admit that yes, it was good, but my innate pettiness kept me there in the shadows, whispering and slandering.
Then I realised how thoroughly stupid it was. These people were just doing something they were enjoying; which they found to be interesting, as I was. What a disgusting little hypocrite I were, going about like that, instead of saying anything to their faces.
But what could I say to their faces? "I hate you because others like you better than me"? Can you see where I'm going? It's ridiculous; it's a waste of time. So I grew out of it.
Unfortunately, others seem to not be able to. Some, even into their late lives - no names mentioned - can be so childish, so petty and jealous that it's a wonder anyone can stand them. So I ask; why bother? It's all so piddly anyway; we all have better things to spend life on than being petty over those little things. |
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| Oh, no! |
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| 10:15pm 10/03/2003 |
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mood:  blank
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My first quiz post in yonder new journal!
( Quizlets ) |
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| 08:38pm 08/03/2003 |
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mood: satisfied
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YES!
Frames and image slicing is my bitch! The next generation of Neffinesse.dk layouts are being thought out as we speak... |
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| On the subject of shock poetry: |
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| 04:16pm 07/03/2003 |
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mood:  cynical
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Now, I write. I don't know why; all I know is that I've done so since I was a child. And one thing I've much admiration for is poetry.
Of course, what is poetry? The latest few decades have thrown concepts of rhythm, rhyme and stanzas to the wind, so what really defines poetry anymore? My bid - emotion induced in the reader. I can read some tumbling nonsense poem, and still find myself touched, if only because the raw emotion shines through, affecting me.
Poetry is something rendered with love; bitter or ecstatic, it's love all the same. Thus we come to the subject of "shock poetry"...
There's a Danish so-called 'poet' who were part of a large cultural exhibition a while ago. He sat naked in a plexi-glass box, and for the first few days sold his semen to anyone who'd buy it (then he stopped; appearantly the stress of jacking off and selling his jizz became too great for him). But then he started reciting his 'poems'... Roughly paraphrased (and translated), they went like so:
"Fuck the government,
Fuck soceity,
Fuck the taxes,
Fuck the military,
Fuck the world,
Fuck you, you fucking cunt,
Fuck you, fucker..." Etc.
... What exactly is this supposed to induce? Some sort of emotion about his plight? Anything but disgust for his so-called poetic ability? Is it supposed to induce disgust for his so-called poetic ability?
No. In the interview he claimed it was to raise awareness about the corruption of the state. News flash, sir. We are all keenly aware of that corruption; we don't need your juvenile attempts at instant fame and attention to tell us that. Grow up and write something creative.
Shock poetry is exactly that. Words - mostly swear words - written purely to grab the attention to the poem, not the idea. It is the cheapest form of writing, and subject of my eternal disgust. If that makes me a snob, so be it. Some things should be looked down upon. |
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| 05:30pm 14/02/2003 |
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mood:  bitchy
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Valentine's Day is stupid.
Not because I don't have a Valentine, but because it just is; stupid. Why is it in any way more romantic to waste money on flowers and candy on this day of the year? Heart-shaped, no less.
Yes, we're told to buy the hearts of our loved ones, with hearts in plastic and metal and edible goods. Little heart-shaped balloons, heart-shaped chocolate cookies and strawberry cakes; sweet, heart-shaped picture frames and magnets, sometimes combined. Heart-shaped bon-bons, pillows and - gods help me - inflatiable lounge chairs. Cloth and paper covered in hearts and heart-shaped cards for the half dozen roses you're obligated to buy. Heart-shaped necklaces and rings, sold in under a minute in cherry-red heart-shaped boxes.
Stylized hearts heart-shaped, of course, not icky real hearts.
Here's your love-in-the-box, cash or credit card, thank you, have a nice day, please come again, next, hello, here's your love-in-the-box, cash or...
It'd be disgusting if it wasn't so damn stupid.
... In case you're wondering, yes, this is what passes for being romantic with me. |
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