Ima Robot
When my music stops I hear everyone yelling.
SO I BRING YOU,
Ima Robot.
From professionally bowie-esque:
To a kickass version of hot hot heat:
They have proved their abilities. High five for pulling off the synth, guys.
PostSecret.
“I am afraid that I am responsible for my own loneliness”
This one made me think. Can one be blamed for their own condition/situation? Well, I guess it’s better to blame no one at all, but when it comes down to it is it better to blame other people or yourself?
“I go to the movies to imagine what life would be like if only I could fit in”
That nearly brought me to tears. It is terribly close to home, and it is exactly what I do. There is nothing more comforting than the positive side of ones own imagination; of escaping from reality into your own world, or someone else’s world, acted out on screen.
“I’m not brave enough to take the risks that would make me truly happy”
My philosophy is derived from the Palahniuk quote “Without access to true chaos, we will never have true peace.” So obviously this one stuck out to me. I often worry that I’m missing out on some kind of secret reality because my anxiety inhibits me from diving into certain things that I feel would bring peace to myself.
“I am tired of taking pills to make me feel better”
Pills can put a serious damper on things. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to say “No, I can’t tonight, I don’t have my pills.” It’s not so much the aviane (a form of birth control), but celexa is unlike prozac with the fact it doesn’t roll around in your system if you miss one. It drains you while simultaneously re-directing misguided chemicals in your brain. You sacrifice parts of reality for the possibility of being able to experience life in the same way other people do.
“Often I find myself wanting to be alone, but my biggest fear is that I will be.”
What human being has not had this thought at least once? It is a primal thing, the fear of loneliness. If you were alone or unable to survive amongst other beings you were not able to carry on the species and survive. This sort of instinct clashes with the desire for some solitary time away from society, where you are able to just relax. Ever since there has been some kind of culture people have been faced with these intertwining and conflicting wants. Unity and isolation. It has escalated now in current society, and amongst ourselves we must find the proper combination of the two for ourselves. I definitely struggle with this often.
Last but not least, my personal favorite:
“Shit, I was almost happy again.”
I actually had a conversation with Dr. Rivera about this earlier. Every time my anxiety disappears and I feel calm, I get so excited about being calm I become anxious again. (Yes, my emotions are one giant ironic mess) She suggested that when I begin to feel aware that I am happy, I should accept it and not hold a joy fit. (Not in those words, of course.)
Home, or, not so much.
After the events of this summer, I will never consider this my true home. My friends are here, but they are leaving, or have left. I inevitably belong elsewhere, in a place that is not overpopulated with corn and large men with breasts in camo hobbling about with ak-47’s. (I have never even shot a gun in my life, or held one, for that matter. Yet here in Lewisburg, arms and hunting are a major part of the culture.) Going to the city reminds me that life is real, and that there are other people out there that are like me.
Silicone Valley
Here are some photos I’ve gathered with my phone (wonderful quality, i know) during my time here in Cali.
That is a rat, on top of a cat, on top of a dog.
Yeah, I know. Sit on that for a while.
Church of Scientology on State Street in Santa Barbara. Hah.
I feel like I’m in the Land Before Time, and I love it.
While I’m at it.
This book raises many interesting points, and I would encourage you all to read it (Men and women alike). It addresses many issues people are afraid to confront, or refuse to confront altogether. It is written from an intimate and genuine point of view.
One point it raises which I find particularly frustrating is that of the name game. In the first chapter it asks “What is the worst thing you can call a man? Bitch, Girl, Pussy, etc. Is that not royally fucked up?” Also, she talks about the fact that a sexually active woman/girl/whatever is considered by society to be a big ‘ol whore, while men who are sexually active are players. What the fuck is that? I’m sure, if you’re a female, you’ve come across this sort of thing in some form before. This book urges you take action, even in the smallest way, because it can still make a difference.
There are still many battles to be won, especially for young women when standards for us in this society are growing more and more out of proportion on a daily basis. You can’t look anywhere without seeing some kind of advertisement for beauty products that will supposedly transform you into this beautiful and perfect juicy cyborg woman that every man wants. BULLSHIT! I mean sure, embrace your femininity, but do it for the right reasons, not because you’re trying to live up to some picture that’s been photoshopped and edited in every way shape and form and printed on the inside of every cover of every magazine chocked full ‘o SECKZ TIPZ! and HOW 2 LOOK HAWT 4 UR MAN!.
Fuck. More on this later.
A Story For You All
While bored in California, I stumbled upon a surprisingly startling and unnervingly true story from a book I just purchased called Full Frontal Feminism: A Young Woman’s Guide To Why Feminism Matters
I don’t know if you’ve heard of “Pregnancy Crisis Centers”, but they are mock Planned Parenthood centers that parade themselves about as women’s healthcare centers, but in reality they are there to bully or trick women into remaining pregnant.
Here is the story.
“According to a Planned Parenthood email, a seventeen year old girl mistakenly walked into a “Pregnancy Crisis Center” thinking it was Planned Parenthood, which is next door. The group took down the girl’s personal confidential information and told her to come back for her appointment, which would be held in their “other office” (The real Planned Parenthood office nearby).
When she showed up for her nonexistant appoinment, she was met by the police, who had be erroneously tipped that a minor was being forced to abort. The Pregnancy Crisis Center staff followed up this harrasment by staking out the girl’s house, phoning her father at work and even talking to her fellow classmates about her pregnancy, urging them to harass her. “
Your taxes pay for these “Crisis Centers”. Good to know, eh?
Who knew this day would come so fast?
Today I am leaving for California.
I will be gone for Katie’s birthday.
I will be gone for Paige’s college leave,
meaning today was my last goodbye to her.
Over the past few months I’ve developed a very very close relationship to her. Closer to most people that I ever get. She is one of my best friends; I can confide in her and trust that she won’t mention anything to anyone. I can take her on adventures, I can rant with her, I can show up to her house without warning, and I have done so nearly every day that I have been home this summer. Even as I watched the car pull away from my driveway this morning, I could feel a tug. A gap has already begun to form.
My eyes are welling up now as I attempt to type this.
Her absence will be similar to the feeling of a missing limb.
I suppose now I can look forward to the road trip and visit that I will be forcing upon Carol at the end of the month (Although it probably wouldn’t really be considered forcing being that she is willing and wants to go) and keep in touch as much as possible.
So now, my mission is to make the trip to California worth it.
It sure as hell better be.
My poster of hate.
This was not meant to actually be read by anyone, but I find it to be so golden I just can’t let it go to waste.
Ahem.
“I hate you, I hope you get screwed over by life. I hope you are brutally beaten by a savage gang of man-rapers. You are a worthless piece of shit. I hope you contract a horrible genital disease that makes maggots erupt from your penis and consume it so you can’t reproduce mini fuck-faced liars. I am not being dramatic. I am being honest, something you wouldn’t know about. You are short and shallow, two revolting traits for a male. It’s pathetic to know I once trusted you, and I hope one day you will feel as much pain as I am feeling right now and you off yourself because of it. I hope you are as miserable, as you should be if you are that fucking stupid. You wouldn’t survive two days in my head, or two minutes right now in my presence, you short piece of shit. Grow a set and figure out what the fuck you want before your body shows up in a gutter with the blood drained from head to toe. LOVE, ALI <3″
It seemed reasonable at the time. Oh well.
THE SUN WILL RISE, EVEN IF YOU DON’T HAPPEN TO BE THERE.
Meet Cajun Dance Party. Catchy bastards.
