I was walking along a path with two friends - the sun was setting - suddenly the sky turned blood red - I paused,
feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence—there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and
the city - my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety - and I sensed an infinite scream passing
through nature.
- Edvard Munch
Hello, it's been one long month and you don't care, let me introduce you to Edvard Munch's
Scream. Part
of. I would have wanted to put up the rest of the painting, because I particularly love the background, but I don't
like tall headers.
February 13th:
I talked about an autistic boy that visited my house in an email once, long ago. Why did he clap his hands, why
did his limbs jar constantly, why did he talk to himself and make incongruous sounds.
What such individuals have to say about their experience is offering new clues to their condition. It also conforms
remarkably to what scientists see inside their brains. By and large, people with ASD have difficulty bringing
different cognitive functions together in an integrated way. There is a tendency to hyperfocus on detail and miss
the big picture. Coordinating volition with movement and sensation can be difficult for some. Chandima
Rajapatirana, an autistic writer from Potomac, Md., offers this account: "Helplessly I sit while Mom calls me to
come. I know what I must do, but often I can't get up until she says, 'Stand up,'" he writes. "[The] knack of
knowing where my body is does not come easy for me. Interestingly I do not know if I am sitting or standing. I
am not aware of my body unless it is touching something ... Your hand on mine lets me know where my hand is.
Jarring my legs by walking tells me I am alive."
(Excerpt from
Inside the
Autistic Mind by Claudia Wallis, TIME Magazine, May 7, 2006)
Without that knowledge, which I acquired about three weeks ago, I thought it was much deeper than that, as in
an autistic person would be literally in his head, in another world. Now, at least I know. That is our little
May-Be-Valuable Information of the day.
February is halfway through and I still do not possess a - quoted from an earlier entry - "hardcover spiral-bound
blank white paper Dream and Ultimate Companion for the year 2007" (Though some of those details have
changed, after I laid eyes on a moleskin one at another expensive bookstore). This just goes to show how bad I
am at these resolution things people are obligated to "resolve" every time a Brand New Year comes into effect.
Or, how short of cash I am. But, I will deal. I have found alternatives to this notebook: my cellphone, stray
pieces of paper, and my skin. As I type this the print on my hand, similar to
my current class schedule, distracts me a little. I shall
dismiss the desire for a physical inanimate companion as... a waste of pen ink and paper, and on the whole a sad
excuse for a resolution. I mean, writing / drawing everyday? Jesus.
This year's companion, more like, has been a little red Webster's dictionary. More than seventy-five thousand
words, could serve as a thesaurus. 209 pesos of knowledge. Already, I have been asked countless times why I
carry the damn thing around, this weapon against the (real?) world, and the world of literature and philosophy I
am drowning myself in ninety-nine percent of the time. "How can you read so much? And with no
pictures?!"
The pictures are in my head; nothing beats the imagination (this could well be a bad pun for the cases of death in
sleep), one life is never enough so we cheat our only one and gobble up others before the
big train ride is over. Any way we can, there's a whole
(drop-down?) menu to choose from. Reading. Writing. Role-playing. It isn't so much an "outlet for creativity" as it
is Escapism. A thing doesn't need to have a respiratory system to be living.
And you wonder why you turn into an introvert! Only because everyone else is. The Palahniuk and the Foer and
the Plath. The livejournal superstar yet manqué professional author. The Nietzsche, the Atwood, the Plato, the
Shakespeare, the Palmer, the Erdogan. The McGregor, the Poe, the Wordsworth, the Smith. The [insert your
surname here]. That isn't even a quarter of the list. Introversion so extreme it goes into the league of extroverted
introversion. I print out quotes, poems, stories, journal entries, and they serve as company in school. White noise
produced by a symphony of six billion whispers, which standing alone would be nothing but the sneeze of an ant.
I am not going to end this paragraph saying "Did that even make sense," which is a lousy excuse for a disclaimer;
and instead: RSVP.
----------------
February16th:
So do youuuu have a vaaalentiiiine?
No.
Why! Don't you like this day? This is my favorite day of the year, next to my birthday!
No. I don't exactly celebrate it, I haven't for sixteen years anyway. Not for real, not like you and stuff.
Awwww...
Jessica said, "I was going around saying Screw Valentine's Day." "I actually said something to that effect," I
replied, "except I felt Fuck Valentine's Day got the message across better." But, unlike me, she had a punchline to
her story, a boy gave her flowers and confessed his love for her. Flattery had her floating into the classroom on
today before she started her story.
I actually never had a story in the first place, but anyway.
So. Boys stopping classes to give flowers to their Persons. Banner-messages on classroom windows. Girl squeals
and Boy air punches / pats on backs. The day you can be as mushy as you want and completely get away with
it. Except for maybe a few cases, Chris didn't get away with it, on the fifteenth he skipped an hour and a half of
P.E. to sit at the café with me, and he laid out his pain nicely on the table while continually saying "why" and
"I'm so confused." The finale some four hours later was showing me the messages he had saved, and told me to
take notice of the dates. And I didn't know how to tell him how much I knew how he was feeling, the paranoia,
confusion, the attempt at rationality so desperate it could well be considered naivety... Instead I commented on
how his eyes didn't turn red when he cried, which is a good thing; told him what I would do and recited a quote I
read online: "If life has taught me anything, it's that, in the end, everything will be OK. The catch is, 'OK' is
rarely what we wanted or what we expected."
The Beatles had asked, "All the lonely people, where do they come from?" and I'm not too sure about that.
Meredith Grey says one of her theories is that they come from the surgical wing of hospitals. All I know is, for
sure, this melancholy league surfaces on Valentine's Day. The ones rolling their eyes at big bouquets of flowers
and heart-shaped chocolate boxes, mocking the girls putting on a hundred calories per heart-shaped expensive
chocolate... the stars of a bravado ("I don't have a valentine. So? Like I care."), these big fat quasi-Valentine's
Haters saying, "Fuck Valentine's Day."
----------------
Sometimes it would probably be better (this contradicts most of what I stand for) to be oblivious to everything.
Having presages that eventually fulfill themselves is not exactly some sort of talent to brag about. Being oblivious
permits you to stand in disbelief when that happens, it permits you to be overwhelmed by it. Say, a lot of
How-could-this-happen-to-me's and I'm-so-confused's and I-have-to-think-about-this'.
Otherwise - which is having enough of a brain to have a presage - you throw yourself into denial,
Of-course-I-saw-that-coming's and I-don't-care-anymore's, while still succumbing to the midnight monologues
(which you would rather refer to as a two-sided debate, of course, you are fantastic at this denial hoohaw), from
which, by the end, you acquire a clogged nose, exhausted eyes and a wet side on the pillow.
----------------
(These dotted lines give me a defence weapon against my inability to make a smooth gradient on subjects. And
so do these parentheses.)
While watching Blood Diamond last night some comments about Africa were said, and mother was horrible saying
"If we go there, we'll be the prettiest!!!!11"
Adrienne: Um, hello, listen to yourself, that was such an unecessary comment.
M: But it's true! Look at them.
others: *laugh along*
A: So you're saying, everyone there is ugly?
M: NO! There are pretty people there too, except we people are prettier.
A: Your point? It doesn't change anything. Either way, it was so racist.
M: Whatever you say. You think you're so perfect.
You know when certain things repulse you so much you don't even react towards it anymore, you just start
crying, breathing heavily, and immediately distance yourself? Or maybe it's just me. I didn't even BOTHER to
fucking retaliate to that last comment OH MY GOD what the motherfuck am I doing here with a person who can
actually THINK like that and LAUGH about it I mean jesus your own daughter pointed out something so obvious
and instead of being ashamed you insult her oh my god adslgkjasldgjas and this is my MOTHER whom I am
trying to be nice to because she complains about her decreasing role as a Mother to my father but how can I be
NOT IRRITATED WHEN SHE GOES AROUND SAYING JACK
SHIT LIKE
THIS
Sentence-structure defiance a result from not being able to complain anywhere else, any inconvenience caused is
regretted.
Or not.
----------------
Photos in the previous post - now archived - were from my trip last Thursday. Our school has an Outreach
program that has classes take turns to go to poverty-stricken villages, to help out. We were assigned to families,
and they would then decide what we were to do.
My partner and I only had to take care of
children. (Now would be an appropriate time to mention that almost everyone thinks we look, sound and
talk alike. The talking I understand because we have similar accents. But the look? Both of us are the only two
people who can't see the resemblance.)
Going to
that place (
+1) was definitely something to
remember. Seeing the way they lived, some barefoot (I watched a little boy's bare foot actually brush off the top
of newly laid dog faeces), legs blackened by dirt. Some sold fishballs, some siomai. A group gambled at nine in
the morning.
Little boys played with
plastic toy guns (
+1). What
were their dreams, the children, how did they look at me, did they see me as some kind of elite with my jeans
and Diesel sneakers and Swatch watch? A boy said, "hey that's what we were doing just now! It's on the girl's
camera!"
----------------
Hearing a song from an album I Plan to buy On The Radio, this irritates me, I like listening to new songs on the
album itself for That Feeling. The lying on the bed, taking in every detail of the album booklet and the case, while
being blown away with each new track. I have succesfully avoided anything from Bloc Party's new album but
wait! Look! 88.3 FM DJ Jamaica is all Bloc Party Fan and plays just that.
Going to the mall and making one thousand mental notes of Things to Buy, this irritates me, I am trying
(somewhat) to save my money for.... Something, I'm not even sure what it is, I think it is for a plane ticket
Back, or a Zen Vision:M, or something, I don't know, what the fuck? It makes me feel better seeing all the
money not being spent.
Irony irony irony irony irony irony
(Although, by the time I post this I already would have bought the abovementioned album. That is if the
bookstore doesn't suck me in first and compel me to hand over my 1000 peso bill for yet another book.)
I still remember how you looked that afternoon, there was only you. You said, "it's just like a full moon." Blood
beats faster in our veins, we left our trousers by the canal... And our fingers - they almost touched.
You should have asked me for it, I would have been brave, you should have asked me for it, how could I say
no?
And our love could have soared over playgrounds and rooftops, every park bench screams your name. I kept
your tie, I've gone wherever you wanted. And on that teachers' training day, we wrote our names on every
train. Laughed at the people off to work so monochrome and so lukewarm.
And I can see our days are becoming nights, I could feel your heartbeat across the grass. We should have run, I
would go with you anywhere, I should have kissed you by the water. You should have asked me for it, I would
let you if you asked me. I still remember.
How enigmatic(ally stupid) are we, loving what breaks crumples destroys enervates us? What songs do you love
the most? Which films? What kind of poetry? Who are you going after?
These, are they rainbows and unicorns, strawberries and cream, cotton candy clouds and lollipop trees? Or are
they thorns and the color of the traditional maroon rose, cryptic passages and monochrome photographs,
enunciations of analgesia and secret masochism, melancholia-inspired paintings and the black of the used water,
midnight brooding and paranoia attacks?
----------------
Dear anonymous commenter #7,
I would like for this to be resolved, but if you choose to remain anonymous nothing will happen and both parties
will lose out (Don't start thinking "I'm not going to lose anything, sucker," because since you left the comment,
obviously it means something to you).
Sincerely,
Adrienne
Anyway, I was reading a school friend's livejournal and was surprised to see my name on the best friend list.
Like, what? So, so weird.
----------------
Let's end this lightly.
This friday is the JUNIOR-SENIOR PROM and I have THREE INCH STILETTOS I DON'T KNOW HOW TO
WALK IN (!!!!!!!!!!) HA HA HA HA HA HA I am so going to fucking make a fool of myself. Word of the day would
be "tomfoolery" which means just that. My dress is black but I almost bought a bright pink one because I liked
the design. The black one's more classy, the very helpful effeminate designer said, complete with the yellow
measuring tape slung around his neck, The pink one just looks like a regular night out. Without thinking much I
went with the designer's verdict and paid for the black one that may or may not make me look fantastically obese
on Friday evening, depending on.... Well actually, depending on nothing.
The situation at the botique was rather awkward. Funny-awkward. The two ladies of the shop complimented me
on my "assets" (b**b*). I just laughed because I didn't think I could say, "Thank you, I like yours too!"
Post anything that you want. A secret, a confession, a fear, a love, your opinion about me...anything, but be sure
to post anonymously and honestly.
