I woke up with Nirvana's Blandest mysteriously stuck in my head. This, of course, with lines like "You're my favourite of my saviours, you're my razor" needs to be on my self-injury cd. I set it up for download, and will be reburning the mix cd once I have the song. I hate the order of the cd currently, anyway. So burning it again will be a good thing.
I've been listening to Six By Seven and the Manics religiously, lately. The Manics have been a consistent religion for about a year and a half now, but Six By Seven are a more...fleeting devotion. Flitting in and out.
I'm going to have to renew my gold membership here, soon. More banner ads. Hard to believe I've almost been here a year, already. I remember...
My thoughts and body are very slow, lately. I'm tired. I slept 13 hours, last night. I'll be going to bed again soon. Watched fashion shows all day. Badgley Mischka, Randolph Duke. Skipped Donna Karan (DKNY stands for her! I never knew that! [I'm a bit slow, and made my mother laugh, when I said this]), watched pieces of Valentino. These watching habits basically sum up my affections for the various designers.
Sitting around without moving at all seems to be the way I feel best. Minimises the tiredness and dizziness. And since fashion is the only thing on tv that I ever care about in the slightest... Right.
Need to write a research paper this weekend, but can't do anything but sleep. My 'You can't go to bed until you write this paper' rule worked much better when I was in an insomniatic state, than now. I'm too fucking tired. I want to watch a movie, but I don't even believe I have the energy for that.
The differences between boys and girls are fascinating. As is the fact that 'je suis' means both 'I am' and 'I follow' in French. You are what you follow, you follow what you are. I find the first to be a bit more fascinating, though I don't think the cycle ever really stops.
Thinking about differences and guns and suicide and life-cycles. It's all a collage of images, in my head. They kindof all blur together. This leads to this, this is this. All indistinct, unconscious. The sound of 88-92-96 is perfect, for now.
There's a girl in my Government class. She's in a wheelchair for physical problems, and is graduating early. Doctors have actually suggested to her that she could pull the plug on her life, and not have to be in such pain anymore. She makes light of things. She smiles. She keeps going. I think, 'My God, how could I be this way?' I take everything for granted. I invent my own problems. And people live with extreme physical discomfort, and keep going, and smile. And it makes me feel an intense amount of awe. I am amazed. And I am ashamed of myself. And it isn't a cold guilty shame, like always. It's different. An enlightened shame, an awed shame. A shame that isn't painful, but more of a hopeful precursor to change. (There, I got it.)
I don't know about any of it, though. Doomed grandeur can feel very sweet. An anoretic was discussed in school, one day this past week. And I remembered what it felt like to be completely void of food. To be flying. To float through the world in a daze because you are empty and fear is driving you on and on. And I missed it sorely. But that isn't the moral of the story...
Manic Depression has been discussed a lot in school lately too. Mostly by people saying that bipolar people are dangerous. Even when on medication. I find this personally offensive, because I've been called bipolar by fuck knows how many people, and the only person on earth I'm dangerous to is myself. Mentally ill people are generally only a threat when they don't take their medication, anyway. And rarely then. Or, at least, that's my perception. And I have a bad habit of being too open-minded, perhaps. I'm still inclined to believe that the majority of the world is just uneducated, though.
I haven't lived, but I still understand. Wars seem hopeless to me, because I understand each side completely, and don't see how those passions could ever end. And it seems wrong that they should. When both side's argument and feelings are completely valid, why should one side retreat in fear, poverty, and blood, while the other rises in victory and laughing? On the news, not long ago, they spoke of our war with Afghanistan. They said that the only real questions are how many American casualties there will be, and how many of the enemy fighters will escape. As if the enemy cannot have casualties. As if they aren't people, fighting. They're the enemy, an unceasing mass for which we should not care. And I can't believe that. At all.
Well, this was an odd little entry...
revoless.
6:54 p.m.
March 23, 2002.
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