oh cacao, who art in chocolate, hallowed be thy pod.
thy will be fun, thy melting done, in cakes as it is in mocha.
give us this day our daily hot chocolate,
and forgive us for adding sugar, as we forgive those who get it from vending machines.
and lead us not into flavoured confections, and deliver us from additives.
for thine is the flavour, the yay and the nom, for ever and ever, choccah!
you don't need to cross your fingers on the first of april, then again you don't need to cross your fingers on st. patrick's day either. what doesn't blow you out makes you flicker. a fine appearance is a poor substitute for inward worth. a secret worth keeping is worth telling. it is not a secret if it is known by three people. one flower can not make a garland. fools rush in where angels fear to tread. to love roses have patience with their thorns. a stitch in time saves nine. you have only failed when you fail to try. fear of faliure is more harmful than failure itself. still waters run deep. everyone pushes a falling fence. good fences make good neighbours. one can ask and be fool for five minutes or remain a fool forever. there is much to learn from luck and lies, so much wisdom yet so few wise.
prejudice runs deep, hides in circles, and kills quietly. i am probably not the only one who would like to think they're judgement-free. and i'm as vigilant as any when i suspect myself, so i ask here for judgment.
the movie is 'two hundred pounds beauty', a korean romance about prejudice and desire. hannah does ghost singing because she's 'too fat' to perform herself. ammy lip syncs to hanna's voice but doesn't like being dependent on her. both feel han sang-jun could fulfill their dreams. the fat suit hanna's actress wears is unconvincing but so is the mirical surgery performed later. but anyhows. when hanna receives a dress from han to wear to his birthday she wears it against her best friend's advice. then ammy turns up to the party in an identical dress. at this point i laughed.
did i really believe someone in the room would get it, and it would all be a good joke, surely as hannah had turned up first? as it dawned on me the dress had instead been sent by ammy to humiliate her, i tried to cling to the belief the stunt wasn't working. ammy's desperation must be obvious, everyone must know she is the baddie, as there must be one. am i bigoted, perhaps the adoration i hold for the adipose is misplaced? or am i a fool, easily convinced, willingly deceived?
i remember muttering 'it is korean', loosely expecting that to explain how it differed from expectations. of course that does not necessarily mean everyone's, indeed it may only refer to mine. so what was i thinking, perhaps that korea has a lower tollerance for tollerance than i can tollerate? in preference i'd explain that i was allowing for potential cultural differences i wasn't aware of to explain why no one cared enough to speak out and ammy kept smiling. i have often felt i'm gullible but this is just daft. even in a fiction about prejudice tolerance and beauty i just rejected the possibility that the characters are dim bigoted archetypal cards.
it may seem like alot of tripe over a movie, but seriously people, we should have come further than this. wearing the dress you're given is not the wrong thing to do, it reveals others more than yourself.
the inevitable happens. i'm churned by tempestual isolation drawn deeper into a dream state akin to a horrific replay, the hammering vision bloodied by pain. i've been here before. escape is difficult enough when physically held fast by love, and without this strand i'm stranded. there will be driftwood, there will be flotsam, there will be an end, for this is all i am certain of.
soon it may be too late though, for the return of life to roll out fully. not enough time left, no room to maneuver, the unrolling path will now collide with the debris. this has never happened before. the worst is yet to come.
such dark futures used to not, well, so dark. it always turned out to be just a darker shade of pale. it was always just another dark spell and it would never last. usually it was the pain of others that would catch me, and the storm would pass on, love having prevailed.
now, as the path crumbles, a white figure walks on, perhaps fecundity it's self, holding the future aloft.
life, i call you, i name the dark, i name the light, hear each other. i call love pain and temperance, be stirred. see what has been done. before you all, i set to carve in my heart, that you exist within me, and i do not exist without you. see what will be done, and walk on thus.
somewhere above me a balance has changed, beneath the ground becomes permeable. earth awaits, patient, self certainty unabated, but we can't meld just yet... please wait. what changed, the moon turned? perhaps someone has realised something i couldn't? though the hard defined lines of communication are down, i keep seeing things, garish cutouts over the sepia, seeped feelings under the gray.
i sensed the fingers brush over the screen of a mobile far away, the sharp sweet fragrances mixed in the night light, and the warmth of hands joining. also the smug satisfaction of a stranger, the resignation of a friend, and a few treasured sensations that will never be mine. but it's only feeling, right? these things can not be real, i never substitute my own reality even if my experience begs me to reject others'.
then i felt something from within myself, a unkept hope from the crumbling precipice cut me deep within and silent. then i am dropped back ... curled up clinging yet alone, loved yet abandoned. i can see it's already too late for this broken shape. looking up i see those that i trusted drifting in bubbles and their unsychronised drifting stretching this realm into separate uncountable parts. hope being shattered with no shape and no sound.
i never dared speak the words, talk of hope was an unfaithful vanity, and though they could see nobody reached it.
Lucy takes the long way home
Meets me in a field of stone
She says I don't know how I'm supposed to feel
My body's cold my guts are twisted steel
I feel like I'm some kind of frankenstein
Waiting for a shock to bring me back to life
But I don't want to spend my time
Waiting for lightning to strike
Underneath a concrete sky
Lucy puts her hand in mine
She says life's a game we're meant to lose
But stick by me and I will stick by you
I'm like a princess in a castle high
Waiting for a kiss to bring me back to life
But I don't want to spend my time
Waiting for just another guy
quite simply it's already there, there's no need to express anything, there's nothing to admit or deny, and there's nothing that will change for the better by saying anything that could even be mistaken for bigotry. since if someone experiences it as bigotry, malicious, hurtful, offensive, then it is! if someone is out in public, an individual sharing the world with you, then they are not 'on your property', are they? they're not your problem, are they? they're not changing anything about your experience of the world that you haven't already made a problem of. really they're not. ask them.
don't go to your mate and say 'there was a right stupid idiot walking down our road today' because what can a real mate say but 'yeah?'. nobody will ask 'was this person stupid or am i missing something?' if they don't want to know, yet it's easy to take the 'was this person stupid or what?' as a rhetorical assertion. that is to say, a 'joke'.
it's certainly not a joke, but if it's not a question, then why say it? the truth is guarding yourself is second nature, and sharing experience is a way of life where we involve our society in strengthening each other. it's a good thing. yet if little is known about the person, or whatever has been noticed, then what do you call them, or it? believe it or not too many people are being called 'it'. ask them.
why argue about who hates who, when nobody said 'hate' first? why fear some people and be told how it hurt others? why stand accused of bigotry when you're the one who wasn't understood?
there's no massive conspiracy, there's no organised oppression, there are no bigots. you are not a bigot, are you? if you have ever heard "you're only saying that because of the way you are" or "takes one to know one" said to you, then someone thinks you are. that's just the way it is. you haven't lost anything, you haven't turned bad, you are not a bigot, you just sounded like one.
the only true answer is, people often sound bigotty, and what they meant was "i'm sorry, i just don't understand"
isn't is so much easier to identify with stick figures? it's like their personalities are just that much easier to associate with your own or those of people you know (or at least think you do) and so much more fun to imagine in otherwise dreadful circumstances. i rationalise too much. but anyhow, xkcd.com has had me riveted for a while. wayhehehay better than stickdeath.com at least to my sensitivities.
well, is doodling easier than writing? is it depersonalised enough, or too much? once there are recognisable characters and personalities involved, does that change? surely it's harder to keep the sticks on the page when you see them as a part of you. your hand becomes a translator. the stick people become subjective and more alive. more understandable yet less you. and then maybe less recognisable, at least not how you thought they would be, at most simply indefinably better.
there is a series i was working on for a while, called .o0(princess)0o. which i feel would perhaps be less easily understood, or with less universal appeal, but my doodles were fun to do. maybe they will come out of the little books someday, it's a difficult decision, though i don't believe anyone would be harmed, just princess deals with more emotional content. certainly not as cold as stickdeath can be. overall i guess that, looking in, the content will be easier to accept or dismiss as a viewer than an origin so i guess that's ok.
have i just blogged myself into this? oh well, better check the box of crafts, school reports, unsent letters and journals under the bed. i would have to make another drop.io for them. the link will be in the list here (to the right, under 'on your way out) if and when i get somewhere with that.
a perfect collection of a myriad of movies, tv series', and short films is hard to come by. dearest kiz just found one though, it's called stagevu, and it works.
have some mindless fun seeing the difference between 'the hitch hikers guide to the galaxy' tv series and 'the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy' modern movie. i recently watched a few recently released, and will go back to see how far back their collection goes. what number of dusty vhs are now liberated? some things change without us, where some never can be changed. what light through yonder window breaks? guess i'll need more cocoa.
http://stagevu.com/index just be careful with spelling movie names, even the difference between hitch hikers and hitchhiker's has an effect.