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[03 May 2008|01:24am] |
I think I want to study psycho-analasys. I don't know if I spelled that correctly, but I don't care. I think that this might be what i've been searching for all along. I am fascinated by the human brain, it's little intricacies, it's thoughts, it's decisions, and it's vagaries. Especially my own. For so long, i've wondered what's going on in my head. Why i'm so filled with affection for a certain woman. To all intents and purposes, I shouldn't be. Or maybe I should.
These are the reasons, amongst many others, that I think I would rock at this area. I want to understand why I feel the way I do about things, and I want to know why people act the way they do. I'm actually excited by this stuff. In a way I haven't ever been.
Perhaps I will try to study this. I think i've got the kind of brain that's unlimited in it's power and it's eagerness to learn. And I think this is my subject.
If anything, it may actually aid me, make me write better, make me understand my own feelings a little more. If I can find out why I love someone so much. To find out why. And at the same time, to find out so many other things.
Hmmm...
The trouble is, if I studied something like this, would I lose that innocence which gives me much of my writing power? I don't think so, I think it can only aid me. Let's see.
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[03 May 2008|01:35am] |
I search for you in the dark corners, hoping you'll step out, and i'll be relieved, because you're back, and you're here, and you're circling an arm around my waist, reducing me to jelly, but pushing my heart into the stratosphere. You know how to punch me in the stomach with a stare, yet I search wildly for you in the bushes, in the quiet soil. Still, you don't come.
I don't care to know, yet I wish to know. As I sip and laugh, as I share anectodes, and friends sup and sully the air, you slip in arias, romantic ballads I do nothing to bat away, you fill me with glee, you tapdance across my table, filling my glass with nectar, as I light up you flight away, distantly, and without remorse.
And to my heed, you give little consideration, as you have such attentions of your own, yet I don't mind. I laugh, and I think of little things you would say, of what I would say to you, and how your hair would sink into my eyes, how I would lap you up, how all this doubt would be memory.
You are my muse. I hope you know that. I doubt I shall ever heap these praises upon you in person.
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[03 May 2008|01:38am] |
Lovely, lovely. I am proud. It's like i've given birth. I am a flighty, forlorn yet fantastic soul. I love being me, yet I am so, so torn. I am stuck between souls, I am like a firefly, and I don't know what reed to rest upon. Even if which I desired did return, what then? What if the roses died, what if she picked a new crop? Who's to say that fragmented, those dreams would be becometh mine? And not else?
Oh, Shakespeare, please, give me the inspiration.
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[03 May 2008|11:08am] |
I saw, aside Rebecca, the first attractive woman i've seen in ages. I'm not that attracted to people often. I do often joke about attraction, but i'm fully aware of the difference between sexual and sexual, and there is a massive chasm in between.
I was in the Saddlers, with Andy (French Andy) and Irish Larry. Larry is a lovely bloke, as is Andy, and I was chatting to him about psycho analasys. Still don't know if I spelled that correctly. Larry's quite inspiring, as he told me he didn't really know what he wanted to do until about forty two. Hallelujiuah. That's exactly what i'm like.
I've been thinking about this subject for a long time, and the way the brain works, emotions, and sub-concious, how people react, how they act, why they act. What makes one person one way, and you the other. What makes me ask these questions. How is my brain different to someone else?
It's a limitless question. I want to study this. I find it very interesting indeed. I would like to find out why I write the way I do, too.
We played pool and Andy showed me why he's good, and I showed him why I was bad. Ray and Larry joined in too, and some attritional games were played out. All very good fun.
That girl I was talking about was in the "other" side of the bar early on in the proceedings. She looked in my direction, and I don't know if she was looking in a good way or bad way, but that's always been my problem. She was dark haired and dark eyes, wearing some blue. And classy lookin' broad, right? You don't get that often. It's rare, oh yes it is.
Anyway, she was the other side, and I was this side, and she had a "geezer" type with her. Probably her bloke. But, she was nice. And I don't see many women I like. Not here, anyway.
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[03 May 2008|04:07pm] |
Boris Johnson is London Mayor. Oh, beautiful city, why?
Saturday Bank Holiday hasn't been too bad, yet. There are still two more days of it after this one, and then blissfull day off. I'll need it, because by then my nerves will be shot. The trio behemoths of Sunday lunch, Saturday night, and Monday lunch will be quite enough, thankyou.
Still, I feel pretty good. I've at last got something interesting to research, and that is Freud!
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[03 May 2008|04:12pm] |
Would you believe I haven't been on a plane for exactly three years. That, in perspective, is thirty six months. I really must correct that, because being earthbound really is quite dull. There's nothing quite like soaring in the skies.
Here's a post featuring an hilarious take on jet lag, using a program to mock up a Windows Error, from May 3rd 2005.
http://zoomeister.livejournal.com/458363.html?mode=reply
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| Good letter, Bad Letter, for Rebe-cca! |
[03 May 2008|06:16pm] |
I'm sure you can all agree i'm a gentlman. If I could, i'd take Rebecca down avenues of romance previously missed by Shakespeare and Eros. Or, it could go wrong. It's GOOD LETTER, BAD LETTER!
Good letter:
"Dear Rebecca.
You eyes bury themselves in me, like roots, they go down, surround my heart, my loins, my head. In them, each and every desire I feel is reflected like moonlight in a lake, your deep well speaks of heaven to me, and you behold me, tempting me, yet taunting me with lustful flame."
Bad Letter:
"FUCK! I would smash myself in the face for a full twelve hours with a breeze block just so I could get a glimpse of you in your knickers. The other day, I made a puppter of you, Rebecca, and a puppet of me, and I made them perform sexual acts on the floor of a busy London bus shelter, while playing the theme from Diagnosis Murder on my IPOD speakers, tugging myself into a sock while doing so. I would snaffle down your pink balloon like a hungry tramp chugs some cold pizza he found in a skip. Let me, if you would, ram my gravestone into your fucking dug-hole."
Twisted is aphrodite's fated hand! Oh, do love me, fair maiden! I am disgusting and beautiful at the same time! Surely such contrast is the stuff of life! Flay, if you would, sweet lady my pink nuggets and suck down my milky frowns!
Yes, I think this is hot stuff. Back to work then!
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