marrythebed's Journal
[Most Recent Entries]
[Calendar View]
[Friends]
Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
marrythebed's LiveJournal:
[ << Previous 20 ]
| Monday, November 30th, 2009 | | 4:27 pm |
| | Saturday, November 14th, 2009 | | 3:42 pm |
rain
is counter-revolutionary. | | Friday, November 6th, 2009 | | 10:38 pm |
| | Wednesday, October 7th, 2009 | | 12:15 am |
| | Monday, September 28th, 2009 | | 4:24 pm |
| | Monday, September 21st, 2009 | | 10:15 pm |
| | Saturday, August 15th, 2009 | | 10:54 pm |
from the interviews I'm transcribing for $
C: Can you tell me, do you have any idea, how, I mean, percentage-wise, the percentage of Afrikaans, well, wait a minute, Cape Town is an Afrikaans-speaking city, because the coloreds speak Afrikaans, right? M: Um. Yes. Technically, the most spoken language in South Africa is Afrikaans. But, it’s not spoken officially in Cape Town. The, um, sort of, politically in power in Cape Town has always been English. Um, the massive majority of the colored community are Afrikaans. But you also have an interesting trend in the colored community in Cape Town that they, parents don’t want to speak Afrikaans because Afrikaans is seen as an oppressive backward language. C: The parents don’t want to speak Afrikaans to the children? M: No. So they- C: -it’s seen as a backwards language? M: Yes. And the language of the Apartheid oppressors. C: That I can understand, the second aspect. M: But- C: I don’t understand why the first aspect. M: Um, partly because it’s seen as the language of the Apartheid professors. Um, and, I mean, the colored community is not unaware of the fact that internationally, it’s English, you know. In the U.S., it’s English, in Australia, it’s English, it’s, it’s the language of commerce and the language of international communication is English. Um, and the colored community are very keen for their kids and, to a very large extent, the language of economic prosperity in Cape Town and surrounds is English. So, they don’t speak English to their, they don’t speak Afrikaans to their kids. They speak broken, bad English and send their kids to English schools. Which leads into a very interesting phenomenon where the kids hear Afrikaans at home but it’s never spoken to them. So English is their first language but they speak it badly because at the start, they never actually had a good grounding in well-spoken, understood, even in a, um, rural or a worker’s English. It’s bad. I, I call them a population dispossessed of language because they, they, are so often unable to communicate themselves clearly in any language.
| | 10:00 pm |
Sexton says it so I don't have to
Wanting to Die Since you ask, most days I cannot remember. I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage. Then the almost unnameable lust returns. Even then I have nothing against life. I know well the grass blades you mention, the furniture you have placed under the sun. But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic. In this way, heavy and thoughtful, warmer than oil or water, I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole. I did not think of my body at needle point. Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone. Suicides have already betrayed the body. Still-born, they don’t always die, but dazzled, they can’t forget a drug so sweet that even children would look on and smile. To thrust all that life under your tongue!— that, all by itself, becomes a passion. Death’s a sad bone; bruised, you’d say, and yet she waits for me, year after year, to so delicately undo an old wound, to empty my breath from its bad prison. Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet, raging at the fruit a pumped-up moon, leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss, leaving the page of the book carelessly open, something unsaid, the phone off the hook and the love whatever it was, an infection. | | Sunday, July 5th, 2009 | | 2:12 am |
If googling = detective work, I'm like totes Veronica Mars.
ScreamingCoho (2:00:42 AM): Happy Canada Day! soda29 (2:00:54 AM): thanks, I think soda29 (2:01:12 AM): who is this? ScreamingCoho (2:01:57 AM): nope ScreamingCoho (2:02:22 AM): ! soda29 (2:02:30 AM): lol okay ScreamingCoho is available (2:04:00 AM) ScreamingCoho (2:03:58 AM): not so fast soda29 (2:04:16 AM): oy vey what do you want soda29 (2:08:38 AM): oh I get it. we're being played, dude  soda29 (2:09:06 AM): your screenname probably isn't actually "screamingcoho" I was disappointed, though, because due to the greeting I kinda thought it was ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) sabotabby at first! Anyways, apparently there's a whole LJ community about this. And apparently the person I got hooked up with is extraordinarily boring compared to some others. That up there is the entire extent of our pointless conversation. Not that I'm not extraordinarily boring myself, I suppose. Otherwise I wouldn't be so amused by this whole thing! Okay, back to proofreading.
| | 1:51 am |
oh, proofreading
I just spent ten minutes researching the spellings "kidnapping" and "kidnaping" for an article I'm proofreading. Now I've seen so many instances of both that neither seem like words anymore. And no, I'm not even stoned. Somebody kidnap me. Please. P.S. SPELLCHECK WANTS ME TO CORRECT "KIDNAPIN G"!!!!!! GAH! | | Monday, June 29th, 2009 | | 2:45 am |
happy now, Nipple McGee?
I know I've said it before, but I really don't know why it's so hard for me to write in here. It used to be second nature. Anyways.
I'm feeling really lucky about the people in my life lately, at the same time as I feel really unlucky (self-pitying, maybe) about being who I am. My memory disorder continues to be very real despite being rare and unnamed, and despite a few imbeciles who think it's my self-esteem imagining it or whatnot. Boy do I wish it were an issue of self-esteem. Because despite my insecurity being a huge hurdle, I've always made progress on it and will continue to, whereas I can do absolutely nothing to change my neurological situation at this point in neuroscience's development.
A few months ago or so I wrote about the people in my life with whom I had been in abusive relationships and who all fit into a certain pattern to a greater or lesser extent. I did acknowledge that I was the common thread and spoke to why that was, but the more distance I get from that string of relationships (not necessarily the people themselves, but the specific relationships), the more culpable I am happy to be. Enlisting people in my own drama - that sounds like I'm saying I wanted drama as in baroque ridiculousness, right? But I would say the "theatre" definition of drama is far more appropriate here. It's always, for everyone, about the fact that we all experience our parameters, our universes with their specific precedents and our guns in the first act that have to go off eventually, and when those parameters are especially neurotic and unhealthy, the people around us inevitably fall into the only available roles, scripts, etc. And I look back at some of those dynamics and try to imagine what I would have done had I not been working through those scripts and in those parameters. Like, christ, why did you have to continue engaging with people who rubbed you the wrong way, who you rubbed the wrong way, who were indeed abusive at times? who you wanted to/did abuse? you should have realized their limitations and exited the situation, but you didn't because that friction and abuse, on both sides, was exactly what you were craving. So even though I don't think I brought abuse upon me, I certainly -subconsciously- looked for people who I recognized as abusive and [father, uncle]-like and simultaneously tried to rewrite the father, uncle script by hoping they would react to conflict differently AND hoping they would react to conflict the same way, so I could feel comfortable in the only dynamic I had known thus far. A healthy person who finds themselves clashing with a friend or lover would try to resolve said clashes, and if the friend or lover didn't show an interest in resolving them, and worse, was abusive in said clashes, would end the relationship. I not only stayed in them - despite reenacting my seminal relationships by going on-again off-again - but also purposefully brought things to a clash again and again, like someone banging their head against a wall and hoping for a different outcome than pain each time.
The difference between the person with the wall and me with my fellow -unfairly unwitting- actors is that repetition compulsion can actually help said compulsive repeater to work through the original trauma, and despite the damage it did and that it was shitty of me to enlist people in my "play" (though they were obviously there for reasons of their own, having to do with their own dramas), it did actually help me. Here's a quote from Wikipedia, which is everyone's favorite source of WISDOM and TRUTH:
"One idea is a passive form, in which one chooses his or her most familiar experiences consistently as a means to deal with problems of the past. For example, one may choose to stay with a "normal" pattern of pain and chaos instead of risking the perceived trauma of new experiences. Someone experiencing repetition compulsion might believe that new experiences will be more painful than their present situation or too new and untested to imagine. Another is a participatory form, wherein a person actively engages in behavior that mimics an earlier stressor, either deliberately or unconsciously. In particular, this is often described by the statement that events that are terrifying in childhood become sources of attraction in adulthood. For instance, a person who was spanked as a child may incorporate this into their adult sexual practices. Another example is a victim of sexual abuse, who may attempt to seduce another person of authority in his or her life (such as their boss or therapist). Psychoanalysts describe this as an attempt at mastery of their feelings and experience, in the sense that they unconsciously want to go through the same situation but that it not result negatively as it did in the past."
There's also a bunch of sexual stuff I've been going through that relates to all of this, but I'll save that for next time, kids. | | Tuesday, June 16th, 2009 | | 10:06 pm |
| | Monday, May 25th, 2009 | | 12:46 am |
so hard to write here!
I should really use this thing, but, you know. Blech blah blah @45(@$%O*#$.
Just wanted to keep it from rusting, I guess, so can't do any better/worse than a list:
- have fallen in love with cooking. 'world's best food blogs' has cemented that love and led to lots and lots of sex. and babies. metaphorically. oh orangette, oh oh oh.
- didn't fail all of my classes this semester, probably aced them, which is a slight improvement over the three F's from last semester.
- rollerblading a lot lately and holy crap is it scary and fun. I can't believe rollerblading is free and legal. well, the former if your partner is a big muffin who bought you a pair for your birthday like big muffins tend to do.
- discovering I like Gabriel Garcia Marquez' short stories better than his novels. reading a collection entitled No One Writes to the Colonel, the novella included, and it's great stuff.
- starting the collected poems of Theodore Roethke, birthday presented to me from my bestie, and quite enjoying it.
- have the best best friend and best boyfriend in the whole wide world, as generically as I put it. it's still true even if I suck at writing it.
- got a litterbox with high sides!!!! why didn't I think of this earlier!???? LITTERBOX WITH HIGH SIDES IS GOD.
- still neurotic and self-hating (but not as a jew!) but still working on it.
- boycat is purring and his head is on my arm as I type this so I am lucky. <3
| | Monday, March 23rd, 2009 | | 10:51 pm |
self-talk self-talk yay self-talk yay
My stomach is twisted and nauseous with anxiety. I'm not doing things because I'm trying to fail, trying really, really hard to just fail my life. Everything is piling up around me and I'm just clocking out. It's like I can actually feel myself resisting sanity and productivity, or basically, resisting living. But I'm not going to fold in on myself. I'm not not not not not! I deserve to do, and can do, and will do. I will unfurl myself now. | | Sunday, February 8th, 2009 | | 1:12 pm |
the commie girl's guide to dating
So, I think two of my good girlfriends' dating lives could really benefit from knowing more about leftist politics. The first one, Melissa, has been a depressed wreck for a year since she broke up with Matt. He dumped her, begged her to move into his building and down the hall from him, and has been playing hot and cold the whole time, giving her false hope and then squashing it. She and I just started hanging out a couple of months ago, and I was doing pretty well at convincing her that he was a complete jerk who she should stop wasting her time on. Then a couple of weeks ago I noticed Atlas Shrugged on her bookshelf and she explained that it was from Matt. I was like, ugh, not surprising. Then she was all, "he is obsessed with that book, it's his favorite. When I told him I hated it, he kept telling me to try it again, and that it's really profound, and he really connects to it. I was like, uh, it's really just telling everyone to be really selfish, isn't it? What's so great about that?" I told her it's pretty much a universal rule among my crowd to run the other way from any guy who likes Rand. She was amused and relieved - he had made her feel really stupid for not liking it. Also, Melissa is Lebanese, and she and Matt fought during the war because he's super pro-Israel. That should have been enough, but I guess love is blind. And stupid. The second one, Kristen, has been doing online dating for a while, and keeps getting frustrated at how little she has in common with guys once she meets them in real life. The one she's seeing for the first time today has this on his profile: Why You Should Get to Know Me:
like zizek, but more dumb.
i swear he was talking about me when he wrote that crawling plus american equals high rebellion.
i'd like to be living under roosevelt. or debs.(Are you seriously comparing those two, mother fucker?) I'd put money on the date sucking. | | Saturday, February 7th, 2009 | | 3:34 pm |
more mushiness
I forget if I posted this to LJ already, so whatever. I wrote it about a year ago when my mom said we should e-mail each other more often. I didn't send it, though, because what started out as a loving letter turned into a co-dependent, desperate I-need-you-to-get-better-or-else thing. Then we spoke on the phone just now and she was telling me about being nervous about leading a caucus for the DNC town committee tomorrow and being nervous about leading her book club in a reading this week and I just flashed right back to the letter and decided to revise a bit, call her back, and read it to her. And that was teary and mushy and difficult and really good. ( letter ) | | Friday, February 6th, 2009 | | 1:34 am |
| | 1:20 am |
This list is too long.
And Amy Sedaris and Miley Cyrus are the latest additions. On that note, this ad is all over the subway here. I keep forgetting to bring a marker with me when I leave the house; in fact, I'm going to go put one in my bag right now. Current Mood: disgusted, angry | | Sunday, February 1st, 2009 | | 1:23 am |
man I'm lucky. or, man I'm cheesy.
I'm in bed next to a sleeping Sol, and just thought about how much I love him and how amazing it is to have a partner like him. And then tears start rolling down to my pillow. I guess this post is me savoring the delicious feeling of tangibly recognizing the good stuff in my life. | | Thursday, January 29th, 2009 | | 10:49 pm |
Dominic DeMarco
The pizza-making genius at Di Fara broke his kneecap in a car accident. I wish I had an address so we could send a card. And because he's the nutty nut we all know and love, his daughter reports that, after the surgery, he plans to rehab at work. I LOVE YOU DOM! Get well soon! Current Mood: maybe he googles himself... |
[ << Previous 20 ]
|
jubilant