Unconditional Hugs

http://www.theartofloveandintimacy.com/2007/03/basic-need-for-touch.html

"Don’t underestimate the power of an unconditional hug–even a 30-second one. Ordinary touching is very important. But a 20-minute unconditional hug–that could save many marriages."

Ice cream at 1 am.

Dancing in my room.



Grin.
I can't stop smiling.

I am so composed.

Why no tears?
Tired? Distraught? Not comprehending? Indifferent?
Probably a combination of all. Too many blows, can't go any lower, can't take anything seriously. Can't even get angry.
And not worth it.

Aye, there's the rub. That's what caused most of this mess. I don't feel angry, or hurt, or powerful or vengeful or sad or mad. I don't feel sorry for myself. I feel stupid. Comprimising standards for the sake of familiarity.

Angry outbursts point to a weakness. I may feel mistreated, but I don't have the energy, nerves, or desire to lash out. I had less of an emotional investment. So now, when it comes down to it, I don't give a fuck.

This is my favourite -- "you crave it inside to feel like a piece of meat and your self value stripped away". Such heartfelt prose. It's a "slab of meat". Or maybe that's a reference to the Scorpions song in which the term "piece of meat" refers to a male penis. Better yet, call me some sort of vegetable.

But maybe everyone is right. This is where it ends. Favourable turnout for me I suppose. Given the circumstances, it should have been worse. Thank you Jupiter, the giver of gifts and luck.

Really, I am undeserving.

I feel like a brick wall. Everything bounces off of me.

Guilt

"Inhibition doesn't grow on trees, you know -- takes patience, takes concentration, takes a dedicated and self-sacrificing parent and a hard-working attentive little child to create in only a few years' time a really constrained and tight-ass human being."
- Philip Roth

So if I end up like The Monkey it will be my father's fault.


Here's something else I relate to:
"The coincidences of dreams, the symbols, the terrifying laughable situations, the oddly ominous banalities, the accidents and humiliations, the bizarrely appropriate strokes of luck or misfortune that other people experience with their eyes shut, I get with mine open! ... I have a life without latent content. The dream thing happens!"

My reaction to the lowly and simple -- to what is governed by the ego and the id, the selfish and ridiculous -- is ecstasy! I pass judgement, I curse and I rage, but I come. And in the face of butterflies I am frigid. How's that for an indicator of unconscious repressions, eh? I can't get off because I am sincere!


Alright, enough with the psychoanalytic melodrama. Frida Kahlo said "I used to drink to drown my sorrow, but it learned to swim." Everything is therapeutic and every therapy is limited.

All the way down

http://www.thecakesale.com/lyrics/allthewaydown.htm



Какой милый кошмарик.

I don't swallow

As for me, I am a watercolour.

I wash off.

Mostly irrelevant

Ты меня не любишь, не жалеешь,
Разве я немного не красив?
Не смотря в лицо, от страсти млеешь,
Мне на плечи руки опустив.

Молодая, с чувственным оскалом,
Я с тобой не нежен и не груб.
Расскажи мне, скольких ты ласкала?
Сколько рук ты помнишь? Сколько губ?

Знаю я - они прошли, как тени,
Не коснувшись твоего огня,
Многим ты садилась на колени,
А теперь сидишь вот у меня.

Пусть твои полузакрыты очи
И ты думаешь о ком-нибудь другом,
Я ведь сам люблю тебя не очень,
Утопая в дальнем дорогом.

Этот пыл не называй судьбою,
Легкодумна вспыльчивая связь, -
Как случайно встретился с тобою,
Улыбнусь, спокойно разойдясь.

Да и ты пойдешь своей дорогой
Распылять безрадостные дни,
Только нецелованных не трогай,
Только негоревших не мани.

И когда с другим по переулку
Ты пройдешь, болтая про любовь,
Может быть, я выйду на прогулку,
И с тобою встретимся мы вновь.

Отвернув к другому ближе плечи
И немного наклонившись вниз,
Ты мне скажешь тихо: "Добрый вечер!"
Я отвечу: "Добры вечер, miss".

И ничто души не потревожит,
И ничто ее не бросит в дрожь, -
Кто любил, уж тот любить не может,
Кто сгорел, того не подожжешь.

4 декабря 1925

Есенин Сергей

Aestheticism

Oscar Wilde and his "Art for art's sake." Maybe he's on to something, and depth isn't always necessary. Or at least not always appropriate.

"I really don't see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the excitement is all over. The very essence of romance is uncertainty. If I ever get married, I'll certainly try to forget the fact."

"Civilization is not by any means an easy thing to attain to. There are only two ways by which a man can reach it. One is by being cultured, the other by being corrupt."

"When a man does exactly what a woman expects him to do, she doesn't think much of him. One should always do what a woman doesn't expect, just as one should always say what she doesn't understand. The result is invariably perfect sympathy on both sides."

In honour of International Women's Day

"Phenomenal Woman" by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute, or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

I walk into a room.
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Just when I was getting back

Everything was returning to normal. Well, my normal. Balance scales not tipping in any one direction, sense of acceptance and appreciation, rhythm and routine. Maybe even, (gasp!) getting in touch. And now more obstacles. Blah, the one thing that I did not want to compromise. It is inherently a problem in itself, but also triggers a chain of more negative reactions. Hate feeling helpless. Crazy child.

"Once you can identify the connections between things that are happening in your life, your emotional reactions to them and your disordered behavioral reactions, you can start to change the behavior part".

That's what makes it harder for me than for most people, I think. Some voices just don't let go completely. One setback means big protest.

Oh body, be glad. You are good goods.

What is the point of "what if"? Have had to imagine quite a few hypothetical situations recently, at the request of others.

Some serious, like "Hanna, if money and job was no object, what would you be doing right now?" Hate these questions. Oh those "I-will-now-perform-complex-psychoanalysis-on-your-character-and-this-will-elicit-a-bonding-experience" interrogations! First thought -- I'd be here I guess... I like math... uhhh... But at the risk of sounding boring and ambitiousless, I racked my brain for some hidden dream that everyone has and I should too. I suppose. Like wanting to save the whales, or start up a business, or go here and go there. So I start off on some incoherent tangent about how I wish I could live in a place with richer culture, diverse history, blah, blah blah. Unsatisfactory answer, nothing concrete, nothing that would provide insight. But I was bothered by the fact that this question had me so perplexed.

And then I realized, it's not me, it's that this question is implying a widespread underlying neuroticism. Why is it natural and so common to assume that everyone is unsatisfied? As if this is the natural order of life. That we are all bound up in chains and responsibilities, and everyone is secretly depressed and pining away for a great and filfilling future. Not me. Yeah, sure, there may be things I would change about my life. But minor. Minor. I don't have grand expectations, big dreams or wild fantasies. So shoot me. Does that mean I lack passion, drive, aspiration, a thirst for knowledge? That I am simple and limited? I live my life. I don't stall, I don't wait and I don't dwell. I savour. Why compare, why set myself up for dissapointment, why ask "what if"?

On a rather amusing note, I was also asked what my ideal chest size would be. My friends ask all the right questions, that's why I love them. The answer is mine, of course. Now my thoughts on this point would fill up volumes, but really, why is the body seen as a commodity? I am physical. I am not dissatisfied. My breasts have substance. That's all for now.

I have yielded

To the power of suggestion.

Seem to have more than usual to say lately, whatever happened to "better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt"?

Ah well. I guess I can develop my newfound exhibitionist tendencies.