I wish I was dead sometimes. so my parents wont have to worry about what I'm going to do with my life or them having to look after me until I'm married off and shipped somewhere they can never reach, or having to put up with my disgraceful shenanigans. they would no longer have to be embarrassed by being asked the question " what is your daughter doing now?". My brother can get my camera and my sister can have all my bags, bracelets and make up ( I cant say clothes because my clothes arent that nice ). I'd make prints of my favourite photographs and sell them, every single sent to charity. I'd donate any organs needed and even my ( lacklustre, omgaswh) hair.
I dont think I have to wish it, since A levels would be the death of me.
I'm not being emotional, I just always feel shattered when I'm reminded of how much of a burden I am to my folks, and how all of us
siblings are somewhat disappointments. None of us earn 10k a month, we dont
have the nice cars , we dont score the earth-shattering grades. If me
not being around would make my folks' life easier, I'd do it in a
heartbeat. I probably wouldnt have raced so hard to reach that darn
ovum if I knew my existence was nothing but an accident that's become
an annoying splinter burried deep in my parents' skin
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Announcment of Release:
Twisted Metal
WipEout
GOOD Sonic
GOOD Mortal Kombat
Jet Set Radio
Psi-Ops 2
Bloody Roar by Hudson
Elder Scrolls 5
At the far end of the enormous Turbine Hall in the Tate Modern is a correspondingly huge metal box: thirty metres long, thirteen metres high and sitting on two-metre stilts. One end of the box is open with a metal ramp leading up to the pitch-black interior. The artwork entitled How It Is by Miroslaw Balka is said to allude to the Holocaust, whereby the huge metal container is akin to the trucks that took the Jews away to the camps of Treblinka or Auschwitz.
Walking up the steel ramp towards the vast dark opening of the box is certainly unsettling. Even the sound and vibrations of footsteps on the metal ramp feels cold. Once you are inside the structure it gets progressively darker as your move further in. People beside you become less discernable and those at more than an arms length away cannot be seen at all. Were it not for the cheerful and exited chatter of most of the visitors the experience would have been decidedly eerie.
I went in with my sister while her boyfriend remained outside taking pictures. Once we had gone in some way and I could no longer make out or hear any people in front of us I stopped so that my sister’s boyfriend could catch up with us. While we waited for him we simply appreciated the odd sensation of being in a dark box. Before long my sister’s boyfriend appeared beside us. I was surprised that he managed to find us so quickly but also glad because I was eager to step into the absolute darkness that lay ahead. As I took a step forward though I came smack up against the back end of the structure. The wall was lined in soft black velvet, which felt nice to touch and was as unexpected as the wall itself. Turning around I was surprised to see how much more brightly lit the box now seemed and how close the entrance actually was. I had expected it to be further away.
For me the experience of walking into the box was comparable to ones journey through life: as you move forward you don’t actually know what is coming next or whom you will bump into. You might link arms with someone and walk beside others but most of the people you see or hear you’ll never know. When you reach the end it comes as a surprise, it’s disappointing, although you knew it was coming all along. Like the unexpected touch of velvet on the box however death is probably comforting. Our lives will also most likely seem like a much quicker journey than we imagined when we look back on them. Even at this point my life seems to have passed by ever so quickly. Lastly, I imagine that our lives in retrospect will seem far simpler than we experienced them to be, just as the box was much brighter looking back towards the entrance where we started out.
Since the box is supported on stilts you can walk underneath it and hear the footsteps of those inside. If the box is symbolic of life then the space under the box could be likened to the netherworld of ghosts perhaps, or the life one leads after we have left this box that we are now in. I don’t believe in life after death mind you, but if there were such a thing I would imagine that it would eclipse life as the Turbine Hall eclipses the box. Perhaps the after-afterlife would be the world outside of the Tate Modern and so on, until such a point that we live a space that is infinite.
Borderlands is amazing. Best game this generation. Buy it ASAP. I haven't been this hooked on a game since pokemon. Loot elements of diablo mixed with shooting of and FPS mixed with graphic style of a sketchbook come to life.
Originally published at Crashing Silence Blog. You can comment here or there.
I have not had that feeling for a while- I blame a number of things, not that I want to discuss them all in detail: twitter, an ongoing battle with depression, life changes in my extended family and friends. I've not wanted to discuss them in a public forum, or elude to them in hushed tones.
Over the last few weeks, I have been feeling slightly better. So I have begun to look at a shift in priorities, the support of new friends and the input of new ideas helps. As does the kind words of more established friends- even if they are not so sure where I am going with this.
So no obligation, no promises, no timetable, no arbitrary goals- but it's time to begin a shift in priorities.
I have to make this quick, my head is killing me again.
I finished reading Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything over a month ago now but the effect the book had on me still lingers. I feel enlightened but also saddened, somewhat like I did as a child when I realised that Santa doesn’t exist and there is no magic to Christmas.
Essentially the book is a travelogue of science that illustrates the amazing combination of factors that resulted in us being alive for brief period of time as human beings on an utterly fantastic and improbable planet. It is quite overwhelming, or should I say underwhelming?
What significance do the foibles of my life, or any one else’s, really have? From just a modest distance the president of our country say, is an indistinguishable dot like any other person. From a greater distance the whole earth our president lives on is just a dot and from a further away still so is the entire galaxy in which earth floats.
Considering that there are millions of galaxies, with space expanding all the time, it is hard to think you matter - no matter who you might be. It is a sobering thought. So too the thought that every infinitesimal atom we are made of are as lifeless as the bricks used to build a house. The fact that the same atoms that form us form everything else as well is also unflattering. On an atomic level there is no difference between a person and a pebble. Long after we have breathed our last these little building blocks that made us up will go onto reconstitute themselves into something else just the same.
The indifference of the natural world to our existence either from a macro or micro point of view is not comforting or uplifting. No wonder people turn to religion to attain some purpose to life. Surely our brains and personalities count for something. If not then what is the point to having them in the first place? To me it is absurd to think there must be a point to it. Why should there be? Is there a point to a tree growing at a particular spot in the ground as well? Nonetheless, without rhyme or reason to our life, it is hard to take it seriously. It is like Christmas without Santa.
I need the tiny escapes. Memories or news clippings. Something to latch my thoughts to to carry me a little bit away.
I love it when sometimes a dozen tiny bubbles come shooting out of the dish soap bottle. I love crunching my curls. I love new music from bands i only thought had one album.
