I've almost forgotten how much I love poetry.
Favourites of the day:
O my beloved, how divinely sweet
Is the pure joy when kindred spirits meet!
Like him the river god, whose waters flow,
With love their only light, through caves below,
Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids
And festal rings, with Olympic maids
Have decked his current, as an offspring meet
To lay at Arethusa's shining feet.
Think, when he meets at last his fountain bride,
What perfect love must thrill the blended tide!
Each lost in each, till mingling into one,
Their lot the same for shadow or for sun,
A type of true love, to the deep they run.
Thomas Moore
Enjoy your Wednesday, fellas.
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Tuesday, 29 June 2010
i < 3 u
I don't understand... you can't have inequalities with imaginary numbers.
I still find it queer how those of us with the highest IQs are the ones who don't seem quite as smart.
But still seem the smartest of all.
Just maybe not academically.
I'm low on that scale.
Low on the need for reproduction. Like that.
This doesn't make much sense, it lacks in organisation. You'll have to excuse me.
Surely there's enough war to go around. You're not as complicated a jigsaw puzzle as you think, you just have a lot of pieces to be pieced together, and some of them look the same. A human eye can't distinguish between the shades.
It makes me shiver, this flow of information and knowledge.
And that is why I don't reproduce.
Or won't.
Or should not.
Not yet, anyway.
I don't understand... you can't have inequalities with imaginary numbers.
I still find it queer how those of us with the highest IQs are the ones who don't seem quite as smart.
But still seem the smartest of all.
Just maybe not academically.
I'm low on that scale.
Low on the need for reproduction. Like that.
This doesn't make much sense, it lacks in organisation. You'll have to excuse me.
Surely there's enough war to go around. You're not as complicated a jigsaw puzzle as you think, you just have a lot of pieces to be pieced together, and some of them look the same. A human eye can't distinguish between the shades.
It makes me shiver, this flow of information and knowledge.
And that is why I don't reproduce.
Or won't.
Or should not.
Not yet, anyway.
Monday, 28 June 2010
Let's do something differently
This is a more of a "let me tell you my problems since I have no one else to tell" post. You probably should not read on due to excessive amounts of whining and just general stupidity.
Hey, how are you?
Yeah good, good you know. School's going pretty good and my relationship is amazing! And you?
(This is where I think, well, I don't want to rain on their parade).
Yeah, fine as well, thanks.
How about, no? I'm not going to say I'm not okay, I'm perfectly okay. I'm just not good, and sometimes I wish someone could see that. And someone does.
Are you okay?
Yeah, yeah.
You sure?
Yeah, of course.
How about, no? When did it become unacceptable in my mind to not be okay? Why can't I just say "Hey, my name is Kristiina Heikura and this is what's bothering me: ..."
Of course, that's due to me not having good enough friends to do that. I love my friends. I have my chatter box girl friends, and I have my more friend-like friendships with people who know who they are, and I have my 3 very close friends... in Australia, Egypt, and South Africa. So I guess it's safe to say I don't really talk to any one about anything serious. Especially to my boyfriend- when is it an acceptable time to admit you might have more issues than they think?
Are you okay?
Umn... I guess so.
You guess so?
Well, not completely. But mostly yeah.
What's wrong?
Well... (I say well when I need to think of how to phrase what I want to say) how can I say this? I don't choose this, and I don't want this, but I don't think I have much chance of recovery right now. My parents haven't spoken to me since I got back from Paris, or well sorry I lie I lie, I do that sometimes and I'm sorry, my dad spoke to me, he was nice to me, until their love rekindled and now they're two little love birdies in love again. I'm not the type of person to be bitter about someone being back together, unless it's bad for all parties involved and trust me, this time they should be able to choose, or at least want this.
Why have a family with people you hate? Or at least strongly dislike. I have heard nothing but yelling and screaming and shouting and criticizing since I came back, when I actually hear something. Bring the buckets by the dozens because I think this might catch ablaze. This is going back to a place I don't like, back to some other time, with another person, to somewhere I don't visit and I don't think back to. Now it's inevitable though, because this is exactly where it is going. I would spill it, and tell you of that monster who spent four years with us, but let's be honest- you're not really that interested.
I have no one to tell this to.
I can't say, "Hey, I think my step-mum might be turning into a Päivi. I'm scared and I don't know what to do, since I don't speak to my dad and he wouldn't listen to me anyway."
I don't want to tell people I know, in case they don't listen, or in case they forget.
There's more to it, kids, but I'm pretty closed up when it comes to really personal things, and that's all that I can get through this door.
And now I'm done.
I promise I'll be back to normal posts in a few days.
Hey, how are you?
Yeah good, good you know. School's going pretty good and my relationship is amazing! And you?
(This is where I think, well, I don't want to rain on their parade).
Yeah, fine as well, thanks.
How about, no? I'm not going to say I'm not okay, I'm perfectly okay. I'm just not good, and sometimes I wish someone could see that. And someone does.
Are you okay?
Yeah, yeah.
You sure?
Yeah, of course.
How about, no? When did it become unacceptable in my mind to not be okay? Why can't I just say "Hey, my name is Kristiina Heikura and this is what's bothering me: ..."
Of course, that's due to me not having good enough friends to do that. I love my friends. I have my chatter box girl friends, and I have my more friend-like friendships with people who know who they are, and I have my 3 very close friends... in Australia, Egypt, and South Africa. So I guess it's safe to say I don't really talk to any one about anything serious. Especially to my boyfriend- when is it an acceptable time to admit you might have more issues than they think?
Are you okay?
Umn... I guess so.
You guess so?
Well, not completely. But mostly yeah.
What's wrong?
Well... (I say well when I need to think of how to phrase what I want to say) how can I say this? I don't choose this, and I don't want this, but I don't think I have much chance of recovery right now. My parents haven't spoken to me since I got back from Paris, or well sorry I lie I lie, I do that sometimes and I'm sorry, my dad spoke to me, he was nice to me, until their love rekindled and now they're two little love birdies in love again. I'm not the type of person to be bitter about someone being back together, unless it's bad for all parties involved and trust me, this time they should be able to choose, or at least want this.
Why have a family with people you hate? Or at least strongly dislike. I have heard nothing but yelling and screaming and shouting and criticizing since I came back, when I actually hear something. Bring the buckets by the dozens because I think this might catch ablaze. This is going back to a place I don't like, back to some other time, with another person, to somewhere I don't visit and I don't think back to. Now it's inevitable though, because this is exactly where it is going. I would spill it, and tell you of that monster who spent four years with us, but let's be honest- you're not really that interested.
I have no one to tell this to.
I can't say, "Hey, I think my step-mum might be turning into a Päivi. I'm scared and I don't know what to do, since I don't speak to my dad and he wouldn't listen to me anyway."
I don't want to tell people I know, in case they don't listen, or in case they forget.
There's more to it, kids, but I'm pretty closed up when it comes to really personal things, and that's all that I can get through this door.
And now I'm done.
I promise I'll be back to normal posts in a few days.
Saturday, 26 June 2010
Why do I smell?
Do you ever have that feeling where you just smell? You smell and no matter how many showers you take it doesn't rinse off. So you shake, and you shiver and you cover yourself in other smells because you don't want anyone to smell you. Cucumber. Lemon. Burberry beat. Deo. Air freshener.
When people pass you they scrunch up their nose and their eyes squint, they turn their head rapidly to one side and step away from you. You're dirty, covered in muck and dust, and everyone can see it, smell it, feel it. You emanate filth. That's what guilt and fear look like.
Some people say I think too much, so I thought about it and I think they should shut the fuck up.
Sometimes I feel like people can read my mind, because my mind, my thoughts, they're so loud and there's so many of them, how can they not hear? That's when I get filthy, and I feel like people can see everything I am and what I've done. And then I think- what have I done? Absolutely nothing.
Put some thought into it.
I was wondering if you felt the same way.
You already know I do.
Maybe slowly all that faux-filth will wash off, because it's there for no reason. You're picking it off, bit by bit. 'Cause every time I try something comes along, and it all comes back. I'm not guilty, because nothing I've done is a crime.
I'm just a bit annoyed.
Why?
It doesn't matter.
No, tell me.
Maybe this is why people turn to god. That overpowering feeling of guilt and filth and fear of not being loved and wanted- at least god will give you that. He'll wash you and love you and want you.
But although I prefer living in an imaginary world to reality any day, I think I'll put god off for a while longer. Let's see if I can really piss him off.
Let's partake in a bit of thought, in a bit of love, and let's get clean.
When people pass you they scrunch up their nose and their eyes squint, they turn their head rapidly to one side and step away from you. You're dirty, covered in muck and dust, and everyone can see it, smell it, feel it. You emanate filth. That's what guilt and fear look like.
Some people say I think too much, so I thought about it and I think they should shut the fuck up.
Sometimes I feel like people can read my mind, because my mind, my thoughts, they're so loud and there's so many of them, how can they not hear? That's when I get filthy, and I feel like people can see everything I am and what I've done. And then I think- what have I done? Absolutely nothing.
Put some thought into it.
I was wondering if you felt the same way.
You already know I do.
Maybe slowly all that faux-filth will wash off, because it's there for no reason. You're picking it off, bit by bit. 'Cause every time I try something comes along, and it all comes back. I'm not guilty, because nothing I've done is a crime.
I'm just a bit annoyed.
Why?
It doesn't matter.
No, tell me.
Maybe this is why people turn to god. That overpowering feeling of guilt and filth and fear of not being loved and wanted- at least god will give you that. He'll wash you and love you and want you.
But although I prefer living in an imaginary world to reality any day, I think I'll put god off for a while longer. Let's see if I can really piss him off.
Let's partake in a bit of thought, in a bit of love, and let's get clean.
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Collaborative blog
My good friend Bryn de Kocks and I have began a memoir-blog, in which we record dreams and random discussion.
If you guys care, you should check it out. We have pictures! :)
http://aetasvelox.blogspot.com/
If you guys care, you should check it out. We have pictures! :)
http://aetasvelox.blogspot.com/
Sunday, 13 June 2010
My mothers ears and my fathers tongue have been spiked and spiced with all sorts of drugs
They hurtle and fall through the abyss, they know not what they say or hear
And so I fail at mathematics, scoring an 18% or so.
And so I cook.
No need for mathematics in cooking.
Besides, as a follower of the hipstur gods, I have no need for intelligence.
We have no need for intelligence.
All we need is food and sex, and sex is our food and food is our sex.
All those tricks in your porn films, those hurt most of the time. Not a good idea to try.
Besides, it is the hipstur way to be conservative and only fuck in missionary.
No sound.
Your baby is due in December.
Thank god I won't waste my life doing something meaningful.
They hurtle and fall through the abyss, they know not what they say or hear
And so I fail at mathematics, scoring an 18% or so.
And so I cook.
No need for mathematics in cooking.
Besides, as a follower of the hipstur gods, I have no need for intelligence.
We have no need for intelligence.
All we need is food and sex, and sex is our food and food is our sex.
All those tricks in your porn films, those hurt most of the time. Not a good idea to try.
Besides, it is the hipstur way to be conservative and only fuck in missionary.
No sound.
Your baby is due in December.
Thank god I won't waste my life doing something meaningful.
A letter from me to my unborn children
Dear son or daughter that I will never have,
I'm sure you have a lot of questions that I will never answer. I'm never one to be responsible for each single little tear you let drop, or if you're a guy, tears you're trying to not let fall, when I'll stop you from going out with your friends for reasons you deem stupid.
I'll never be able to explain why I wish for you to excel in your academics, while preaching a care free and non-capitalist lifestyle.
I won't know what to say when you ask me why I want you to take kung fu lessons when I'm a pacifist. Or why I shelter you so much when I not only remember what it was like to be young, I remember what it was like to be young with restrictive parents.
I don't want you to wonder why people have children if they need to live in misery the last 4-8 years of their life at home.
So please son or daughter that I never had, or will have, don't judge me too harshly. Don't trust me, and believe me I don't know what's best for you.
Although I would love you, far too much, if you ever existed. But you probably never will.
I'm sure you have a lot of questions that I will never answer. I'm never one to be responsible for each single little tear you let drop, or if you're a guy, tears you're trying to not let fall, when I'll stop you from going out with your friends for reasons you deem stupid.
I'll never be able to explain why I wish for you to excel in your academics, while preaching a care free and non-capitalist lifestyle.
I won't know what to say when you ask me why I want you to take kung fu lessons when I'm a pacifist. Or why I shelter you so much when I not only remember what it was like to be young, I remember what it was like to be young with restrictive parents.
I don't want you to wonder why people have children if they need to live in misery the last 4-8 years of their life at home.
So please son or daughter that I never had, or will have, don't judge me too harshly. Don't trust me, and believe me I don't know what's best for you.
Although I would love you, far too much, if you ever existed. But you probably never will.
Thursday, 10 June 2010
Panic
I have this huge issue with life.
My issue with life is that I see no point in it. Hold up a sec though, when I say I see no point in it I mean I don't see any point in what is valued today. Life itself is amazing, and I want to experience every single thing and emotion at its extreme. But this, this life makes me panic, and it makes me anxious. It makes me want to run, run, run and not turn back.
Thing is, I don't see myself going to university so I can learn a profession, and then move on to work with or without my degree so I can afford a life of comfort, then accept an adequate man (or woman, who knows, I might turn lesbian) because he has money and I want nice dresses and books and a house in the country, and we'll have 2 brats, one of which becomes successful and brilliant, and the other hates everything and ends up shooting up in parks and accidentally killing himself by eating a pigeon with AIDS... or something.
This is what I panic about.
If I go to university I want to do it because I want a) to learn something NOT because I want to make a career about it, but because I'm curious and/or passionate.. like literature or archaeology and b) for the experience of prolonging the growing up stage a little longer.
I don't want to live in adequacy and emotional stability. I don't want to have to sort through bills and bills, and cry to my girlfriends about how I have no one in my life to lean on, thus making them feel like crap and making me a crap friend.
And it fucking scares me, because I am considering university, and considering architecture. Why? It's artistic and they make enough money. And that comforts me, but it scares and disappoints me.
Because this is what I want
I don't know what I want. But I don't care if I don't know either. I want to see, feel, taste, smell everything I can. I want to go around the world, penniless or a millionaire I really don't care, I want to listen to music I like and meet people. I want to fall in love whether it be just this once or a thousand times more and I want to wake up in the morning feeling like I can do anything I want.
I don't want to have to think about whether I can afford to live.
I don't want to have to think about what other people think of me.
I want to have the ability to walk around in Paris, but also to climb a mountain, and to swim naked without judgement. I want to write without having to think if it'll ever sell. I want to paint without having to think if it's good enough.
The system we're in is all a contest to be the best, the richest, the smartest, the most beautiful.
And I know it's hypocritical since I'm also scared of social perceptions of me, I do it all the time. I suppress myself in the fear that I'm being judged for being too out there, too emotional and too care-free, too do-what-I-feel-like. Thus I pretend to stress about exams (except maths, I always stress for maths), I try to control the way I portray my emotions to a certain someone.. and I try to show that I really care about quitting unhealthy habits (and I really don't). About an hour ago I asked if a friend was bringing heels to Paris because I didn't want to look like the odd one out with heels.
BUT I DON'T WANT TO CARE LIKE THIS.
I want to live on animal instincts, to be truly free to do what I want and what I need to do. To fall in love, and be unhealthy as long as it's good.
Humanity still needs to progress.
We live in a dictatorship controlled by our own social norms.
My issue with life is that I see no point in it. Hold up a sec though, when I say I see no point in it I mean I don't see any point in what is valued today. Life itself is amazing, and I want to experience every single thing and emotion at its extreme. But this, this life makes me panic, and it makes me anxious. It makes me want to run, run, run and not turn back.
Thing is, I don't see myself going to university so I can learn a profession, and then move on to work with or without my degree so I can afford a life of comfort, then accept an adequate man (or woman, who knows, I might turn lesbian) because he has money and I want nice dresses and books and a house in the country, and we'll have 2 brats, one of which becomes successful and brilliant, and the other hates everything and ends up shooting up in parks and accidentally killing himself by eating a pigeon with AIDS... or something.
This is what I panic about.
If I go to university I want to do it because I want a) to learn something NOT because I want to make a career about it, but because I'm curious and/or passionate.. like literature or archaeology and b) for the experience of prolonging the growing up stage a little longer.
I don't want to live in adequacy and emotional stability. I don't want to have to sort through bills and bills, and cry to my girlfriends about how I have no one in my life to lean on, thus making them feel like crap and making me a crap friend.
And it fucking scares me, because I am considering university, and considering architecture. Why? It's artistic and they make enough money. And that comforts me, but it scares and disappoints me.
Because this is what I want
I don't know what I want. But I don't care if I don't know either. I want to see, feel, taste, smell everything I can. I want to go around the world, penniless or a millionaire I really don't care, I want to listen to music I like and meet people. I want to fall in love whether it be just this once or a thousand times more and I want to wake up in the morning feeling like I can do anything I want.
I don't want to have to think about whether I can afford to live.
I don't want to have to think about what other people think of me.
I want to have the ability to walk around in Paris, but also to climb a mountain, and to swim naked without judgement. I want to write without having to think if it'll ever sell. I want to paint without having to think if it's good enough.
The system we're in is all a contest to be the best, the richest, the smartest, the most beautiful.
And I know it's hypocritical since I'm also scared of social perceptions of me, I do it all the time. I suppress myself in the fear that I'm being judged for being too out there, too emotional and too care-free, too do-what-I-feel-like. Thus I pretend to stress about exams (except maths, I always stress for maths), I try to control the way I portray my emotions to a certain someone.. and I try to show that I really care about quitting unhealthy habits (and I really don't). About an hour ago I asked if a friend was bringing heels to Paris because I didn't want to look like the odd one out with heels.
BUT I DON'T WANT TO CARE LIKE THIS.
I want to live on animal instincts, to be truly free to do what I want and what I need to do. To fall in love, and be unhealthy as long as it's good.
Humanity still needs to progress.
We live in a dictatorship controlled by our own social norms.
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
MATHS IS OVER
This is how I feel
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Saturday, 5 June 2010
Jean Luc Godard and Pornography
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I haven't posted anything good for the past few days/week due to an extensive amount of the following
- Studying for exams
- Jean Luc Godard's films
- Very sexual photography
Jean Luc Godard is a French/Swiss film maker. My favourite film by him has to be Masculin/Feminin (1966 I think). It's absolutely breath taking. Vivre Sa Vie is also brilliant.
(clip from Masculin/Feminin)
But I know you don't really care too much for French cinema right now. Not when I've mentioned upcoming sex. Lately I've been looking at a lot of really sexual photography. Looking at some of them, I really wonder if pornography can be art. I know a lot of people who appreciate nude photography, even slightly sexual ones but they say once it turns explicit, it's no longer artistic. Now when I say pornography, I don't mean hardcore redtube porn or whatever it is you kids are into nowadays.
I mean
I realised most of the pictures are black and white. Does that make them seem less raw and more artistic to you, or is it all the same?
I don't know- what do you think? Do you just see the a screen shot of a lame porn film or what?
PS. I don't get off looking at these. Just so you won't need to wonder.
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