Minds of Cardboard

It was about two years ago, I think, when this metaphor came to mind. And I’m blogging this for me really. As a record of sorts and maybe being conceited enough to suppose that this can help some people. Not really because I expect it to be news but because sometimes when it’s written down it’s just easier to understand. Also, I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but for the purpose of setting it all out in a way I like, I’m joining it in one blogpost.
People are animals. Some of you are going ‘duh’ but it’s not so duh. Look around you. Do you live like every other animal does? Think about all the things humans do and have done. The kettle. The wars. The governments and lies and festivals and nail polish removers and mascara and scissors and engines and round CDs which can produce music and little pen drives which carry secrets and words. We are fucking amazing. It’s hard to grasp that computers don’t simply exist, but that they evolved from the minds of creatures who used to hunt Mammoths with stone spears. That we have a periodic table and that we dye our hair.
But still...we are animals. And animals need so survive, and that’s what most of us aim for. And what is one of the basic rules of survival? Knowing when to fight or flee. Knowing when something is a friend or a foe. But of course, we are pretty pathetic in the sensing department. We can’t see properly most of the time, we can’t smell for shit, and our nails and teeth couldn’t kill a puppy. So we have devised another mechanism of differentiation; judging humans on human standards. When we meet someone we can’t help but have to classify them. It is a necessity of survival. And we may think we are very complex, and we do have more classifications, but we still have them as rigid as any other animal.
This I call ‘boxes’.
To put simple examples, there are common labels like ‘chav’, ‘goth’, ‘geek’, ‘gay’, ‘preppy’, ‘teacher’, ‘student’, ‘emo’...the list is endless. We have all done it, we all do it. I can’t tell you the amount of times my friends have played that stupid ‘chav game’ which I hate. I remember a person once asked Rachel if she hung out in cemeteries because she liked gothic clothes and rock music. O_o
But we always have to make things more complicated because if we just stuck people in boxes and left them there, the act wouldn’t be so dangerous. But the fact is that every box is heavy and burdened by strings- the strings of rules and regulations. Of expectations, or rumours, or standards.
To make an example, the first time I thought this up was when a girl told me she had made out with another girl several times. A natural reaction, I think, would be to classify the person as a lesbian or at least bisexual. You would think that at least technically that’s just what it would be. And homosexuality may not seem as outrageous because of TV and media today but it still really is. If you were homosexual and came out in your school, and everybody knew it, would it be the same, really? Do you think people wouldn’t talk about you or bully you at all? They would, because kissing someone of the same sex has the box named ‘homosexual’ and homosexual has the strings of; forbidden, against the church, against reproduction, supposedly the cause of Aids, etc. etc. Or maybe just because Bandura was right and we only learn through models.
But the fact with my case was that that particular friend simply loved the other same-sexed friend so much that she felt comfortable doing it. She didn’t find the thought of female bodies attractive or appealing. It was just one particular type of love.
With this I’m trying to show how commonly, and I’m no exception to the rule really, people put one person in one specific box and that’s it. That’s what they are. They are no longer ‘Tony the human.’ They are ‘Tony the emo’ or ‘Tony the rocker’ or even ‘Tony the bitch’. When you meet someone and you think they are mean, how do you know they’re not having a bad day, or are trying to protect themselves, or one of the other million reasons people have to lash out? When people say ‘oh I hate chavs’, or ‘oh I hate teachers’, do they realise what they are saying? Hate is a strong word and to classify a whole range of people with so many other traits, stuff them in one box, and hate them all...it’s ridiculous.
Let’s make this a little harder. What if two brothers loved each other in an ‘unconventional’ way and had sex? I made them both of the same sex so the excuse of deformed babies cannot come up. Now, how do you feel about it? And why do you feel that way? What are the reasons? OR a 43 year old woman that loves (in an unconventional way) a ten year old boy. Now, she does not touch this little boy. I believe love is wanting to protect that other person until you are willing to risk anything for them. What if this woman loved the boy but only protects him? Is that love wrong despite the fact that she is, in her mind, a paedophile? And if so (and I’m not taking sides) how so?
For me, ultimate wisdom would be to accept people as complete individuals. To drop all the boxes. All of them. If a teacher and a student hang out- nobody would think of it twice until initiative to do so because it would be two humans hanging out. If two girls kiss, it will be natural because it will be two humans kissing. If a person loves another person it would be good, because love is good- and lust is a completely different matter. Muslims are not terrorists, German are not Nazis, people who dress in black aren’t depressed Goths, emotionally unstable people don’t always resort to cutting themselves. And on and on and on.
So the next time you meet someone, try to keep an open mind. This is a person. Not a box. They act the way they do because of certain reasons which you don’t know about, and should therefore nor assume the results of. Before judging someone, know them. Not just the first layer.
I know it’s easier said than done, and that the boxes are there for a reason...but give your cardboard mind a rest from time to time. Maybe this will give you the chance to see how special some people can really be.

Treasure ahoy!

I was doing everything possible to not revise and discovered the ‘random question’ choice in the blog profile. I’ve fallen in love with its robotic questionings. It’s so fun. It just gives you a- you’ve guessed it- random question and you can put an answer to it. I’ll do one every day!

...Until I forget, or my capricious love abandons its ugly font, its mechanical ways, or how it never gives me any answers of its own.

So, blahblahBLAHblahbah.
That’s all I have to say about that.
(...sigh...i guess I’ll go do some revision now...never mind its 2:20...fuckyours)

Excuse me, miss, why is there a hole in your chest?

So the last day of school has come and gone and we are racing towards exams, summer rolling out in hills after that and then in the impossible horizon lies university, without you guys.
I’m going to miss you all so much.
The old old lunches, the orange game, the singing in town, the penis aerobics, the walks on the beach, the swimming with clothes, the cock porn, the sweat and hotty, the coolness, the isis and booksbooks, the hugs, the yaoi, the badges, the t-shirts which people don’t get, the giggling in English, the laughing at Mr Magallo, the kisses with fingers on mouths, the crying at the bottom of hills, the hallucinations, the confessions, the music, the drama, the life, the mama wheels, the grand piano in the church, the skirt lengths, the ginger, the not ginger, the maka, the screaming, the punching games, the new year’s resolutions, the winning, the losing, the frigging hagerious, the prince of England, the lesbian filled castle, the dungarees, the whips and chains, the photogenic, the not so photogenic, the sushi, the car rides, the singing out of windows, the 40 40, the groping whilst film-watching, the dancing in rooms, the gigs, the parties, the videos, the lip singing, the nick-names, the bitches, the stupid laugh, the killing of babies-turned-into-hamsters, the meaning of life, the mouth popping sounds, the llama, the kronk, the farts that are ‘gonna smell really bad by the way’, the pancakes with ice cream, the banana and strawberry milkshakes, the obsessions, the harry puppet pals’ bother, the pile-ons, the stupid German tests, the skipping down the hill, the dog ears, the back fetish talks, the hill man, Da Whale as the ultimate penis, the loudest laughs, the cackles, the doodles, the holes in the sand, the echoes in the piano, the clashing shoes, the million minute hug, the ‘give me a word’, the hand squeezing, the palm-reading, the marching to RS. The good times, the bad times and all the other times that are over but I’m thankful happened.
But an ending doesn’t always mean a goodbye so for now I’ll say; See yah later, everyone.

OMG a hug! Quick, children, cover your eyes!!

[Insert stupid and dramatic news music here]

In other news, there has been a spotting of a strange event in Beaulieu Convent School. Marina and Freddie were seen hugging each other for an amount of time exceeding legal limits on school ground. There was no proof of clothe removal or groping but officials maintain that the strange event must have some ulterior motive, possibly connected to an alien attack or the fact that Voldemort is going to kill us all. Never mind that he died at the end of book seven.
Marina, one of the participants in the unlawful event, was seen throwing spit-balloons at the press and exclaiming,

“You people make me sad.
Bloody hell. Haven't you never seen two upright, pink, monkey-like creatures latch on and squeez each other for an extended period of time before?!?!?!?! IT’S CALLED A
H
U
G
HUG.
SHEESH
Get a best friend or something, losers!”
...
Right.
Next, a 5-year-old child was seen laughing in public and will be sued for causing disease, also known as ‘spreading the love’.

That time I insisted the electricity was in the oranges

I was walking through the primary school playground as I left for home today and saw two kids shredding leaves and making different coloured piles, setting them up nicely and childishly, and it just took me straight back to when I was little. Even though it doesn’t feel like it at all, I’m now, technically, an adult. Inside me my memories are affected by the strangeness of time, making them seem as if their events happened either a million years ago or just yesterday when summers were chock-full of playing without a single care in the world. My cousins and I are really close- I couldn’t possibly love them more- and that’s rooted in those many summers we spent together. Summers when we would play ‘Pokemon’, ruining our knees by crawling about, collecting rocks as ‘eggs’ which we stole off each other. Months when we would settle in one particular path of the farm which was framed by trees and made ‘houses’ under particular ones, creating our own little ‘mud village’ which consisted in trotting down the hill to where there were rows and rows of upturned earth where watermelons were planted. We would sieve the dirt, making mud out of it, each choosing a job which consisted of using the mud to make something you could sell to each other. Mine was usually animal accessories (such as little sofas, beds, toys, food), Sara being the most artistic out of all of us and making mud animal (some of which I still have). In the later years Paloma was always the banker, making round drops of money and lending it out to us in order to keep the economy going. As our adults napped after lunch we would either play that or sit on the grass, gameboy in hand, painstakingly connected to each other and racing on Mario kart, the only game I was ever any good at.
We would also have epic games of adventure, each choosing a character (I was always a water witch called Luna, ahaha) and go around the farm with a long list of self-made spells and stories, battling demons and monsters such the ash dragon, personified by a mound of burnt trees and leaves, or Bobby the Vicious, a chained dog which was pretty scary with anybody except me. He died of sunstroke years ago...
In La Manga Laura, Guille and I would be horrible troublemakers, running about harassing the Indian restaurant downstairs by throwing water balloons from the balcony, sticking up ‘CLOSED’ sings on the door as well as crudely drawn pictures of a hand with the middle finger lifted and insulting (this would be the wittiest and funniest thing since farts were invented). We would go about the streets in the evening, pretending to be spies and hiding from everybody, following strangers in an overly dramatic way. I remember this one time, playing some spy or magical game when I pretended to break or infect my leg on the side of the beach and sent Laura to collect some ‘medicinal herbs’ to cure me. As she went off and I moaned in pseudo pain on the floor this gigantic grasshopper flew towards me. My first instinct was to get up and flee the scene immediately but, of course, by leg was infected with some mysterious disease...so I stayed put, staring at the mutant bug in horror and awe until it was frightened away. And when my cousin ran back having dropped the plants, I sent her right back, even though she had to trudged through thorns and nettles because, damn it, I was going to die if she didn’t do something about it!
Not to mention the dramas we made up with our teddies as characters, full of the adult themes of love, deception and death. Or all those lies my bratty, bossy self made up to freak Laura out, such as the one time I convinced her that I was a vampire and would go and kill her mum at night if she didn’t do what I said. AHAHAHA....ah...good times.

I love how annoying and innocent and just childish children are. I left the school playground smiling after an amusing conversation;
“Marina!” a kid called Lauren from Brownies ran towards me, smiling and stopping a few steps away almost shyly. I grinned at her and we exchanged hellos as Grace, another girl from Brownies, ambled up to me with a semi-quiet 'hello Ladybird!'. I smiled at both of them and then Lauren said,
“Is that your I-pod?” pointing at the thing in my hand.
“It’s an MP3 but yeah,” I said, adding the technicality to make conversation.
“Nice I-pod!” she enthused and I laughed at her obvious dismissal to my correction.
“What song are you listening to?” she persisted.
“er..” I squinted at the screen, invisible in the sunlight, “Lady by Regina Spektor.”
She stared at me.
“Weirdo...” she drawled and trotted away. All I could think to do was laugh as Grace shyly shrugged and a teacher smiled at us, nevertheless inching in our direction suspiciously as if I was gonna kidnap the girl or something. Thinking back on it I began laughing as I climbed the hill, only stopping when I realised I would look like a right nutter if anybody saw me giggling alone to myself...
God, I hope I never forget those days, the ones Grace and Lauren are living now. Fuck uni, those have to be the best years of my life. The mooning through car windows, the farts on matches, the riding pillows, the pissing from balconies, the climbing fences and chasing dogs and petty arguments and hysterical laughs....how can you beat that?
You just can’t.

Six

1. Introductions

It was Roger who showed me the haunted house the day Pirates of the Caribbean Two came out, standing sad and creaking beside the harbour. And even when she left I didn’t pause for a second, sitting at its steps and watching it banish ghosts from Sundays past, letting the victorious pirate queen emerge at last.

2. Stethoscopes

I held your hand as you said, ‘Enough is Enough.’ Our palms were sweaty and I had to fight against squeezing so hard it would hurt because I had never seen someone jump off a cliff so bravely, Bird Girl.

3. Kid

They said you had no natural talent, no grace and no speed. But you were something better, weren’t you, kid? You were the thrumming strength of will which ignores shattered bones and ripped hearts until the breathless life of forcing yourself forwards results in another deserving win. Another race. Another chance. Another life.

4. Treasures

We know these are the things that last forever. The first dance to Radio Gaga in lowlights and clapping hands. I remembered your surprised expression in the reflection of the mirror, and only later realised why. The smell of incense, the taste of salt. All the hugs that come in pairs. Even if I’m seven seas away I’ll hide myself on a sunny spot inside your mind, watching the music and the rain through distorted eyes.

5. Liquids

We both crawled out of water, you know, a million years ago. Mine tasted of seaweed and yours of chlorine and they were both delicious. We know how to melt away into water particles and when it rains we smile, smile into the puddles and clouds and streaked windows and feel so alive we might die any moment.

6. Chemistry

I don’t think we’re made for each other. I don’t think we fit perfectly like a puzzle. I think we found each other. I think we agreed to make things work. The way you love school and winter and I live for weekends and August. The way your childhood is a scar and mine is a golden nugget. The way things are unfair but just are anyways. The way we both create. The way we love. The way you fight. The way I wait. The way we laugh and hug and are.
It will all work out in the end.
And maybe the fact that I Love You has something to do with it.

One Inch

(To be read gently. Like a whisper, or a suggestion, or a dream. With a songs such as 'Bird Gerhl' or the second half of 'Valerie' from the mentioned film)

It is dawning slowly and noiselessly, tinting the sky deep, almost imaginary colours.
As I watched this, I think about a quote from the V for Vendetta Film;

It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and apologized to no one. I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch, but one. An inch. It is small and it is fragile and it is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must NEVER let them take it from us. I hope that whoever you are, you escape this place. I hope that the worlds turns, and that things get better. But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that, even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you.
With all my heart, I love you.
Valerie.

Which lead me to think, don’t we each have an inch of ourselves which we hide deep inside our minds, only shared, maybe, with those closest to you? With lovers and best friends. But why do we guard it? Guard it so close to us that we may lose it forever, like the treasure of a dead pirate. To capture and keep our self-image, or for self-preservation? Are we so afraid of each other that we feel the need to guard ourselves? And even more sadly, isn’t that caution justified?
Why can’t we just love like Valerie does?
Why can’t we respect, why can’t we accept, why can’t we live and let live? Why do we spend money on things which we just want when there are people who don’t have what they need? Why are we breaking something that we can't fix? These aren’t just questions. These are realities. Realities. Isn’t that strange? Ungraspable. The notion that there are so many other people who feel as you feel, and are loved as you're are loved, and hurt as you are hurt.
I’m sure you are tired of hearing this from me. But I can’t help but feel that there is this sort of missing space within me where some sort of peace should be occupying with roses and no apologies.
So here it goes. My inch. Five things that either no one knows or people have forgotten. All mundane and inconsequential and mine.

As many of you know, for a while the pills I was taking dried my lips out so that I had to constantly buy lip balm to apply every ten minutes. But as many of you also know, I am disorganized and far too scattered, and lost so many of them that I kept having to buy more. But now I keep finding them; in the pocked of an old pair of jeans, at the bottom of a drawer, under my bed, in my locker. I thought about what a quirk that was, to seem to be sprouting chap sticks everywhere, and found myself relating to it somehow. And now when I struggle with something, or when I am worried, or when I need it, I encourage myself by saying ‘Come on chapstick girl! You can do it!’ as if I were a superhero with the right so save anybody.
One of my first crushes was a complete cliché. He hit me with a ball on the head. And not any ball; a big, tough, basketball. I was sitting down and was so dazed that when I came-to I had a crowd of people circling me and the source of my future affection had his arm around me, asking if I was ok. My mind went straight from ‘paaaiinnn’ to ‘OMG his ARM is AROUND me!!!’
One of my greatest fears is time-travelling back in time but there are two things I regret (not) doing so much; so, so much, that I would alter the present simply to change what happened in consequence to my lack of action.
There are a pair of beauty spots in the same place on both my legs. They are my lucky beauty spots and I press them when I need any extra luck. They are chapstick-girl’s source of power.
I wholeheartedly believe that the sea can’t kill me. Maybe because of my name or the beach of my childhood or because when I was little and played being a creature or a mage of any kind I was always the water element (and even now when people suggest I am fire I will internally call them an utter, utter fool, even though it suits be so much better). When I walk on the shoreline I feel this life and compatibility with the sea which can’t be normal, as if I’m walking with an old friend that I know will never betray me. And if ever a person objected this point a part of me would dislike them instantly and forever.

Those are my five points, for all the world to see. This is very hard for me and I will surely regret it at times but I’m making a point to myself. Because I want to love like Valerie does, and be able to give myself completely to the wind like that.
So, I do not request or demand or even ask, I simply invite, suggest, you do the same. Share five things that no one else knows, or that only a lover would know. And when you die and those who know you die also this ‘inch’ will be here, floating in cyberspace.
Flying.

Tu le dices ‘buenas tardes’ y el dice ‘AAARRGGHH!!’

Anda que si, no he escrito una cosa de estas en español. Os jodeis por esta, inglesillos, que me gusta más como suena el español. Es mucho más vulgar y divertido. El Ingles, o es tan refinado que es para burlarse, o demasiado feo, así para darle una patada en la cara a quien habla. Esta afección por el español se me ocurrió cuando ella se me puso a gritar en MSN;

‘SEWGSERYHSRETURDTUGVHKJHGJGVH JODER ME CAGO EN TI ORDENADOR ASKEROSO DE MIERDA, MUERETE, MUERETE YA, CAPULLO. ESTA SIENDO TAN ASKEROSAMENTE SUBNORMAL K HE CARAGDO EL MISMO PUTO ESPISODIO 6 VECES YA. CAPULLO.ES KE LE ODIO. NO VOY A PODER TERMINARME 6 EPISODIOS DE MIERDA, K VA, X Q NO LE DA LA GANA AL HIJO DE PUTA. TE VOY A FREIR LA MEMORIA, CABRONAZO, JUST U WAIT’

Es que el lenguaje este tiene un gustillo…ay.
Bueno, ya me voy. Yo creo que solo hay una cosa más que decir.

CCCCAAAAAARRREEETTEEERRAAASSS!!!!

what doesn't kill you

makes you stronger