Don’t be a sheep.

I think we are all sheep. Yes some are further up the heard trying to get ahead and some are trailing in the way back and need to get spanked to hurry up. But we’re all following; even at the front you may not be following the ‘crowd’ but your following something whether it be the shepherd or good ol’ collie. By the by I like to think I’m somewhere in the middle not so head strong to think I’m driving this train but not so far back, not so in the middle either (where all you can see is white); but one of the ones that stops every now and then to eat some grass or check out that really cool dirt patten or whatever.

I think sheep need more sheep like that ones that just stop a bit come out of the cloud of wool and take note of the path we’re all going along and just have a moment of clarity. Individuality is all well and good but if you never think about why your doing what your doing what’s the point really?

Because whoever you think the sheep herder may be whether it be God, Society or Lady Philosophy eventually we all get led to the slaughter house.

Still

Can’t you see me?
I am standing tall,
Despite all hope, despite all expectation
There is fallen waste around me
And only I stand tall
Surely you can see me?
I will not be still
I will not yield
The suckled babe is still
The water is still
The flora is still
The fauna is still
The light is still
The air is still
I am not still.

I am not still
But if you do not look
If you do not look at me
I will be as still as life.

Night of the living scaredy cat.

The other night I learnt a valuable lesson; to stop raging at stupid teenagers in cheap horror movies.

Me and my friends decided to play hide and seek in a graveyard at night. The first round went fine, everyone laughing, although some of us were already scared. At the beginning I did feel quite nonchalant about the whole thing, even enough to jump out from behind a grave  to scare a friend. Twice. But alas my downfall was imminent, I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the cigarettes that got to me, not to mention the trillions of nettle stings on my arse. When I was found first the realisation that I would have to wonder around alone in the dark on my own was terrifying. When I was hiding it was fine almost relaxing sitting on top of some rotting corpse with dried leaves in places while some poor chap got scared with people popping out at them. I soon learnt my lesson, which is even more embarrassing because I wasn’t even on my own.

a branch will break, leaves will rustle and the headstone at the end of the path will look like a cloaked man staring at you ready to kill you like he did your friends. Paranoia sets in and the fact that no one will come out, and the fear. Oh the fear. Because of course it never occurred to you to leave, because that’s not in the spirit of the game, and will also be admitting defeat. But even when I see shadows run across the path like a black cat, telling yourself that it’s nothing or someone playing, does not help (even if it is in fact true, as I later found out)

I now understand the thinking of these dumb movie girls, not only do they have no sense but something actually terrifying are happening to them, instead of a children’s game.

I go to a lit path and stay there, and then I go back into the forest, the main cliché I will say to these TV idiots is ‘why would you go back!, WHY!?’
But the paranoia of not knowing is worse, the need to know what has happened. But when I entered I heard screaming and that was conformation enough of ‘danger’ but instead of running to see what happened I ran, I ran out due to panic.

I ran only to find the humour once everyone found, laughing and joking the only thing you can do is play along, maybe even tell people it was a troll and even when I tell myself it was funny in retrospective, that I over reacted, or was over tired. That it was all just fun and games, teenagers being teenagers, then why?, why? Do I still see an outline of a cloak in the corner of my eye….

Rammi

Rammi. For those internet trolls and lurkers out there you may have heard of her, she is on about every networking site imaginable. Known as the ‘self-proclaimed taser girl’ on Plurk, with them giving her her own emoticon . Ms. Ramon loves her tasering, metaphorically of course, my Christmas card was even decorated with miniature taser baubles. She usually uses it as explanation of rage “I will taser you!”

All this tweeting and posting and general intweweb exploring have given her numerable contacts, with which she somehow manages to persuade to do the most odd things. Her blog domain was brought for her and she even persuaded a musician from L.A to write and record her a song, and then to rewrite it. Her connection with the music business does not stop there, getting herself invited to ‘extra’ in many a music video, and has made herself quite known in real life as well, being invited and attending things such as protests, political conferences and maybe her most formidable annual ‘no pant’s day’. Formidable because she was pictured in the metro baring all save a tee and red and white spripy knickers, which circulated all the secondary schools  and lead to a very awkward conversation with her Bob Dylan obsessed English teacher.

What I love most about her is her love of everything shiny and sparkly things, in fact it surpasses all importance. One time when her and I were in a store, she literally squeed and ran to this sequined thing causing extreme embarrassment to everyone involved, except her good self  who was just blissful in her sparkly haven. She is also sort of stuck in the 90’s and the 21st century at the same time. The 90’s because of her aforementioned love of all that’s silver, the music (esp. Spice Girls) and Leg Warmers. The 21st century so that she can contact half the world and update them on every second of her life, like her computers 0 rpm. She also has money, and uses it, one to feed her iTard love, with a mac book an iPod and considering an iPad, because it is shiny, but decided to omit the idea for lack of hand space. And I’m sure that is just scratching the surface of that what is Ramon, but in her own words: “I just can’t be arsed to finish.”

The Butterfly a.k.a papillon a.k.a butter-shit

You can pin and mount me like a butterfly – The Smiths.

The best thoughts are the most delicate,

fastest, trickiest to capture.

Lepidoptera so different on the wing,

than when caught, killed,

and proudly displayed. – Randy Read.


Larousse defines beauty as ‘that which is pleasing to the eye or spirit’ and I’m sure most people would agree butterflies are beautiful. Although there will be one or two pessimist’s who ignore the vibrant and intricate patterns, and just see a flimsy little insect. Tough for them since through the ages butterflies have been seen as the former. Lepidoptera [see above] is the scientific name for the phenomenon, and therefore Latin; deriving from the word Lepid meaning ‘pleasant’, Ancient Greek interestingly called it the psyche which meant the soul, and we now borrow that word to mean ‘mind’. Modern Greek haven’t strayed far with petaloudia -petal. I’m guessing that refers to their wings. The Yiddish call it a summer-bird. I should explain butter-shit, hm? There are two theory’s to the origins, one is to with 12th century witches stealing cream, and the other is to do with Dutch excrement, so both are equally valid. The dutch word boterschijte came from the thought that butterflies poo looked a lot like butter, and so on and so forth the flying little butter-shits became butterfly, probably around the same time we became to prudish to even mutter the word shit. The witchcraft explanation is far more interesting however;  back in the 12th century (only a hundred years after Jesus, how he never got done in for witchcraft is beyond me) they believe witches turned into butterflies and stole peoples butter/cream and other such dairy products. So perhaps it was a sort of warning see a papillon shout BUTTERFLY!, as in watch out your butter gonna-ago-flying if you don’t watch it. Protect the cows there’s a witch about!

Etymology aside, what really fascinates me is the transition between wee caterpillar, to pupa, to grown adult.  “‘[to] have to turn into a chrysalis – and then after that into a butterfly. I should think you’ll feel it a little queer?'” – Alice in wonderland. And I think it should feel queer especially as you’ve been a larvae for your whole life, which could be a matter of months, then spin yourself a little home for a few weeks, and come out with wings and your tongue in your antennae. But unfortunately for him, she only has a matter of weeks or even days to enjoy flying, because she has to lay her eggs before they die. But there are some that avoid winter by migrating south, one such case that has stuck with me is the image of the Monarch Butterfly, in the David Attenborough documentary: Life. who travel from Canada to Mexico for a four-month hibernation, more than can be imagined travel to one spot. For protection, seems an obvious reason why they all go there, but how they can know that is still one of the great mysteries.

I do not know whether I was a man dreaming I was a butterfly,
or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I was a man.
–Chuang Tse


Love

After reading lemonade grenade parade’s most recent post, I started to look into the concept of marriage and love and whether or not, she had the right idea. I’ve always been one to believe that marriage on a whole is a good thing. There’s the stable relationship and commitment sure, but I’m sure the real reason is boredom, and out of this comes an excuse for a party. Most  little girls (and a few boys) dream about their wedding day when they grow up, mainly because society will have them believe it’s the best day of their lives, the planing and thought that goes into every little detail screams out to us because we’re all designers at heart (and if not  there’s always wedding in a box).  And to be honest I’m looking forward to the planing more than the wedding itself, and I’m not alone, so really is there much difference then living together as two people who are in love, and the label that is Man and Wife, apart from all the new silverware? In some cases marriage is somewhat a joke, for something that take a lot of work to get out of, people get married without a lot of consideration. upon browsing such sites as FML.com I mean what would make you marry a man who would tell you that he doesn’t love you over a CoD microphone during multiplayer three years into your so-called marriage? And I’m sure everyone would say no. But how do you know that’s where life would lead you as you’re standing in that white dress.

Ah, love, it can blind you that is for sure, but I still hold that you should be sure of who your future spouse is, taking CoD bride as an example, were there not inkling of his personality that would not be good for long-term. but what is love anyhows? A question that many have tried to answer, the most well-known for wedding ceremony is in the bible; in Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. Which begs the question, if love means never insisting on your own way, why do so many relationships end? Are we humans so innately selfish that we can’t even put aside our differences for the sake of love. Love – apparently, the most beautiful emotion. Who knew?

I apologise to Shinzo perhaps it isn’t cynical, since a working relationship one that’s only lasted till death is death itself, or a hopelessness; that this is as good as it’s gettin’, so may as well live with it. I’ve always had problems with war and injustice, wondering why it was so easy to hate, than talk through your problems and just be happy. But it seems that people will always choose the easier option. But at least with marriage, ‘denying the truth’, there are good intentions, the same good intentions one may have when going into war, maybe one will fight and hate, out of love. A common theme among my friends is, that if someone hurts them, instead of us being the better person and encouraging  said hurt party to move on, we’ll go ape-shit on culprit. Not sure what I have proved here, but hopefully we can all get along and maybe there is some truth, to “better to have loved and lost, than to have never have loved at all.”

Although you could always get a Japanese pillow lover, that shit’ll never leave you.