Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

Sometimes we play the broken dancer so long we don't know how to stop. Splinters of wood fly as my vision fades to nothing and

I

just

let

go.

Worse than the last time, I can't even remember certain parts flying off. Cracked clean down the seat, I simply cannot remember that happening or how many times I struck it against the ground. At least the last time I only hit once, jarred back into my senses by the thing breaking. This time, it wasn't enough, just more and more and more is all I seemed to want. I couldn't even fully explain why I wanted to because there wasn't any particular why. More of an exorcism of a build-up of emotion. Keeping things to myself, the only options left to me seem to involve destruction, self or otherwise and I managed to avoid the first, which I am proud of. More truthfully, it was a thing beyond wanting, it was beyond thought.

It was fury.

And this raw, untainted thing is horrible and awful. I can't even imagine what would happen if I ever did this to a person.

I think I may need help. But then there is the pathological inability to do so. Ironically one of the things I need to get over is my issue with psychology.

What are you going to do, neh? I don't really have it that bad, in fact, everything is going well. I have absolutely no reason to complain except for things that are well and truly contained within myself. All my mistakes, emotional and otherwise, are my own. Maybe that's why I can't get past the feeling that I have to fix myself.

I mean, really, who else is going to?

Posted by Kurrs at 7:23 PM | Permalink

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I'm avoiding my friends. I'm avoiding my ex. In many ways, I'm avoiding my life, such as it was a week ago.

Originally Uploaded
here by loupiote

My lover is a former suicide girl. I officially can never complain about my sex life ever again.

Originally Uploaded
here by seejackrun

I missed Sounds of the Underground, and that makes me sad yet I know it is something I know I had to have done. I'm currently missing Apex Project and it feels the same way.

Originally Uploaded
here by apeirophobia

There, I think I'm done.

Written On: Brother's Computer
Currently Listening: The Postal Service - Give Up (full album)
Currently Reading: A Canticle For Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr.

Posted by Kurrs at 7:47 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded
here by seejackrun

There was a girl once, who was my faerie princess. She defined beauty to me, and was everything that I wanted. An infatuation from high school that spanned into almost the present, she was the only person whom each time I saw her she increased in beauty. Twice she made me consider being unfaithful, and both times I did not follow through.

The first, she was standing there amongst so much expensive finery dressed in clothes she had found second hand. Little sandals wrapped about her feet, and her brown hair laid free upon her shoulders as it always did. An extra from a midsummer's night's dream, I wanted to be with her more than anything. But I did nothing, exchanged pleasantries and remembered what I had instead of what I didn't.

The second, we saw each other from across the street and our eyes met. She was an absolute vision, her hair now coiled in dreadlocks, her eyes now showing experience from behind her glasses. We walked, each being devoured by the others' vision. A song as old and beautiful as the stars passed between us without words. Her lips parted, ever so slightly, as if to say something. I looked down and did not look back. I knew if even Hello was said, I would break any and all previous relationship agreements if only for a moment with her.

I can't seem to be able to write anything else, even though very important developments are occuring in my life. I suppose everything is just too much, too close, too imminent. Blinded, like staring at the sun.

Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: dj://spaz - The Fragile Porcelain Swamp

Posted by Kurrs at 7:01 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by Apeirophobia

Your eyes are green. I woke up, and could still taste you. My tired mind scrambled about, trying to figure out where you were. Surely you were in the living room, upon the spare bed, or... no wait, you must be beside me. I forgot he was here, and then remembered you were in a place below sea level with hot water and wine. Your name has obliterated all others, even the one with whom you share yours. I like the fact that you prefer long forms. You give me cause for happiness above and beyond my undercurrent of contentment.

Your eyes are blue. You terrified me yesterday. I saw you standing there in the water and in my mind I was already planning how to rescue you from yourself. Like a moment I once had in Ireland, waking terrors of drowning danced across my mind, followed by the smooth forceful knowledge of movement. Muscles pumping with sudden determination like a crescendo of flesh as the distance would be closed in moments. I should have known better, but the ice colour of your empty eyes still haunts me.

Your eyes are brown. There is still a certain amount of nervousness with how much you mean to me, but with this I'm certain you have empathy. Nonetheless, you are very good to me and I can't help but feel thankful I know you everytime we part ways. The combination of your intense beauty and my lack of desire for you still fascinates me so, and I'm glad you think I'm easy. You crave comfort, and because you matter so much, I can't help but want to grant you the things you crave.

Written On: Laptop

Downloadable Full Albums
The White Stripes - Get Behind Me Satan.zip
Sir Kutz - Sickness Inside.rar
They're up, just in case anyone hasn't grabbed either already.

Posted by Kurrs at 8:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I was stood up today.

So, my test went... Not sure how I feel about it, I would say there's probably an even chance that I pass or fail. I was even figuring out during the test time exactly how well I would have to do so that I would end up passing the course. However, there is a relatively large random element to the whole thing. Either part marks or sheer spite might get in my way of passing, with at least as much certainty that my own ability and performance factors in. We'll see, I've moved from a state of stress and work to uncertainty. Not exactly nice, but there is a certain sense of freedom.

I must admit, it would be really nice to pass.

Afterwards, went to Wreck Beach with Dominique. Predictably, everyone else didn't show up. Certain people are predictably beach people, others are predictably not. I can't help but wonder at individuals who agree to do things that they don't actually want to do. I have no empathy for a lack of foresight. Very infrequently do I not know whether I want to do things beforehand. Especially if yourself is the sole source of this new information.

I almost beach blogged, due to my deep love of blogging from strange places, but sand, sun, wind, words, and water frankly have more appeal.

My home keyboard died. Like, proper-dead. Starting thinking the numlock key was the c key and that q was sometimes, but not always s, and other keys didn't work at all. It happened all of a sudden, and I'm glad. It lived a good life and, with the exception of a sticky shift key, it was healthy until the end. No need for it to suffer.

Fireworks tonight. While they don't hold as much appeal to me as some, I'm probably going to head out. I'm tired, once again refusing to accept the reality that tests exhaust me to my core. I do have a feeling though, that once light begins playing across the sky, I will enjoy myself.

Strange, I'm really quite happy, although I can't help but think this post doesn't manage to describe that. Even if I went into the details why I still think it would end up being lack-luster. A combination of my reading and the writing itself I would imagine.

Written On: Laptop

Posted by Kurrs at 9:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Are you ever caught by something that leaves you speechless? Like a slow moving hand growing out of your stomach and reaching upwards through your insides to eventually reach and grasp around your vocal cords so that all you can manage is a slight exhalation of air? You reach down and hold your chest, fearing it is some malignant force affecting your lungs, yet you find them working just fine. The block, the surprise, lies entirely in your throat, your voice.

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And, in memory of the concert that I could not attend, and because I haven't been offering up my musical stylings to you because of the fact that I haven't been listening as I'm writing these days, behold

Downloadable Music: Tractor - Nipple Red Sword EP RAR-encoded

Posted by Kurrs at 5:52 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded
here by Foxtongue

I replied that I actually find I do much better in harder classes, and tend to do badly in easy classes because I can't bring myself to care. I realise now that I probably came across as rather pretentious and a bit of an asshole, using phrases like my grade in a class seems to be inversely proportional to its simplicity and talking about incentive structures related to pay to use systems versus even distribution systems of taxation (in response to his comment that it was weird we had to pay for the gym even if we didn't use it).

I'm tired, the claws were out again. I just can't abide by people without perspective.

Posted by Kurrs at 3:04 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded
here by loupiote

I was gathering my laundry. My hoody smelled of despair. A smell that's a mixture of blood, the musky sweat of nervousness, a heady salt smell from tears, and a twinge of mucus from when the crying turned to sobbing. It's amazing how much of a story smell can tell.

It's probably an aura of entropy surrounding me causing things in her life to fuck up so that she needs me.

It's funny, we both get described as artsy, even by one another, and we both chafe under the definition.

I cannot promise tomorrow.

But I love you.

She is still the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes upon. Even now, in the end, when the candle burns the brightest, I know that now is not for us.

Posted by Kurrs at 10:54 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded
here by Foxtongue

I'm very aware of the world lovely, and what's going on. I just have a few loose ends to attend to. You, for instance.

Sometimes irony hits me so hard and so obnoxiously it's like being slapped by an iron guantlet. What a pair we make, coiled together, the light of the full moon pouring through the window like a searchlight. Both of us, eyes glued open despite utter exhaustion, both suffering from that kind of upset that you don't actually have access to, that lies underneath the surface. You can't really feel it, but it affects your actions and state of mind none the less. It doesn't keep me up at night. Yeah, right.

I have Werewolf to run today, and Illumaries during the evening (meet beforehand at my house at 5:30pm). My all consuming desire and concern is to pass my Econometrics final on Wednesday, but there's these events that I can't really miss. Today, as explained, is a bit of a write-off, as is Tuesday. The very day before my final, Sounds of the Underground. Arg, $50 ticket already purchased as birthday present from my brother, all day show. Must go.

And then, all of a sudden, the thoughts ran out. Time to make a plum girl a burger with a fried egg on it.

Posted by Kurrs at 7:25 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by seejackrun

There you were, all dressed in black, the only colour upon you being the wrap about your head and maybe a slight colouring of the cheeks that I missed because I hardly met your gaze. Is that now the best we will ever manage? Why does the rest of the world have to view success as death? The entire problem seems to be, even now, I want to reach out and say I know things went awry, but I still love you. But the fact that it matters to me at all seems to be the problem. Old friends now not accuse me of holding on to emotions an unreasonable amount of time, that I should get over it. I don't like the world they live in, one where feelings as deep as that are to be discarded. It doesn't keep me up at night, but it certainly doesn't mean they're gone.

Its funny, no matter how hard I try to be honest here, I can't quite seem to express how I feel completely. The words always seem to lack a certain multidimensionality, a world where the starkness of black and white exist upon the same tree with different thoughts bisecting and growing into the sky. I think like a tree, with tangeantial branches heading off while the first thought doesn't stop. The linearity of language does not express it well, the words either misconstrued as representing something they do not or it merely appears manic. Maybe she's right with her method of metaphor and myth, it certainly is more true. However it would seem she does so because she is incapable of doing otherwise. A gift and a curse, wrapped into one.

Currently Listening: Mirah - Cold Cold Water

Posted by Kurrs at 7:54 AM | Permalink

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An old interest showed up, one that had almost become a regret before falling back into my life with a cheerful reminder as to why I had ever considered it. Her physical presence unchanged, she had not been actually present in my life for some time, a shell being where she once had been. Then, all of a sudden, my friend was once again parading around in that body. All I could manage was I'm glad you're back and it still describes how I feel better than anything else I might put down.

Four PM rolled around, and slight guilt caused my friend to leave. I start to crash, as both my friends are leaving and the insufficient sleep and lack of cleanliness catches up with me. I'm still in the same clothes as yesterday.

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Maybe that's why I stay. Or maybe its because I realise that things change with time, but that brings me precariously close to sounding like her. I said that I'd like to just leave it, to wait, but in many ways that may mean it is already over for me. Which is sad, because it never really began.

I've got a final to study for, and some Garou stuff to coordinate. Right now, my life is a war between my happiness and my discontent. But, in a war, no one wins, and my school life and work life, the things with real future consequences, are most surely suffering, and that is how nothing is winning.

Posted by Kurrs at 5:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

In all fairness, I really should write an entry about me. When you have multiple phone messages on your answering machine ending with I hope you're doing ok it's probably time to touch base.

I was at Jhayne's last night for the combined Navi-has-free-time and James-is-leaving shindig. And, when in doubt, you can always say it better with a montage.

While An Evening With Kevin Smith was on, I ran about the apartment, Skatia hot on my tail. He got so excited he started biting my feet, which was very rewarding.

People picked my brain about the possibility of an American economic collapse, which I always enjoy. It is pretty much impossible to predict, much like the fall of the Soviet Union it will happen and no one will have seen it coming, but I offered the pet theories I particularly enjoy. I accidentally went stomping around someone's psyche uninvited again, explaining that Graham's question just stemmed from an unhealthy fascination with the idea of Armageddon. He became kinda bashful, and after asking me to keep that one a bit more quiet in the future, tried to explain exactly why it fascinated him so. Well, the answer seemed easy enough, you should just make post-apocalyptic films.

It is truly amazing how much joy the average woman gets from being picked up. And I don't mean Hey baby, wanna go for a ride in my shiny car? but just hoist, let's go find us a threshold. I'm a bit more touchy about that one and who I do it with (mostly for their comfort, it's a intimacy level thing), but a simple lock of arms around the area above the tailbone, lift and hug seems to produce a very similar effect. You can practically see the endorphins in their eyes afterwards. I'm not sure why more people don't demand this more. Hey, you, you wanna date me? Make with the picking up at least once a week. Seems like a win-win situation to me.

Tyler had forgotten his hat, and out of the corner of my eye I saw out the window him and Ashley and company turning the corner. Looking about for my sandals, I realised I didn't need them. So, barefoot, I ran down the streets, twisting a path down to Hastings to intercept them. I arrived, and the two of them turned around. The words didn't matter, Tyler's eyes were alight with the question How are you such a good person? Without much more ado, I ran back and as the air whistled through my dreadlocks I thought

I really like this person, this person I have crafted. I know I'm fucked up, so the trick is not to ruin myself. If I can manage that, I can stay happy like this.

Currently Listening: Tally Hall - Banana Man

Posted by Kurrs at 11:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

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So my boots started to fall apart. Like, seriously fall apart. The soles started falling clean off the bottom, with the nail-work showing making them appear like really dangerous looking crocodiles upon my feet. So, I figure it is time to get them fixed. They had been a gift from my parents some 9 years ago, and they offered to take them to a cobbler for me. I figure since the gift got almost a decade of wear (and a two year period in which I practically lived in the suckers, hence why knocking boots is still my favourite euphemism for sex) they wanted to try and stretch it into two. No complaints.

So my mom takes them into this cobbler, which I've dealt with before, who has a shop on 4th and Alma, above the Liquor store in that little strip-mall-like thing. He's a bit of a character, usually berating customers when you walk in.

Nonono, I already explained this to you. There is no way to lower the heel on those shoes, there's nothing to be done. I already told you this.

Scolding his customers like errant children, I do think the man is just awesome. He originally looked over the boots, hemming and hawing, and my mother asked him whether they could be fixed.

Leave them with me, come back tomorrow.

Come back tomorrow.

Came the firm reply, like a father to the daughter who didn't listen the first time. When she returns, he says it will be tricky but it can be done. A week or two later, my mother comes back in, to a new scolding.

You did not tell me the shoes were steel-toed. I broke a big needle on these shoes.

He then proceeds to show with his index and thumb just how large a needle. When pressed about how exactly he still managed to sew the sole onto the shoes, he puffs up like a man who honestly takes deep pride in his work and replies.

By hand.

Currently Listening: Gwen Stefani - Whatcha Waiting For (Orange Bounce Remix)

Posted by Kurrs at 10:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

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It certainly makes more sense than anything else. When all the pieces fell into place, I suddenly felt less alone, but it doesn't change that things haven't been functional or good. I'm haunted by my own words I'd rather be unhappy and know the truth than be happy and believe a lie as they seem to be the cause of alot of heartache right now.

Everytime I see you, I know what the conversation will be. You used to talk about other things.

I can't let things sit. Yet I don't really know where I am either. I've lost the ability to pine, I've lost the deep need I have for her, but all it seems I've got in return is confusion. Everytime I talk about other things, I'm playing a role, donning a mask. Sometimes those particular dances are very comfortable, and make me smile underneath even. But still, I seem to be very little more than a creature of habit right now.

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I can't and won't live like she does. It is an awful and terrible way to live, and shouldn't be emulated. I will always deliberately shape the world I live in, creating it as I go. I am so infrequently surprised by anything, and that lies in large part to the fact I live my life very proactively. When I had been asked whether we were together a few months ago, the best I could muster was eventually, so even now I am hardly surprised with where things are. Constantly learning and revealing more, she says that it's all there to see without realising that the largest barrier to understanding is myself.

I suppose it's hard to get closure without... Wait, no, I suppose it's impossible to get clear closure when there's no clear beginning.

That is exactly my problem. I had made so much progress, had travelled so far forward. Finally, after a burst of light in an intricate pattern that would allow a catalysing moment, I was free. However, I knew I was missing something, that there was some fundamental piece in my puzzle that I didn't have. It wasn't large, but it was there, glaring at me. I didn't even go look it out, it found me, and then I fell to pieces all over again.

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Posted by Kurrs at 10:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It's just that I'm worried about you two, you're both so delicate.

Crystal, dear, crystal.

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Posted by Kurrs at 10:08 AM | Permalink

Today has been... a day. I can't help but wonder how it will feel tomorrow, what particular taste the air will have, how my body will feel as it moves.

As an aside, you should really go download the music video for Soccer Practice from here. Its genius is so incredibly grand.

Posted by Kurrs at 2:40 AM | Permalink

I try again, though to be fair I didn't phone her first. I wracked my mind for someone who would be able to handle how I felt, yet found no one in my memory. There are people who would have, but the could was lacking. Broken and shattered is not what I will do to my friends and very few could have handled how I was.

The second call went as badly as the first, the remains of my computer chair are testament to that. I was already out my door and on my way to her house to strangle her with my bare hands before I stopped myself. I turned around and had trouble with my door my hands were shaking so much.

The third granted me what I needed. It is the peak of how much this whole situation had hurt me, managing to tear through the progress I had made and more than once I fell into fits of spasms under the torment of it. Luckily, spasming so hard I start to bleed is a thing of the distant past, and I am thankful.

What I needed was full understanding, and I have it now. The tiny little piece of fundamental incompatability is revealed, and the thing that is us is finally seen. She hurts. I now understand why she couldn't eat that day, what I had been missing. I hurt, pages upon pages have already been written about that. Neither is fair, but both are true.

Now, I'm going to try and sleep. I find it terribly amusing that in the same 24 hours I will have had homicidal urges towards someone that I will cordially watch a film with.

All my habits told me to keep this to myself, but what's a story without an end? Even one as badly written as this one.

Posted by Kurrs at 1:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

So I called, merely to set a thought at rest. A simple turn of phrase I wish you were there. The response, not a reply, I can't even begin to describe how much it hurt. I wish for a moment I was able to be dishonest with you, to scream about how you must wait and bide your time to be able to hurt me quite like this. The brutal truth is that you walk heavily in others' psyches like I do, but don't bother to watch where you're going or what you're doing. I could scream about how much you don't deserve me, but that would be an understatement of unbelievable proportions.

Again, it washes over me, like the taste of blood or bile that precedes vomit. The sense crawling over my skin like the desire to put holes in my walls. I should go for a walk, get away from anything breakable or dangerous, but all that would probably do is give me bloody knuckles again, with little golf ball shaped swelling bumps after the hand shrinks back to regular size as mountain ranges to the lakes of red. You talk about missed chances, but that is a part of the single great Lie you have chosen to believe. Everyone constructs their own world, and they make it in a likeness to their desires. I have officially been hold to agreements that you yourself could not keep. The word monogamy drips from your lips like poison. Look up the word hypocrite, and you will find your picture.

I wonder if you'll even remember the conversation either.

Posted by Kurrs at 11:49 PM | Permalink

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There, turn them all into strings and add a few dozen more. Wrap them into a ball and you have my mind right now.

As an aside, in case an antithesis is desired for my love life, read this.

Posted by Kurrs at 10:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

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I often dress to match my mood, and I wasn't sad when I dressed this evening. Instead, in a moment of nostalgia, I pulled on the outfit and smiled to myself because I really do appreciate the aesthetic, even when lacking the emotional upset that normally brings it on.

Who doesn't want to sleep with Chris?

Odd, I'm filling that role again and I didn't even notice. Angus berates me for a history of complaining about that, but I thought I left that behind. Cycles I suppose: the new black turning into the old yellow and then back again. Or some such. The simple answer, which it always has been, is all the wrong people.

This time round, I'm lucky enough that it isn't 100% true.

Tonight was Quickie Culture Night at James Everett's. It was pretty freaking fantastic. Highlights included the music video to Nine Inch Nail's Only, the grease fight scene in The Transporter to the song Soccer Practice, and the muppets homage in black and white. I mention only things I didn't bring, because, well, if I didn't like it I wouldn't have brought it. I'm sure there was other cool stuff, but that's what's sticking out in my mind.

I am tired. Not body-tired, but more weary. Some browsing, then probably some eating, but then bed. The last thought I seem to possess is that I have an excess of love and frankly don't know how to operate with it all.

Posted by Kurrs at 1:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Originally Uploaded
here by Apeirophobia

Habit, the dance of routine, seems to be a very strong force in me. I'm trying not to do things I know are bad for me, but are so very easy. Justify your love through sex, or sex implies a duty for time spent together, or you don't really love them unless you do everything they do, or any number of dysfunctional interpersonal mores. There is so very little that is ill in my life, the key is that I not fuck it up.

It's so nice to see you not broken.

A white cat wanders around purring, not mine. I will probably be inheriting Skatia, the gorgeous little ferret who lives with Jhayne. Had to think about it, not wanting to do something like that rashly. Especially given my feelings for the little dude's owner, I didn't need a constant reminder of something upsetting. But even though I still do the weeping piteously thing occasionally, and she still smells what love smells like, I'm better. Sleep actually comes to me, it is the sun not her absence that wakes me at ungodly hours. I don't pine.

I read your blog for sixteen hours.

Apparently I'm being quoted for a masters thesis. The subject is The Death of Culture. I know some of you are laughing right now.

Posted by Kurrs at 9:07 AM | Permalink

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I'm officially metaposting now. I was walking to the bus stop from my parents' place and a memory came to me really strongly. Also an act which could be referred to with the same prefix, it was a memory that stayed with me because it so vividly reminded me of a part of my childhood.

I was going to write about it, and then I stopped, questioning the purpose of my blog. Once I had described it, and others have described it the same way as well, as a way to let those extraneous or currently unconnected parts of my extended network know what's going on in my life. And once, I believed the same.

Now, I'm not so sure. So personal, I would argue I read it more often than anyone else. A record of my thoughts, a tool for further introspection. But none of the readers, even myself, are the primary purpose. Now it feels more like I write just to get it off my chest, to record it somewhere. Like if I leave these thoughts in my head they'll mold, fester, or collect dust. Free along wires of fiber optics, flying around at the speed of light as ones and zeros, the information feels free, loosed from the shackles of my psyche.

Currently Reading: A Canticle For Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr.

Posted by Kurrs at 8:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Uncertain of how to approach this or how to begin, I can see the center but not the tails. Like some confidence interval in a normal distribution, the center is easy to grasp, but as the lines approach zero they also approach infinity. I try to determine what music to listen to, switching between Sweatshop Union and Emilie Simon and settling on the latter. Sand still cakes my feet, covers the floor of my bathroom, and has settled comfortably between my clothes and flesh.

Maybe you're an adrenaline junkie.

The weekend, which lasted well into Monday and arguably into today, was intense. A web of light was the best description I could manage and it still gets across the right feeling. Now I'm sitting in the aftermath, thinking to myself "How the devil am I going to switch gears?" Emotional torrents and overwhelming events touch on every day, with sleep being replaced by irregular and infrequent naps. It is good, my perception having shifted as fundamentally as it once did years ago.

I had never seen the sky during twilight. I had either never looked or lacked the ability to understand. The world was contrast, my childhood remembered in stark colours in bright and dark with no grays. The sky was like a line drawing on white paper settled upon a sky blue table. Then, one day, sitting with a girl named Deanna, I realised that the sky wasn't sky blue or black, but a deep shade of blue that rested half between the two. I was awestruck, overwhelmed that there could be something so beautiful yet so mundane and somehow I had missed it all these years. Shades got filled in, and suddenly colours could be something other than light and dark.

Now, it has happened again. Things are starkly outlined, the space between one thing and the next delineated more strongly. It's like I got back the starkness of the world without losing the ability to see the shades. I think, like the previous change, as time goes on I'll be able to explain it better.

But self-exploration is taxing, and I can't help but wonder how I'm going to move back into the mundane. Stop this internal voyage and start just doing things like school, and looking for work, and really gritty stuff. I feel disconnected from those basic dances of our society, and I need to get it back.

I don't regret it. Things are good again, unless I am deceived. I can actually feel my happiness again. So many things cracking and settling into place, like a spine. Some spots I didn't even know I needed to fix managed to sort themselves out. I'm not entirely sure how I managed to do it, the code writing behind my eyes where I can't see it, but that it did.

I'm ok, I can actually say that now and not feel like I'm lying. Now the trick is to get back on my feet, and get into the groove of the practical aspects of my life.

Regular sleep would probably be a good start.

Posted by Kurrs at 8:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Originally Uploaded
here by Apeirophobia

Currently Listening: Pendulum - Hold Your Colour LP

Posted by Kurrs at 4:30 AM | Permalink

July Sin City Outfit, Ares

Went to the Farmer's market with Erin. The amount of food buying was so intense, plus with the amount of food eating afterwards it felt totally extravagant. I really should start being more responsible with my food buying habits. Most people, when they say this, mean they should spend less. Quite the opposite, I need to be better to my fridge and stomach, I should be prioritising home-food much more than I have been. Also, buying long-term food instead of comfort or snack food. I'm not so bad, but my metabolism means I have to be a bit more rigorous than most.

Went as Ares to Andrea's Sin City party. Was very good. Ryan as Kratos was the greatest thing, it just made me so stupendously happy. Stayed up wayyyyy too late, am very tired. Can't really complain though, and I'm mildly curious if any of the marks are visible.

Have Meghan's croquet match and tea party at 2:30pm. You better be going too, it should be awesome. The sun is shining, tea, scones and other bakes goods call to you with mallety goodness.

My house is a mess. I really should fix that.

Currently Listening: Gwen Stefani - What You Waiting For?

Posted by Kurrs at 10:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

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I forget that everyone doesn't think about stuff as much as I do. I forget that many people don't possess the breadth and depth of my education, or even if they do they may not have bothered to remember any of it. Or, that their education ended at the doors of the classroom. It felt good, like dancing something you remember the steps to by heart but haven't danced in some time.

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However, it had an... unexpected... consequence. The source of all my problems, as a little Russian princess once put it, reared its ugly head. My attraction to emotional pain. The raw, overwhelming outpouring of emotion drew me in, moth to flame, and suddenly all my wonderful little constructed defences fell away. It was bad.

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Currently Listening: Marilyn Manson - The Golden Age of Grotesque (full album)

Posted by Kurrs at 11:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

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I had a commitment that required dropping. I had a feeling it wouldn't be enough time, or the mood wouldn't be condusive to chat. Food, and mildly rushed food at that may not have been best. However, I do hate standing people up and I am sorry Navi. We'll get together soon, it must happen.

Nice weather we're having, eh?

It's Vancouver, what do you expect? I love it.

Did some things that needed doing last night. Did them for all the right reasons. Ethics, conversation, intelligence, honesty, loyalty, friendship, love, support. Somehow all of those managed to shine in just a few short hours.

You sound like you're dying.

I'm still sick. Weary, down to my bones, like the clothes that are entirely soaked through in my bedroom. Joints all sore, fingers cracking as I type. Should make some tea.

I have something to wear for the croquet thing.

You'd be amazed how happy hearing your voice makes me sometimes.

Posted by Kurrs at 10:10 AM | Permalink

Little ghost, little ghost
One I'm scared of the most
Can you scare me up a little bit of love?
I'm the only one that sees you,
And I can't do much to please you
And it's not yet time to meet the lord above

Little ghost, little ghost
One I'm scared of the most
Can you scare me up a little bit of love?
I'm the only one that sees you,
And I can't do much to please you
And it's not yet time to meet the lord above
No, it's not yet time to meet the lord above

- "Little Ghost," The White Stripes

Posted by Kurrs at 7:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Orignally Uploaded here by The Patmeister

de·lir·i·um
1. A temporary state of mental confusion and fluctuating consciousness resulting from high fever, intoxication, shock, or other causes. It is characterized by anxiety, disorientation, hallucinations, delusions, and incoherent speech.

Did I mention I'm sick? I suppose I didn't. Just crawled into bed again for a bit, was kinda delirious for about half an hour. Dreamed about teaching Jhayne how to skateboard. The advantage of this particular bit of dreaming/deleria seems to be that I've figured out my Ares costume for Sin City on Saturday. Here I am, just waking up from my dream about a plank and a pretty girl, sweat staining the bed, the stench of sickness all around me and suddenly, in my dizziness, it hits me. Eureka. I'm going to go have a shower, look at what I've considered, try studying some more, then head off to my midterm.

Posted by Kurrs at 12:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The sun has risen. My inability to sleep has caused me to try and go to bed earlier, although not too early. The fear that if I push it much earlier than midnight I might actually start waking up at three thirty instead of five is very very strong. I'm not sure I could handle being awake for 12 hours before I even walk into class. The meaning of the number is without logic, but grounded in truth nonetheless. 330, 5, 8, 10. I wouldn't wake up at another time. Possibly 6 or 9 but that's when my internal clock is off by an hour.

The sun has risen. I didn't even notice it wasn't up until light started streaming through my windows. I thought: That's odd, where's that light coming from? a few moments ago before it struck me that the sun wasn't actually in the sky when I awoke. I've been puttering around, poking at people's online babblings but mostly looking at the material that I must know by three in the afternoon for a class that is like pulling teeth. I'm not prepared, but I'm working on it.

The sun has risen. The dandylions haven't opened up yet, I keep telling myself that I should sit outside and watch them open, saying it will be good for me. They haven't cut the grass in so long that it has become a field of yellow in the morning, that gets larger and thicker with every passing day, every passing week. It makes me love my home all the more, with the nagging upset that it will eventually be all torn down. If it can last through my degree, I will count that as enough.

The sun has risen. I still am not listening to music. My thoughts instead sort back and forth from my love life to my school life, the only things I seem capable of keeping up there as of late. Werewolf nags and I try and work on it, and succeed for the most part. Writing a book pokes at the back of my brain, but hasn't managed to worm itself into my priorities as of late. I've realised that I need to get a job, one that will carry me through the school year. Scary thought really, something that failed pretty badly last time I tried it. Maybe I've changed.

The sun has risen.

And this last bit, I write for you, because I found something left unsaid. I've managed to give a name to the injustice I feel, but it isn't a person and it's longer than a word. I try and forget that we work so well together, I place artificial boundaries between me and you all the time. You cannot meet my parents even though you'd get along great, I can't always dance with you even though I can't really dance with anyone else, I don't sleep with you even though that seems to mean I don't really sleep at all. And these boundaries sometimes make me start to believe a lie, and I say to you and I that we would be difficult, and you reply In what way would we be difficult? in a tone that bespeaks the impossibility of it and it strikes me, like the spanish terrorist explosion my brother named you after, with full force all over again about how much of a falsehood it is.

People do things, place themselves in situations, love in that manner of deep need people that are, in an absolute sense, bad for them. When some crave emotional closeness, why do they fall for people who are distant? When some crave stability, why do they fall for people who are explosively unreliable? I tried so hard to stop falling for people who aren't good for me, and I thought I'd succeeded. So many barriers, so many caveats, so much demand on those I love. And you passed by all the ones I'd built. But you do not love yourself, and cannot love those that are good for you. Those two facts wrap together in the two-fold impass of the inability to love me. My similarity to you and compatability to you are the exact reasons you cannot love me. Surely, there is something wrong with me for liking you in your mind, but moreso it is the fact that you do not love yourself, so how could you love me when I am like you? Wrap it tight, and tie the knot with the fact that you only like people that are frankly bad for you, and how could you ever love me?

And the injustice of that, the raw pure injustice, is too much.

Posted by Kurrs at 8:00 AM | Permalink

This has been rotting on my desktop. I thought it wasn't finished, but I reread it and it's just as true now as when I put it down. I may lack the fire and intensity to actually write stuff like this anymore, but it doesn't make it less true. My growing inability to communicate on this topic isn't representative of the problem fixing itself, but instead of my body's frank insistence that I must not dwell on this situation.

I've been saying I've been ok, and I can't help but wonder if that's because I've gotten better or that I've redefined what level is acceptable living.

Bow gracefully to the inevitable things you cannot change.

So, I keep thinking its going to get easier, that it's going to hurt less. But it doesn't. You live in a haphazard world of disaster and then joy, thunderstorms and then rainbows. I do not.

I travel deeper and deeper into understanding, both into myself and the rest of the world, and each step further I come that much closer to breaking. That's what happens to most people, they hit a point and then just... snap. They learn bits about the world and how it functions and can't handle the information. Instead of learning, they cocoon themselves in a wrap of bitterness and stay there, content.

I used to criticise them, look at how far they travelled and scoff. They hardly made any distance at all and they already broke, even the short amount they managed was for naught. I was safe in my understanding, moving ever onwards.

Then I met you, and learned through the situation that love is what drives me, that actually matters to me. I am no hypocrite, so I have ensured that, in the very least, that my life is justified. That my existance comes at no great sacrifice to any other thing, be it animal, human, or the planet itself. I can live reasonably and attempt to make the system we live in more just, equitable, or in the very least less abusive. But that's not what feeds me, not what gets me up in the morning. Just a requirement for living in our society. Ultimately, self-serving, at least in a species sense, if not directly to the individual.

And now, aware of that which matters most, I see it and cannot have it. Not only that, but I can't see myself wanting anything else. Which terrifies me. Maybe with time we'll be together, or maybe with time I'll be able to not spend all my time thinking about you. But more than anything, I'm tired of being constantly in pain. I wrap myself in stress, or others, or the lie that is me and you. But underneath is pain, and it worsens all the time.

I think I may need to be alone. But that's not true, I need you. And that, my dear, sucks.

Posted by Kurrs at 6:06 AM | Permalink

...I really am an asshole.

Posted by Kurrs at 10:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

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Love

What do you do when someone waltzes into your troubled life and grabs one of the seats in your heart without you noticing? While notoriously good at romantic love, the other forms are a bit alien to me. Like you. You smile and it causes a burst of light in my mind that blots out the rest of the world and yet I hardly know you. What if I told you how I felt, would you understand? Or would you overcomplicate it? Maybe I'm uncertain just how complicated it is, and want to grapple with it a while longer.

Uncertainty

I don't know you. I try, but you remain a mystery from me, even though we've known each other for so long. I think you love me, more than I could ever possibly love you, and the ironic chain of events that that represents isn't lost on me. If it is true, any sense of injustice I might possess is washed away by my own inability to reciprocate. Maybe one day you will tell me, either way.

Friendship

I hope you know that you are important to me, special. I'm not even sure why, a chance meeting caused by a fulcrum of love. I hope you and I don't collide, that when I judge you you won't hate me for it. That you will be kind to me, as I try to be to you, even though I may find your actions despicable. I see in you someone who just needs people to be kind to them. Far too used to really shallow interaction, your eyes cry out for people who won't hurt you on a whimsy. I hope you don't mistake my actions for that.

Youth

You are very much like me. I rebel against it, your immaturity sometimes overwhelming me with frustration, but we are so alike you and I. I'm not even certain just exactly how I feel about you, but I would be very surprised if you weren't in my life in the future, somehow in the very least.

Currently Listening: Futureheads - Hounds of Love (Phones' Wolves at the Door Remix)

Posted by Kurrs at 1:25 PM | Permalink

Posted by Kurrs at 9:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

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Many years ago, I was Old. I had lived off half a welfare cheque, supported a household on an EI cheque, and then that same household on a full-time construction job. I was engaged to be married.

Then I got asked to go to an underground illegal party with Tim. Patti went too, and the pictures demonstrated how out of place we looked. We looked so damn old, so out of place, so strangely uncomfortable. "Maybe them youngins won't notice us if we dress in theirs funny clothes" was written across both of our faces. I wonder if Tim still has those pictures.

There I found a room, and there they played something I had only heard on CD: Jungle. I danced, and was mystified at the wonderfulness of it all. This was something I missed during my youth.

I may not have realised it then, but I think that was the decision to go back, to revisit youth. It took me a while, and a few tries (Tim would ask of my love for Amanda "You'd think you'd never done this before" and in many ways I hadn't), but here I am again. I'm not sure I'm really succeeding (I officially talked to Tim like a parent tonight, "I'm just trying to make conversation," I feel pretty dumb) and while I'd like to think I'm wiser, I certainly don't feel as old as I did then.

A strange story, especially given my mental state these days, but true nonetheless. Suffice it to say, Planet of the Drums was incredible. Good night everyone, my waking hour has become my bedtime it seems.

Current Music: The Ringing In My Head

Posted by Kurrs at 5:00 AM | Permalink

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The funny thing about writing about running out of words is that it is inherently paradoxical. You feel the loss of your ability to communicate using language what is going on in your life, and yet that feeling is strange and you wish to record it, to share. Yet the method you use is inherently bound into the very thing that is slipping from your grasp. So instead you attempt to talk about the feeling of the feeling of losing ability. Placing a divider between yourself and the described to attempt something that, by definition, is impossible.

No music at Chris' house? That's impossible.

And yet, here it is again, silence all but for the clacking of keys. I've got homework that needs doing, a midterm on Wednesday. This class hasn't clicked yet, but it does seem to be very easy. Only, for some reason, I'm expected to understand the only thing we'll really end up learning, which is regressions, by the first week. Arg. I think that once I cross that hurtle, this class will become boring. C'on Chris, jump through those hoops.

My name is coming up alot this post, like Dominique in conversations. I wonder why. These things tend to have meaning. In speech, I'm thinking about her, or her name, or something about her alot. Now, in writing, I'm thinking about me, my name, or something about myself alot. Hard to tell what it is, or, more appropriately, what they are.

That's the thing with what's going on right now, inside me, I'm not even sure what it is. Someone asked me if I was doing alright and I answered "kinda ok" which is hardly even english. Ties into the "losing words" problem. I'm very thankful for everyone who've written comments in a style as esoteric and annoying as I write in. I really do appreciate it, they end up being helpful because they manage to penetrate into my metaphorical thought processing better. I can find meaning that wasn't necessarily intended, and that is good.

Posted by Kurrs at 2:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)