Post #101

Cause it's NYE tomoz innitttttttttttttttttt:

Homo homini lupus

Homo homini lupus; man to man is wolf

For he who saves one life saves the World entire  - Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:8 (37a)(redemptive, no?)

"we will put the Palestinians on a diet but not starve them." - Israeli government advisor, Dov Weisglass “ 

Today I fell asleep again, woke up half way through 'March of the Penguins'.  Amazing.  That is all.  They travel hundreds, literally hundreds of miles in subantarctic temperatures to protect their little eggs, huddle together, a sort of collective, homogenous mass.  I can't believe I watched a film about Penguin mating rituals and actually loved it.  They travel so far, such an immense journey.  Everything is perfectly structured, it's atavistic and just really impressive imo.  The word 'subantarctic' derives from the word 'antarctic' , which itself derives from Greek.  The Greek word for bear is 'Arctos'; the Arctic.  Likewise then, 'Antarctica' derives from Greek; Anti-Arctos; no bears.  Random fact du jour for you.

 

Anyway, this isn't about Polar bears and penguins, our Spheniscidae friends, I was just thinking about penguins; the immense difficulties they face.  This is proper motivational stuff; triumph over adversity innit.  Whatevah blad. 

 

My mums parents lives through WW2.  Once my grandmother saw a dogfight in the air between Lufwaffe pilot and an RAF one.  Can you imagine that?  I can't.  Her only brother also died, aged 16, during the war.  A child; how could he be a soldier?  God, sending children out to fight across the World.  Madness.  :\  On the other side, my mum's dad was evacuated during the war with his sister.  He was sent to Wales with a psycho bitch of a woman who locked him and his sister in a cupboard, abused them and refused to feed them properly.  His mother; my great grandmother (a woman who got married 6 times, whose husband died at the altae and she still went on the honeymoon and liked to get drunk and dress like Winston Churchill), found this out and collected my grandad and his sister and sent them to Scotland to live with some of their relatives, where he was teased mercilessly for having a preppy English accent.

My dad’s ‘rents on the other hand had their own difficulties to live with.  My grandmother got married at 15, had her first son at 16 who was taken away (against her will) to live with her husbands family. She was sickly and young, had 3 kids and an utterly lonely life (allow the past tense, she’s still alive).  Oh and should I mention my grandparents lived through El Naqba!?  ‘The catastrophe’ if you don’t know the word’; they’re Palestinians who lived through 1948 ffs.

 

Penguins cross Antarctica, 2 of my grandparents lived through WW2 and the other 2 lived through El Naqba  El Naqba; the destruction of their homeland, the change from Transjordan to Israel, the exodus of much of their family who didn’t live in Nazareth, a change in status.  Move on a few years and we have Martial law, hell, my own father was born under Martial law.  Do you know what that is?  That’s apartheid; “Military administrative government was in effect from 1949 to 1966 over some geographical areas of Israel having large Arab populations, primarily the Negev, Galilee,and the Triangle. The residents of these areas were subject to a number of controlling measures that amounted to martial law.  Permits from the military governor had to be procurred to travel more than a given distance from a person's registered place of residence, and curfew, administrative detentions, and expulsions were common.   Although the military administration was officially for geographical areas, and not people, its restrictions were seldom enforced on the Jewish residents of these areas.”

 

Imagine; they went from the masters of their land to living as third grade citizens; from the majority to the minority, fuck hundreds of years of history, we’re in control now.  :S  Imagine.  I can’t.  And to think my grandparents lived through that; they were born before Israel even existed.  Even my dad was born a third World citizen subject to Marshall law.

 

You see my point?  Homo homini lupus; no one can be crueller to humans than we are to ourselves.  Man to man is wolf, nah, man is worse than a wolf, a wolf is not vindictive.  It is not lupine behaviour (nor any animal I don’t think) to be cruel.  Meh, I’m being digressive again.  People are so cruel to each other, and people live through such fuck difficulties.  People in Gaza are starving, ‘we will put the Palestinians on a diet’.  Nice. 

 

So my overwhelming point; I need to stop moaning.  Misery may be relative tru say, but fuck it.  It’s ridiculous.  People are starving, collectively my grandparents survived World War 2 and el naqba and my dad lived through loads of Israeli-Arab wars, I think I can find less things to moan about than my hair.  On the scale of it all; important?  No.  I should really shut up.

 

Life is for living baby, stfu and start living or start dying.  That said, I'll probably still moan and bitch on here.  OHh you love me really.  Who would want this blog to be redemptive eh?

Suicidal Suicidal - what a pretty fitty word

 Suicide; comes from the Latin 'sui' - oneself, and the Latin for kill - 'cide'.  Hence, homocide,matricide, patricide, infanticide, insecticide, infanticide, regicide and so on and so forth.  Sui - in French, the word for am is 'suis'; je suis.  'je pense donc je suis'.  How very Descartes of me.

kk

Apparently there's 2 reasons why we kill ourselves, according to French Sociologist Emile Durkheim anyway.  They seem to totally contrast but bare avec me..

1) People don't feel integrated with society.

2) People feel too integrated with society.

SO, people don't feel integrated; people are lonely, they don't think they have a place in the World, they think no one loves them, no one wants them, they don't fit in.  They're the pariah, the freak no one wants to know, the fucking loser.  Yeah that's them.

Or people feel too integrated; Kamikaze pilots, suicide bombers.. or even moreso; people maybe who take the pain of the World upon them.  The World is a cruel place, if you focus on all the destitution that surrounds us you'd feel it.  If you stop being so fucking myopic and open your eyes you'll see how shit, unfair, cruel, harsh, horrible and just generally bad this planet is.  If you do that, apparently, you'll want to top yourself.  Cause who would want to live on Planet Earth, the planet of famine, destitution, poverty and fat Americans.

Durkheim also spoke alot about what is called 'anomie', look it yourself though cause it's interesting and I'm lazy.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anomie

I smell like D&G Perfume #3; L'imperatrice.  Normally my nails are red and I don't wear perfume... could this be my, anomie?

No.  Shut up. x

I've let everything spin out of control.  I haven't studied, I haven't done the things I need to do and I haven't stopped eating.

Next week is a new decade and this all needs to stop.  

I'm so cold.  It's been so cold recently.  Freezing cold.  Snow, ice and rain, all hashed together; a conflation of cold.  A portmanteau if you like.  Fuck it's just freezing - but fitting.  It's like real life pathetic fallacy; misery of the inside reflected in surroundings.  I like it.  I think I'd be angry if it was sunny; fuck the sun right now.

I've never been a fan of Pathetique ^^, but it's my grandmothers favourite. Well - it was anyway, she played it at her funeral. I never went to see her body, remember, I was afraid. I didn't see it, I still haven't seen a dead body close. Urghhhhh, didn't I say I'd stop talking about her?

Merry Christmas?

On a change of subject, I've been listening alot to Starlight by Muse. Yes, I said it - Muse. I hate this band. Awful. Seriously, but not this song.

Listen to this line:

"My life... you electrify my life". Isn't that an amazing line? You electrify my life; it covers everything. It covers a multitude of things (lack of better word). It's not like saying I love you, or I like you, but simply you electrify my life. *You* make a difference.

I don't electrify anyones life. No one electrifies my life. How fucking sad. I wish. 2010 perhaps? My mum told me today not to be so self centred; I have nothing to be sad about, the World is my Oyster and life could be worse. I could be someone else, I could have missing limbs, terminal cancer, or like the Twilight series. That truly would be tragic.

No matter what happens now

I won't be afraid

Because I know

Today has been the most perfect day I have ever seen

That's the last stanza of the song - do you think it's redemptive?  This song is sort of like a testament I think - a video testament.  To life; l'chaim in hebrew.  Jews do not toast to health or prosperity, they toast to life; the chance to merely to live.    So persecuted that to hope for anymore would be presumptuous.  Interesting?  This is not about Jews and I am not a a Jew.  No, this is about life.

As I said, I think this song is about a testament; a videotape of life.

When Mephistopholis is just beneath

And he's reaching up to grab me This is one for the good days

And I have it all here

In red blue green

Red blue green You are my centre when I spin away

Out of control on videotape

On videotape

I think it's a celebration of life, a life recorded.  As you know, my grandmother

 died 5 days ago.  I've cried more writing that line then I've cried all week.  I just realised that there's no videotape of my gran; why not?  I don't know.  I never thought to make one. I so wish we had.  When she was around I never thought about her; I was meant to go to to her 80th party in October, but I couldn't be bothered - I stayed at home and went out with my friends.  I think she was disappointed but I wasn't bothered.  I was going to call her last week, but I didn't get around to it again.  The last time we spoke she told me off for insolence and I got really annoyed with her.  

I haven't seen her body yet.  I was okay untill my mother said that she was wearing her earrings.  My grandmother loved earrings; she has literally tens of pairs, all different shapes and colours.  She loves them.  I am so freaked right now.  Where is she?  And what is she wearing?  I keep imagining her on a slab in a mortuary.  Where do they even put dead bodies??  She was always meticulous about how she dressed, I would hate for her to not look as she would like.  She always wore her hair the same way, is it like that now?  I haven't seen her yet

.  I am afraid.  The only dead body I've seen was Lenin's, I've never seen one close.  I don't know what she'll be like.  I am afraid.  I would hate for her to look anything but her best.  Writing this has made me cry more than anything else.  She always loved perfume; she would give me the bottles because she knew I liked them.  My mum returned with half a knitted scarf, that sounds random, it's

 not.  I wear a lot of woolly scarves, last time I saw her she told me she could knit me one, I asked her for one in emerald green, she never mentioned it again, I thought she forgot.  She didn't forget, she was just waiting to finish it.  But ofcourse she didn't.  She never finished my scarf.  She bought the wool, she made 3/4 of it despite her arthritus, she made all the effort, and didn't even finish it.  I didn't even thank her for it.  All that effort for me.  I barely visited, I didn't call much.  She honestly just annoyed me.

But she was always in the background.  I always knew where she was.  She was always my snippy grandmother.  She took me to buy buttons once when I was a kid, multi coloured buttons that she sewed onto my coat, and she took me to see a peacock years ago.  We went to Disneyland when I was 13.  She used to take me to town, but I never had time for that in recent years.  My birthday was 3 weeks ago, I got a handwritten card from her.  That's the last thing I have from her now.  I just keep coming back to the same image of her on a slab.  I hate that.  I've never confronted death before, I've never thought about it.  :S  I hope she has a blanket around her... I don't want her to be cold.  Is that bizarre?  I

 hope she's well.  She's religious, I hope she finds her peace.  I hope she finds it's everything she knew it would be.  And I hope she's warm, I really do.  I hope she has a blanket.  I wish I knew where she was right now.

I know she had a happy life.  Her death was so sudden.  Out of nowhere.  She walked into hospital and didn't come out.  She walked in and died the same day.  The same day.  She walked into hospital to get her usual pain injections.  How

 can you walk into hospital and die?  She walked in.  I don't get it.  It was just so sudden.  How can you go like that?   No warning, nothing.  Last Saturday she started to watch the X Factor; she'll never see who won.  She loved Neighbours; she'll never finish the storyline.  I swear she was the only person in the country who could stand that trash.  If she could see me right now she'd be annoyed - I'm in my underwear, she would have moaned at me and told me to wear some pyjamas.  She moaned at me for years to wear socks in the house so I wouldn't get cold, drove me mad.

I really wish I hadn't missed her birthday party.  Why was  I so fucking lazy?  I'll never, ever hear her moan at me.  She will never make me another woolly pie

ce of clothing, or buy me random jewellery.  She used to buy me tonnes of jewellery.  She travelled the World and bought me a Chinese hat, a few months ago she bought me a watch I never wear.  I have so much stuff from her.  She always used to wear a golden pyramid from Egypt around her neck.  It's very small and I suspect expensive.  It's mine.  I claim it.  I'm the only person who noticed it.  She told me I could keep it when she died.

I'll see her body on Monday, I don't know what to wear.  What would she approve of?  I had better be meticulous, she always thought I was messy.  Last time I

 saw her I was texting my friend about how bored I was - ffs I couldn't wait to get back to London.  WELL bored.  God would you stop fussing, I'm fine?  Don't worry about it.  Omg it doesn't matter!  Just leave it.

Fuck.  I never appreciated her.  I'm such a bitch.  All she ever did for me, it's taken me untill now to care.  All weekend I was fine, I even resented going up to see her body on Mon because it meant I couldn't go to my friends birthday.  WTF Holly.  What a bitch am I?  It's taken me untill now to care.  I just loo

ked up; my sister's cupboard is open and in it my Eucharist dress is really visible.  She was by my side when I took my first Communion, it's a beautiful

 dress, it's like a wedding dress.  I'll show you a picture.  This is us:

There you go.

I really wish I could have made her proud of me. :\

Whatever, I promise this will be my last thread about her.

My grandmother just died.

What's wrong with me?  I'm barely even sad.  I'm not mourning at all.  I'm fine.  It's like I barely care, as though it's just another fact.

I cried more at the ending of Titanic.  What's up with that??

My grandmother just died.

I can't work out if I can't sleep or I'm avoiding sleep.

A hazy gauze of delirium

So on Friday night an (extremely gay) French guy lifted up my dress to show my stomach, declared 'meh... zees eez not fat' and passed me a kettle.  Okay.  Then I was sat on top of a washing machine talking about Mount Everest.  Mid conversation he stopped me; 

"What eez is wrong with you?"

He told me he was a psychology third year, could tell I had been hurt before and was still hurt.  Who hurt me?  Why?  How?  Why was I only oestensably happy?  I didn't really have an answer; copious amounts of vin rouge, a few lines of coke and a few tokes are generally not conductive to healthy bonding sessions.  I had no answer.  I haven't been hurt, not in any real way. 

Not in any way special anyway.  Everyone's hurt at some point right?  He psychoanalysed me, I was on top of a washing machine silent, watching a cat eat birthday cake from the floor and someone still high from methylone.  Sort of a pathetic oxymoron of a scene.  Then he told me all about his Coke problems, how he was a former addict and was afraid of touching drugs anymore and fought a constant battle.  Not enough to stop him coking up though I noticed.  Meh.  I hate being forced to give advice.

It was an interesting Friday night anyway.  My birthday is on Tuesday.

Turning 20.  Okay; time to grow up?  Right?  Right?

Right.  What am I doing for my birthday?  Someone asked me that today.  I'm like... nothing.  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

 I don't care.  I don't want to celebrate this birthday.  Why?  Why not really.  Probably expect me to throw something, but that involves energy I cba to expend.  

I hope that doesn't come across as weird.  I just can't be bothered to summon the energy to care about this birthday, or think of it as anything other then cumbersome.  You probably think that's the wrong adjective.  It's not.

Do I come across as anti-social?  AHAHA  I hope not.  I'm really not, or at least not normally.

But sometimes  when I sit on the tube I feel disengaged, as though I'm not really there.  There could be a bomb and I wouldn't notice, I'm totally engaged in my head.  A hazy gauze of delirium.

I'm sorry I've become so boring.

I have to wake up in  3 hours.

non, je ne regrette rien

Last Friday as a teenager.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Got drunk. really drunk. 

Met up with a Science teacher (?) and his mate; a guy we met in Stockholm.

In King's Cross.

Hmm. Drink drunk drank.

With my friends at a soundclash she's DJing.

We leave.

People leave.

Am with my friend, a Brazilian and a guy from Iceland who all study film with Mary.

Oh wait why am I in Elephant and Castle now. Oh I'm at a house party. Oh Im drunk. Oh where's Mary and what are you on?

French girl singing "JE NE REGRETTE RIEN" in her kitchen karaoke style.  Swaying with half a bottle of red wine, wearing a ripped t-shirt and, well, yeah that's it.

Her last name is: Rousseau.  "Eet eez like being called Smeeth".

Everyone's on Coke and Methylone (the new mdma dahhhling). Like Lol.

Everyone is really artsy and from LCC. Mad tings.

Am like 

I'm so innocent.

Kk. Eat birthday cake at 5AM. Have a deep and intense conversation with a French guy "Why are you so sad? Why are you so sad?"  Tells me his life problems.

Am a bit stoned.

French girl is gurning like mad. Everyone is off their face, I'm pretty sober.

Okay. In Elephant. It's raining, best wait for morning tube. Friend is in room with Brazilian from her class.

7AM. Okay, sleep? Sleeping on floor with French guy, French girl is running around, some people outside are tweaked.

8AM. Brazilian leaves. Leave his coat and one shoe. How and why? 

10AM. French girl is asleep. Wakes up, gets dressed and leaves by 10.20, trying to make us go to Brighton.

ON Y VA, A QUELLE HEURE PARTIR LE TRAIN POUR BRIGHTON?

LET'S GO TO BRIGHTON.

Uh, no. She leaves for Brighton.

We stay. Crash. Hmm.

12AM; we should probably head home now.

Get all day breakfast (SO GOOD )

Get home at 3PM. Die.

A Mon Seul Désir

Tradition required medieval tapestries eschew perfection reserved for God, so an intentional error was woven into each tapestry. There is divine precedent for imperfect pictures.

Whenever great tapestries were made in the past, the creator had to drop a stitch.  Why?  Because to be perfect was sacrilege; blashphemous even.  Only the Almighty Lord could be perfect, and although in God perfection can be found, to attempt perfection would be a direct insult to his authority.

The tapestry above is called 'A Mon Seul Désir', or in English; 'to my soul desire'. It is a part of a series of tapestries which represent the five senses; taste, touch, smell, hearing, sight. I suppose the creator (or perhaps more pertinently, the sponsor Jean La Viste), felt love was an equally important aspect of living. Taste, touch, smell, hearing, sight and love. This is an old 15th century French tapestry, and a bit irrelevant but worth a mention.

As I said above; many great tapestries have a stictch dropped; perfection is sacrilege, a power ascribing only the God. My point? Well, as you can ascertain; nothing is perfect. Nothing. Not our artwork, our governments, our Politics, our states, anything at all. And certainly not people. People are not perfect. You are not perfect and neither am I. We are not perfect.

Sometimes we (okay, I) get obsessed about something or someone; we see them as perfect. Amazing, so talented, so funny, so amusing, so smart, so good looking, etc etc etc etc... he's perfect. Nah, he's not. He's really not. No one is. They never are. Your boyfriend/girlfriend, lover, wife, SO, whoever... they're not perfect. Not at all, even remotely. You should really get

that.

Okay, actually the second person prose is a ruse.  This is more of a note to self, then anything of any use to anyone else.

I think I overcompensate in others; I see so little good in myself I tend to see too much in others.  I'm such a lame human being, so pointless.  Anyone else not like me must surely be a positive.  I overcompensate.

A while back I said I didn't like deleting texts, and I always kept at least one text from everyone whose ever sent me one, like a scrapbook.  Like a digital memory I suppose.

I just freed up 20% of my inbox deleting a bunch of old texts from one person, didn't even keep one or read any of them.

Just deleted.  Finite.  It's like closing a chapter.

Let's look at this cute video:

I have a suspicion btw. Wanna hear it?

Yeah you do.

Shuuuuuuuuuush.

I got my neck pierced

"It's all slightly, just a little fucking bit weird, Holly."

Thanks ma.

You would too

I've been really liking my appearance lately.  I definitely look better with eyeliner.  Is that vain?  I hope not.  I can't help it.  :\

Priorities

I searched my name today, and found an old blog of mine.  From when I was around 15, all I can say is LOL.  What a little chav I was, and goddd... don't priorities change? (Last post; 32 days untill my sixteenth.  LOL.  Now it's 24 days untill my 20th)

Some highlights include:

Hey, I'm a newbie to this, so I will totally update ma piccys when I get the chance, till then, big kiss to all my friends, soz bout the no piccy ustina but i aint got one lol.  salam xxx

Heyhey everyone, got all my piccys sorted, so now I just gotta worry bout my exams .

Don't mean to gloat, but A* in my french orals WOO!!!  Just a shame bout the terrible geography I just sat lol

OMG!!!  All the bombs in London are soooooo bad.  There's no buses or trains, I am in shock!!!  Why do people do this?  It's so terrible, I mean, some God.  It's all just really bad, I mean, WHY????!!

Summa holz, here I come ;)

Heyhey, and what a BEAUTIFUL day it is - NOT!!!

I just found out my definate holiday plans.  I had planned to go to Israel with my dad, but now he's going on his own, leaving me to go to my great aunts wedding renewal, who's pushing 100.  Get to meet with the whole hillbilly all white clan, can't wait!!!  Ahem, neways, get to spend a month in france with my mum, which aint so bad, neways, gotta go practise ma french, gotta whole month there , Au revoir!!!

Long time, no speak

Like I said, long time no speak!!!  It's bin ages since I've updated this, nothin much has bin happenin, 6th form's a nightmare, exam's a bitch, I could go on but I won't, salaam xxx

 PS, 32 days 'till my sweet 16th!!!

Holly... how much have you drunk tonight?

BLEURBGJ JFBHJ FJJFEJB JJB BJBE

Have you missed me?

Guess what.

In every way, shape or form, this has been one of the worst weeks of my life.

Everything is a reminder of what I don't want to be reminded of.

Mum just came in my room, asked me if I wanted to get a coffee at lunch time.

No, I'd rather just die here tbh.

Seriously, how can my life be so persistently awful?

Awful.  Don't pretend you care.

Tell me how you feel

Well?

I am sleepy and sick.

Friday.

Word.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00nbs9q/Annie_Mac_23_10_2009/

Grimey, filthy D'n'B will keep me awake.

Welcome to the Zapatista la realidad

So I'm barre feeling 'Diaries of an Afro Warrior'

This book

My Prison, my home - Halah Esfandiari, if women in the Mid East interests you try 'Not without my daughter' by Betty Mahmoody, 'Princess' by Jean Sasson and well actually there's loads of these books, there's one about a girl married off in Yemen with her sister, and another one I've read but can't remember. Hmmm.

AND finally, the best essay I've read in a long time.
(If you have any questions about Neo-Liberalism, look up 'Structural Adjustment Packages'. Interesting shit).

Btw, I'm faintly obsessed with these guys. When I write a dissertation it'll either be Political Philosophy or it'll be on these fuckers:

Tomorrow Begins Today:
invitation to an insurrection
by Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos

What you hear is the voice of the EZLN

"Welcome to the Zapatista reality. Welcome to this territory in struggle for humanity. Welcome to this territory in rebellion against neoliberalism.

When this dream that awakens today in La Realidad began to be dreamed by us, we thought it would be a failure. We thought that, maybe, we could gather here a few dozen people from a handful of continents. We were wrong. As always, we were wrong. It wasn’t a few dozen, but thousands of human beings, those who came from the five continents to find themselves in the reality at the close of the twentieth century. The word born within these mountains, these Zapatista mountains, found the ears of those who could listen, care for and launch it anew, so that it might travel far away and circle the world. The sheer lunacy of calling to the five continents to reflect clearly on our past, our present, and our future, found that it wasn’t alone in its delirium. Soon lunacies from the whole planet began to work on bringing the dream to rest in La Realidad.

Who are they who dare to let their dreams meet with all the dreams of the world? What is happening in the mountains of the Mexican southeast that finds an echo and a mirror in the streets of Europe, the suburbs of Asia, the countryside of America, the townships of Africa, and the houses of Oceania? What is it that is happening with the peoples of these five continents who, so we are all told, only encounter each other to compete or make war? Wasn’t this turn of the century synonymous with despair, bitterness, and cynicism? From where and how did all these dreams come to La Realidad?

May Europe speak and recount the long bridge of its gaze, crossing the Atlantic and history in order to rediscover itself in La Realidad. May Asia speak and explain the gigantic leap of its heart to arrive and beat in La Realidad. May Africa speak and describe the long sailing of its restless image to come to reflect upon itself in La Realidad. May Oceania speak and tell of the multiple flight of its thought to come to rest in La Realidad. May America speak and remember its
swelling hope to come to renew itself in La Realidad. May the five continents speak and everyone listen.

May humanity suspend for a moment its silence of shame
and anguish.

May humanity speak. May humanity listen.... Each
country, each city, each countryside, each house, each
person, each is a large or small battleground.

On the one side is neoliberalism with all its repressive
power and all its machinery of death; on the other side is
the human being.

In any place in the world, anytime, any man or woman rebels to the point of tearing off the clothes that resignation has woven for them and cynicism has dyed grey. Any man or
woman, of whatever colour, in whatever tongue, speaks and says to himself, to herself: “Enough is enough! – ¡Ya basta!” For struggling for a better world all of us are fenced in, threatened with death. The fence is reproduced globally. In every continent, every city, every countryside, every house.

Power’s fence of war closes in on the rebels, for whom
humanity is always grateful. But fences are broken. In every house, in every countryside, in every city, in every state, in every country, on every continent,the rebels, whom history repeatedly has given the length of its long trajectory, struggle and the fence
is broken. The rebels search each other out. They walk toward one another. They find each other and together break other fences.

In the countrysides and cities, in the states, in the nations, on the continents, the rebels begin to recognize each other, to know themselves as equals and different. They continue on their fatiguing walk, walking as it is now necessary to walk, that is to say, struggling....
A reality spoke to them then. Rebels from the five continents heard it and set off walking.
Some of the best rebels from the five continents arrived in the mountains of the Mexican Southeast. All of them brought their ideas, their hearts, their worlds. They came to
La Realidad to find themselves in others’ ideas, in others’ reasons, in others’ worlds.
A world made of many worlds found itself these days in the mountains of the Mexican Southeast.
A world made of many worlds opened a space and established its right to exist, raised the banner of being necessary, stuck itself in the middle of earth’s reality to announce a better future. But what next? A new number in the useless enumeration of the numerous international orders?
A new scheme that calms and alleviates the anguish of having no solution?
A global program for world revolution? A utopian theory so that it can maintain a prudent
distance from the reality that anguishes us? A scheme that assures each of us a position, a task, a
title, and no work? The echo goes, a reflected image of the possible and forgotten: the possibility and necessity of speaking and listening; not an echo that fades away, or a force that
decreases after reaching its apogee. Let it be an echo that breaks barriers and re-echoes.
Let it be an echo of our own smallness, of the local and particular, which reverberates in an echo of our own greatness, the intercontinental and galactic. An echo that recognizes the existence of the other and does not overpower or attempt to silence it.

An echo of this rebel voice transforming itself and renewing itself in other voices. An echo that turns itself into many voices, into a
network of voices that, before Power’s deafness, opts to speak to itself, knowing itself to be one and many. Let it be a network of voices that resist the war that the
Power wages on them. A network of voices that not only speak, but also struggle
and resist for humanity and against neoliberalism. The world, with the many worlds that the world needs, continues. Humanity, recognizing itself to be plural, different, inclusive, tolerant of itself, full of hope, continues.

The human and rebel voice, consulted on the five continents in order to become a network of voices and of resistances continues.
We declare: That we will make a collective network of all our particular struggles and resistances. An intercontinental network of resistance against neoliberalism, an
intercontinental network of resistance for humanity. This intercontinental network of resistance, recognizing differences and acknowledging similarities, will search to
find itself with other resistances around the world. This intercontinental network of resistance is not an
organizing structure; it doesn’t have a central head or decision maker; it has no central command or hierarchies.

We are the network, all of us who resist. "

Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos is the Zapatista’s masked spokesperson

So I just ate like a whole packet of ham.

Questions:

WTF?

String

You probably wouldn't think it if you knew me, but I used to be an Orchestra junkie.  I loved orchestra, it was like the most amazing thing ever, such an amazing buzz.

I never missed one, I'd come in hung over, sick... every monday morning at 8am I had a lesson, and every Friday at 8am I had orchestra.  Yeah, I used to drag my ass out of bed for this.  I was a music geek, 'lolol I wish I was a fermata  so I could hold you'.

So lame.  I was the chubby kid (this is before and after the skinny kid) with the Viola (should have been a Violin dammit! ¬_¬), and it was cool cause I could tell you the difference between legato and pizzicato and read the Alto clef.

I never persued it though, mostly because I didn't think I was good enough.  I still don't - I have no natural aptitude for music, it took an immense amount of work for me to play how I play now, and in all honestly, even now I'm pretty poor.

Whatever.  I went from a rubbishy school orchestra (5 violins, 2 flutes if lucky, maybe a clarinet, 1 cellist and me, all averaging grade 2) to London Youth Orc, to QM college orc to QM Sinfonia - a proper orchestra with auditions and... a professional conductor!

Not only this, but I'm 1/4th of the QM String quartet - 2 violins, a cellist and me.  We play Palladio so many times we think our hands are going to fall off, but we sound good (here's the tune http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sluHJGcxek ).

I guess I'm no longer a terrible Violist?  I don't know, but the Viola is the one thing in my life I've seen through properly.

I just absolutely love playing in an Orchestra.  I go a few months without doing so and I get withdrawal symptops and start shaking like a crack addict.  I listen to big Orchestra pieces and feel like I'm missing out.  Whenever I watch a movie, I pay the most attention to the score, I pick out chords and instruments and seperate them from the film.  And whenever I used to hear songs, I never wanted to be the singer, nah I wanted to be the guitarist/cellist/violinist in the back.

My biggest regret I think (bigger than screwing up my A levels and not studying, which is really saying something) is that I didn't learn the Piano.  And if that's my biggest regret in life thus far, I think I'm doing pretty alright!

QM

http://qmul-library-blog.blogspot.com/2009/10/did-you-know-what-happened-on-this-day.html

Tipsy little fingers...

...shouldn't dance across this keyboard.  Whoops.

So much for 'no more alcohol'.  Kk, last night was a bit... fail.  Plus my feet are cut, scratched and abused.  As well as my cuticles.

Yay.

Lecture at 12...oh how my heart sours.  I feel a bit sick actually, don't think my liver has recovered from last week.

Hate freshers.  House party tonight, noooo, don't make me go - can't do it!!

Plus, 4 months in central and now I'm getting really depressed at the thought of having to go to Mile End again.

I went to SOAS the other day to meet my friend, ended up outside UCL... cry.

I found a grey hair the other day too - I know I'm almost 20, but this is ridiculous!

Pollytix

oh God.

Missed a lecture already.  Uni is hard.

I'm already getting lazy.  Pathetic.

No.  I need to work hard this year.  And  I will.  I'm not naturally intelligent, I have to work hard to get even decent grades.

I need to study.  God, it's just so hard getting out of bed in the morning.

I haven't done anything study-wise today; not.  good.  enough.

Okay, gonna go read about Marxism and World Politics.

I feel so incredibly untelligent right now.. :\

I hardly know anything about the EU, too.  Should probably look that up.

GOD.  

I have this really stressy sick feeling in my stomach.  Like it's all too much and I can't do it.  Plus my room is an absolute abomination, and I'm sick of it being a mess.

Fuck me, I'm so sick of sharing a room.  No room to even breathe.  My GOD.

And why won't they bloody call me and tell me if I got the job?  :S  My friend got the letter on Friday, if I don't find out by tomorow, gah.

Webct is down so I can't access my unis internet.  And I need to find out why I haven't been paid my wages, also late.

FFS.  Why can't people pay on time?

My bed is a mess.

I'm so stressed, I don't even know why.  I have too much to do.  Feel like I'm going to be sick.  I can't cope well under pressure.

I don't even have any pressure though.  Fml, my room is making me nervous.  I can't sleep in here.

It's nearly 4am; I have to go shopping tomorow, go to uni and renew a book, meet my dad, pick up my sister, do a load of reading, buy stationary, go to Ministry, paint my nails.

Effort.

I am rejected.

On a lesser note, the shadow health sec (Lansley) has promised to cut £1.5 billion from the NHS.  Awesome - let's stop providing for the people who need it the most!

I'm really funny

Did you hear about the farmer who won a nobel prize?

He was outstanding in his field.

I'M FUNNY LIKE DAT.

So you know that even if the manner of your death is arbitrary, your mortality is inescapable?

 

Depressing?  Maybe the interahamwe will get you, maybe you'll die in the next civil war with the EZLN, maybe you'll be hit by a car, maybe you'll get cancer, maybe you'll be executed in China or Texas.

Maybe you'll have cardiac arrest, your brain will get a tumour, your feet will fail, your lungs will stop and your heart will end.  Perhaps Hamas will kill you, perhaps Hezbollah.  Maybe you'll linger like Gilad Shalit, maybe you won't.  Your parents will die, your lover, your sister, brother, friend, the girl across the street, your dog, the insignificant ants we step on... everything.  We're tied to all organisms because inspite of it all, we all have the same fate.

It's black - your future is black.  What is there beyond death but infinite nothingness.  Do you believe in a soul?  In an omniscient God?  An all knowing, loving, compassionate, caring, protective God?  An Abrahamic God?  A Hindu God?  Your own God?

You're going to die, I'm going to die, we're all going to die.  Our descendants won't remember us (what's your paternal great, great grandmothers name?)

And what then?  People say death is the next step, but they're wrong.  Death is the end - your body will rot, the eyes that read this will end, the hands that type this will fail, one day I'll be old.  My body will end, hands, feet, liver, kidney, lungs... all decrepid.  All finite.

All we have to remind you of ourselves is the tangible things we leave you.

Shakespeare had it:

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,

Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;

From hence your memory death cannot take,

Although in me each part will be forgotten.

Your name from hence immortal life shall have,

Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:

The earth can yield me but a common grave,

When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.

Your monument shall be my gentle verse,

Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,

And tongues to be your being shall rehearse

When all the breathers of this world are dead;

You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen--

Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.