It never felt like any blessing...

here
Written on October 4, 2010
8:46 PM

... this date hung over her head like some sort of bad omen. She tried to shift her focus away from the haunting memory but it came flooding back all the more stringent and compelling!Outraged by her unability to divert her mind from this stream thoughts, she curled up in bed, pulled the thick wool blanket up her pounding chest, put her headphones on and resigned herself to sleep.

I do know now that it had practically nothing to do with the date or the place. It was a compelling feelling, a dreadful time of the day wherein she had to listen to the signs her body was sending her.

She wondered why it all had to show up when she least expected it, but that was nothing she could schedule or control, it was imposed upon her by some sort of conditions she tried to conjure away, until she realised that she no longer had to fight against any of those rushing feelings or plaguing thoughts...that she only had to let go, that indifference is what she needed the most, indifference towards all that is of no importance to her, towards all that is no likely to have the influence of the slightest degree on her life; because she's just had enough considering possiblities and making assumptions, seeing life through a blurred lens, dreaming of the day she'd be able to breath fog the glass and wipe the stains clean.

Even now, she doesn't lull herself into thinking she's finally seen everything clearly, will the haze ever be removed one day?...

All I really needed to know I learned in kindergarden...

here

All I really need to know I learned in kindergarten.

ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate-school mountain, but there in the sandpile at Sunday School. These are the things I learned:

Share everything.

Play fair.

Don't hit people.

Put things back where you found them.

Clean up your own mess.

Don't take things that aren't yours.

Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.

Wash your hands before you eat.

Flush.

Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.

Live a balanced life - learn some and think someand draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.

Take a nap every afternoon.

When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.

Be aware of wonder.

Remember the little seed in the styrofoam cup: The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.

Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.

And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggestword of all - LOOK. Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation.Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.

Take any of those items and extrapolate it into sophisticated adult terms and apply it to your family life or your work or your government oryour world and it holds true and clear and firm. Think what a better world it would be if all - the whole world - had cookies and milk about three o'clock every afternoon and then lay down withour blankies for a nap. Or if all governments had a basic policy to always put thing back where they found them and to clean up their own mess.

And it is still true, no matter how old you are - when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together.

-ROBERT FULGHUM-

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I feel sick and uninspired. Hot flushes and headaches don't make matters any better!

I only want to listen to good music, read blogs updates, stare at images in some of my favourite sets on Flickr for hours, and...well, MEDITATE.

I need some peace!

I wish I could...

- Stop feeling sorry for myself.
- No longer have to go through some of life temporary experiences that alter our ideals and make us set high standards only for disillusion to strike and shatter all of our preconceptions.
- Stop blaming myself for all what I’m not meant to take responsibility for.
- Tell everyone what I think of them straight in their faces -well, maybe I may not afford the straight-to-face thing but I could still write about it. Right??-then I’d be able to dissipate much of the misapprehension I’m sure is going on in people’s head!!
- Stop worrying about what I should not even think about.

Photo credits here

- Tell whoever made even the slightest difference in my life that their presence however ephemeral may have been, has really mattered. I probably (surely) am not one to get her point across in the kindest of terms but I find it heard to get rid of my blunt manners.
- Convince myself that exceptions can’t be reproduced.
- Stop checking my mailbox every little while and clean it of all the old stuff!
- Rewind the time to savour moments whose real value I didn’t appreciate
- Shout one big decisive mental STOP!
- Stop all the lamenting and bemoaning I’m doing right now and focus on the task at hand!
Edit: Playing in the background is "Good Life", it might be true after all...

in...sane

Photo credits [via Riley Alexandra ]

Décidément, je ne saurais jamais élucider ce mystère de conjonction d'événements qui a tendance à conspirer de temps en temps contre mon système nerveux.

Cette interprétation me conviendrait cependant: Une série de circonstances rassemblées par quelques contingences défavorables échappant totalement à mon emprise. Oui, j'y croirais volontiers! Parce que tout ce dont je ne suis pas reponsable, tout processus dont je n'ai pas provoqué l'enclenchement me rend moins scrupuleuse à l'égard de son aboutissemnt; aussi me prendrais-je moins la tête à considérer the what ifs and the-might-have-beens.

Le territoire d'indifférence est tellement envoûtant, j'espère toujours pouvoir le conquérir un jour.

PS: This entry is caffeine-induced, please do not take it much seriously.

Determinist...really?!

Photo credits [via JoX1989]

"I was in a landslide, where every movement started a new rockfall, bringing a new collapse of the world I thought steady".

-Joanne Harris-

PS: Sometimes what may seem to be negativity when exposed to others is only stark realism to me.
A string has been plucked in my brain and I'm waiting for the tremor to hit. It's a matter of cause and effect; and being a congregation of innumerable atoms myself, I cannot escape physical laws.

Picturing holidays

Tetouan <3

Under a cafe roof, waiting for the rain to stop...

A rainy night...The street lamps looked like showers pouring water down

a tangerian cat

a balcony view before the souk opens...

J'ai besoin de froid,
Cette chaleur me tue.

Qur'an quote

"The Night of Decree is better than a thousand months. The angels and the Spirit descend therein by permission of their Lord for every matter. Peace it is until the emergence of dawn"

(Qur'an 97:3-5)

Wrapped in crumpled sheets

Photo credits [wakingphotolife]

...J'avais commencé à considérer l'éventualité d'une obsession dont les symptômes se font chaque jour de plus en plus sentir lorsque je me rendis à l'évidence: Ce qui relèverait d'un comportement obsessionnel pour moi ne l'est probablement pas aux yeux des autres et encore moins aux yeux de ceux qui l'entretiennent!

Cette zone de transition entre l'habituel et l'obsessionnel m'a toujours parue indiscernable aussi n'étais-je jamais été assez lucide pour en distinguer le seuil déclenchant; et l'ayant moi-même un peu franchi plusieurs fois sans m'en rendre compte, je ne saurais porter de jugement quant à ses manifestations chez quelconque autre personne.
Je m'aperoçis maintenant que je suis à des années-lumière de pouvoir comprendre ce basculement soudain dans des comportements "étrangers" à notre personne, à nos convictions, à des tendances que l'on a nourri pour si longtemps qu'on a cru ne pouvoir jamais nous en défaire ou agir à leur encontre...C'est que je refuse d'y voir un remaniement des priorités et que-autant en faire l'aveu!-je me plais à tort ou à raison dans l'illusionnement et l'obsolescence des sentiments, et que parfois, en" pragmatiquement aveugle", je refuse d'admettre la réalité pourtant si évidente qui crie à se qu'on la croie.

Je n'ai jamais prétendu pouvoir un jour échapper à cette distanciation qui s'empare impromptement de moi et qui me rend comme indifférente à l'égard d'autrui: Je me crée mes propres repères et évolue selon mes propres standards me souciant peu de ce que je puisse être rappelée par la suite à la réalité, l'essentiel c'est que le monde a cessé d'exister pour moi ne serait-ce que l'espace d'un instant puisque lui s'obstine à faire de moi l'une de ses multiples puériles préoccupations!

L'illusion du bonheur

here

My depth perception has been off for quite some time now,

I've lost one dimension to my mind's landscape and I'm no longer afraid of the visions in my head:

blurred hazy images with nothing distinct about them,

Scraps of memories that will be crushed down until their tiniest remnants

That's all they are and all will ever be

...and who knows,

this might be after all the so awaited illusion du bonheur.

I'm sure I used to be so free...

Sometimes words hold onto your mind, so magical and gripping...black sparkling words in thick ink. They could have been there for as long as you remember, laying in the folds of some book on your dusty shelf, but they always went unnoticed, overlooked words that could never work their way into your brain.
One day, however, it suddenly occurs to you to reach out and grab that very book you once deemed dull and brain-numbing; you start flicking hastily through the first pages, when by some astounding contingencies, you stumble upon one of those sentences that seem to hit too close to home for you, a sentence that captures all your emotions at the moment; as if words has been devoid of any form of "polysematicism" and were set on deciphering your thoughts.

You just stand there bewildered, enraptured before their capacity to dig deep into the your mind and draw so accurately what's on it: Your thoughts have been entangled for you, your emotions "unblurred" and the gears of your brain oiled so much you could almost feel them spinning smoothly inside your skull.

here

...Tonight my mind is unusually clear

I'm falling in love with words again, it is as if I'm reading each one of them for the first time.

I'm feeling like a newborn, willing to embrace a new outlook on life and go through all that it has to offer with a cleansed spirit and a regenerated hope. As with words, I want to discover a new meaning to existence and believe that everything will someday, somehow start to make sense.
I'm not expecting to squeeze anything extraordinary out of this world, nor am I waiting for a fairy godmother to come and turn the pumpkin into a glossy golden coach: there will always be more aspects to life than one can ever wrap his head around, and to claim total mastery over its twists and turns would be sheer nuttiness; I only want to hold onto hopes and believe in brighter days ahead without having my practicality overshadowed in the process and I don't think life as cruel as to begrudge me my right to dream .

here

For one moment
I wish you'd hold your stage
With no feelings at all
Open minded
I'm sure I used to be so free...
There's this one Muse song I've been OBSESSED with for almost a week now. I can listen to it for eight times in a row, and feel it everytime pulling a string in my heart.

I love its well combined shifts and how it has a bit too quick start to it but flows out to a a really nice piano section in the end.

Here it is everyone, plug in your headphones and enjoy!!

* The title of this post is inspired by the song lyrics.

A revelation

What if it were true that...

Like a breezy summer morning...

here

Elle était enfin devenue elle-même, ancrée à cette surface rigide qu'est la terre , pragmatique, réonciliant rationalité et fantasme. Elle en a eu assez de traîner ses pensées en bandoulière et de ne plus apprécier la joie des plaisirs simples qui autrefois l'enchantaient et l'emplissaient d'un sentiment d'exaltation candide et profond.
Elle voulait échapper à cette platitude imminente qui la guettait si vicieuse et si maligne, se défaire de cette tranquilité pernicieuse et ne plus avoir à se gaver de ce bonheur insipide. Elle avait toujours eu tendance à anticiper les événements et se délectait de pouvoir ôter aux faits un peu de leur rigidité et de dévier d'une trajectoire qu'elle croyait scellée et immuable, quoique l'anticipation n'a jamais fait son bonheur. Elle s'y adonnait comme à un jeu de pouvoir, un affrontement douloureux dont elle sortait à chaque fois triste et abbatue.

Parfois lorsque je la surprenais à rêvasser la tête dans les étoiles, j'avais envie de la secouer si fort, l'arrâcher à ce cocon tendre et protecteur qu'elle s'est construite au fil des ans. Mais comme à chaque fois, j'avais peur de détruire ces idéaux qu'elle chérissait tant et dont elle nourissait son âme éprise de parfait et d'absolu. J'avais peur de lui refuser l'accès au seul monde où elle pouvait prendre refuge.

Elle m'avouait par moments qu'elle ne savait plus trop se qu'elle voulait ni quoi penser . Elle se contredisait, se parjurait, plaidant à chaque fois une nouvelle cause, clamant que tout autour d'elle est en train de changer et qu'elle même ne se reconnait plus.

Aussi finissais-je toujours par la laisser décider de ce qu'elle voulait faire, l'abandonnant à ses jugements altérés et ses raisonnements décousus, priant pour que le peu de lucidité dont elle pouvait éventuellement se prévaloir ne l'abandonne pas à mi-chemin.

Je m'obstinais à croire en elle et à lui faire confiance. Je voulais qu'elle assume pleinement la portée de ses actes, qu'elle cesse d'avoir peur sans rime ni raison et de se lamenter sur des circonstances immuables échappant totalement à son emprise.

Je la voyais souvent animée d'une fougue juvénile, fantasmée et gavée d'illusion; C'est dans ces moments là qu'emportée par un élan d'émotivité frôlant le délire, elle m'affirmait ne s'être jamais senti aussi heureuse de toute sa vie, qu'elle se sentait libérée de toutes ses angoisses et appréhensions, et que celà ne la surprendrait pas de voir sa langue se délier devant un inconnu et de se retrouver à déverser tout ce qui traverserait son esprit dans la plénitude de l'instant.

Ainsi, basculant entre amertume et exaltation, conformisme et rébellion, rationalité et fantasme; elle est en moi...elle est moi et constitue mon être.

"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal"
-Albert Camus-

Marzycielski

here

I tried to let go of the reins. To stop pondering things for a while and not to give them a second thought.
So many times I tried to pen down these insomnia induced thoughts, but I felt that words alone would do them no justice. I could not think of any proper means to muffle the voice of my soul. I refrained myself from any outward expression thinking this would only amplify how I felt at that time.
Writing things down gives me power upon my thoughts: I can disguise them, distort the meaning behind them and keep a lot of their intentions under wraps. But it felt like something was stuck in my throat of late, like having this big urge to write without being able to: words seemed to be melting into some kind of stringent indefiniteness whenever I tried to take grip on them. I've come even to ask myself if there mightn’t be some kind of subconscious power interfering with my conscious self that prevents me from giving these mingling emotions an outlet they so crave!
Thus, instead of looking desperately for “active” means of possible outer relief , I considered indulging myself in passive leisure for a while, an opportunity to bask in sheer reading pleasure that never fails to enchant me and revive my senses whenever I'm on the verge of numbness.

I realized I just needed to immmerse myself in some imaginary world, a fictitious story whose characters I can identify with and whose emotions I can relate to, an illusiory reality where the outer world would cease to exist and where I'd be immune to the vicissitudes of my petty existence; and I can only reach this state of serenity and inner contentment through reading.
Words alone have the power to make every preoccupying matter dwindle to smaller proportions. I feel that their meanings carry all the power and magnificience I need to experience and I know that some of this magic is being conveyed to me by the mere act of reading.

Books also inspire me to write whenever I'm lacking inspiration. They make me believe that everything deserves to be transcribed; that the slightest perceptible feeling, the most unexpected insight carries a message for us and is worth being remembered.

I know I tend to feel things too intensely at times that my heart starts racing and pounding like it might jump out of my chest, but I know as well that I can survive the burst of emotions within me. My heart may be lacking the space to contain them all but my mind will always find means of eventual evacuation.

My cutting words and hasty answers reassure me of my own sanity, they are the shield I won't drop unless granted safety. That's what I am, Sometimes just striving to have a normal reaction or to repress emotions showing up at completely inappropriate times. I may be acutely conscious of the absurdity of my feelings, but they'll still be here, welling up within me, invading the serenity of my soul, and threatening to make my face crumple into some conspicuously ill-bred expression.

Guess what I'm doing right now? I'm trying to be "normal"... by my own standards :)

What is blaring in my ears:

Some kind of new find...

I was rummaging through some old photos of mine when I stumbled across this:

It only takes toy sunglasses and a baby life buoy to create a beach atmosphere while remaining in the safety of one's home.
Oh, the simple little joys of being a child :)

PS: Excuse the blurry shot!

Figures from my inturnship

There is:

• Ms S: She is the first person I've been introduced to. She asked me what my name was in addition to a few other questions related to my studies and went on saying that she was particularly very busy (which turned out to be the case for still three other days!!) then handed me some company newsletters dating back two years claiming that would give me an idea on the business process. And so I was left dozing off on a chair the wole day, reading paper written in an excruciating shipping jargon and hearing her interminable phone conversations about her baby's health: If he's had enough sleep, how his temperature must be checked every little while, etc.

• Mr M: .I've only been once let into his office while I was waiting for the approval form to get signed. He scrutinized my CV and application letter but is actually a rather good-natured person with profuse welcome manners.

• Ms B: A former graduate of my (current) school, and to avoid any misapprehensions this statement could've probably given rise to, this woman didn't entertain the slightest "corporatist thought" toward me. Actually, I wasn't allowed to have a bit of a glimpse into what she was doing and so she just sat there scribbling on some paper convulsively while I kept my nose buried in my book; then not before long did she consent to put an end to this unbearably awkward situation and conducted me to another office where I met J, a trainee peparing her master thesis. I was happy I finally found someone to commiserate with as twisted a thought as this may seem.

• Mr S.: An accountant, a man with thick glasses and a tobacco smelling moustache -that revolts me!-, and a voluble speaker above all. He makes every topic a favorite and begins his usual digression; giving every issue the locutive proportions of a "personal cause", vehemently defending positions and shifting abruptly from one subject to another that I sometimes have a hard time following his thread of thoughts. He asks me things like if I've ever been to Europe, if I write poems, among other random spur-of-the-moment questions. However, I'd be so balantly ungrateful if I don't owe this man recognition for the little and sole knowledge I came to acquire during all the time I've spent there so far.

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I'm hesitating as to what I should add as recommended music for there is a lot I've been listening to lately especially by The Fray, OneRepublic and Coldplay. I'll think I'll just add this beautiful piece by OneRepublic. Please enjoy :)

Peplum

"Most people deceive themselves with a pair of faiths: they believe in eternal memory (of people, things, deeds, nations) and in redressibility (of deeds, mistakes, sins, wrongs). Both are false faiths. In reality the opposite is true: everything will be forgotten and nothing will be redressed. The task of obtaining redress (by vengeance or by forgiveness) will be taken over by forgetting. No one will redress the wrongs that have been done, but all wrongs will be forgotten."

Kundera-'The Joke'

here
I’m feeling bitterly hopeless.
Events rarely take the turn we’ve wanted them to take, admittedly! But I no longer can make judgments or see anything objectively. Reality seems to be for me just another idealistic icon, the reflection of an initially flawed view. I’m trying to assemble some shreds of thoughts, to strip away the last remnants of sanity, anything likely to extricate me from this unfortunate trap I'm caught in, but all logic fails me, all my wits have eluded me. I don’t want to convey hostility; I’m only the incarnation of what I fear the most.

I’m a dramatically helpless escapist into thinking I could possibly defy contingencies or deviate from their designated course but I don't know where my obstinacy stems from.

Maybe I tend to wallow in false dreaminess; but could it be that I'm just trying to mitigate my overly realistic nature ? Could it be because I'm precisely aware of this crude unaltered view I hold upon things that try to make them lose some of their seriousness? But there are some things that defy my comprehension, things that go beyond my thinking and whose understanding will continue to elude me whenever I think i've elucidated some of their mystery. I don't know if I hate them because of their outrageously defying nature, but I can't chase this thought of them in the shape of people looking down on me in disdain and making fun of my every move, thus arousing my anger and resentment. why should I be even bothered by them? Are there in any way putting at stake my self-esteem and security or am I the one taking matters to atrophied proportions?.
I feel like I'm loaded with questions I can't find the answers to. I could go on and on about these endless hypotheses, formulating them, looking for comforting arguments to support my cause and finally refuting them even with no certain evidence, because evidence is what I'm acutely lacking of now, and unless it is retrieved, all thoughts are misleading and all presumptions are wrong.

PS: I'm sorry! I hate it everytime my posts sound that depressive.
I finally found "Stand Clear" the soundtrack from the movie "Speak", I've been looking for it for almost one year now and I just love, love, love the song, found this worth mentioning though :)

Summer spirit

here

Hurraaaaaah!! It's over, exams are over, no more school until september.
I'm a self-proclaimed lazy person, and more often than not I find myself not feeling like doing anything productive: In blogging, this takes the shape of posts filled with lyrics and quotes with no single personal touch .

I admit this can be rather rebarbative, but even if I end up having no readers, I'll keep on writing even very occasionnaly; for I'll never know when these congested thoughts inside my head will be crying out for release, and I cannot assure this can be done on a regular basis, just as I cannot assure that you may have to put up from time to time with random outbursts of feverish incoherent babbling.

That being said, I hope i'll be more of an assiduous blogger during these alleged "holidays"; since my two month intunship is starting tomorrow and God only knows how much I hate inturnships! I can't help getting incredibly bored at each one of them, becauseI'm either given tedious mind-numbing tasks or left in a state of utter inaction counting down the hours until I'm allowed to leave (human beings are such complex creatures to satisfy =). But I know I'll mainly miss that feeling of lazying around in my bed the whole day reading Milan Kundera's novels and listening to Yann Tiersen (I've been on Yann Tiersen music kick since early this month!).

At the same time, my summer reading list has been overflowing with titles of books I'd very hopefully be reading in my spare time. Here's a little glimpse into it:

-The Joke by Milan Kundera.

-Notes from the Underground by Fedor Mikhailovitch Dostoevsky.

- Laughable Loves by Milan Kundera.

- L'amour aux temps du Choléra by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

- Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom.

I bought L'amour Aux Temps du Choléra on a whim while I was walking by a bookstore last week, but the long descriptions have deterred me from continuing the reading experience, and so I succombed to the temptation of consuming another Kundera's novel namely The Joke. I can't express how I dramatically fell in love with this author books since The Unbearable Lightness of Being, his writing is so unbelievable that I can't help wondering at times how can a man has such a keen understanding of human psychology. His philosophical insights are so revealing and his storytelling skills so enthralling that I find myself reading some passages over and over again just to enjoy their endless generous beauty.

Substratum

Je ne parviens pas à me convaincre.
Je ne veux plus me convaincre, quand bien même je me ferais des illusions. Je ne cesserai de travestir les mots, d’essayer de transformer mon émotivité en une force fragile. Je n’ignore point ce côté en moi, je suis capable de la pire des duperies avec moi-même, je me trompe et m’en délecte, je me fais des illusions et ca me suffit, (it keeps me alive). L’autarcie, même en sentiments ne relève pas de l’égocentricité mais de l’indépendance, une prise de recul, une réconciliation avec la raison, un repositionnement par rapport aux individus et aux événements.
L’autosuffisance émotionnelle ne fait pas partie de mon système de valeurs, sinon je serais longtemps tombé proie à l’outrecuidance, cette désinvolture impertinente qui suscite tant mon rejet et ma révulsion.
I’m just a much of an uncharted territory to myself that it sometimes ignore what I’m seeking.
Une prétention défigurée, tout mal ne se déclare pas...
L’explicité met sous pression, elle dévoile, rend vulnérable et soumet. Elle stimule la dépendance et je n’aimerais point vivre en parasite, sucking the life out of others pour assurer ma propre stabilité, ma propre survie ; cette inaliénation m’exaspère.
Je me surprends parfois à incarner la thèse et l’antithèse de ce même « moi », si prononcé par moments, qui crie à la manifestation et qui fait irruption quand on a juste envie de le faire taire et de l’enfouir aux fins fonds de notre être.
J’écris ces quelques lignes et je ne sais pas trop ce que je viens de transcrire, j’écoute le Lac des Cygnes et je délire…Tchaïkovski a le pouvoir de me faire planer.
J’ai essayé d’écouter la dixième symphonie de Beethoven, mais j’ai arrêté au bout de la deuxième minute. Le fait qu’elle soit incomplète ne m’a pas donné envie de l’écouter jusqu’au bout. Je n’aime pas les œuvres inachevés ; les demi-mesures…
Cette passion avec laquelle j’entreprends les choses qui me tiennent à cœur ne me laisse pas indifférente quant à leur aboutissement, ce n’est pas que j’exige une quelconque garantie de résultats, mais seuls les moyens mis en jeu sont capables de m’en donner un avant-goût. Des fois ils me rebutent par leur incongruité et leur caractère déplacé que je sais que l’outcome n’en serait que plus désolant. Ceci s’apparente moins au défaitisme qu’à une volonté de se sentir en assurance par rapport à des aléas sur lesquels on n’a aucune emprise et qui continueront toujours à nous échapper…

Il nous a quittés...

Il nous a quittés aujourd'hui
Ils sont affligés
Je ne sais pas quoi penser
Je ne l'entrendrai plus monter de ses petits pas les escaliers, s'appuyant d'une main ridée sur sa canne, tenant de l'autre sa petite chaise en fer rouillée...
Je ne verrai plus ses lèvres tremblotantes balbutier quelque prière à mon égard...
Il nous a quittés en ce jour sacré de Vendredi
Il nous a quittés
Que son âme repose en paix.

The retrieval...

here

So I haven't been feeling like writing those last days. I still don't know if I've mustered up all my will to write. I've been feeling dramatically lethargic , alternating between apathy and utter disaffection. It is just a kind of everything feeling suddenly so distant that I felt completely detached from reality, not relating to anything likely to put a hint of excitment into my everyday mundane existence. Sometimes, a relentless writing impulse would make my fingers graze over the keyboard aimlessly, but the only few words I managed to type came out misshaped, this massive knot of thoughts inside my head still could not be undone. I could feel it grow everyday thicker and thicker, its threads slyly tightening around my brain and taking grip on my whole being. It just made me feel sick that I was unable to write, the one thing I used to find solace in has now left me feeling helpless and uninspired.

How few yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep

While I weep-While I weep

Oh God! Can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp
-A Dream Within a Dream-

I let myself be overcome by events, I no longer wanted to over analyze them or see beyond their outward happening. Nobody can defy what fate has revealed:The original manifestation of things is unarguably the best.

It'd be so hypocritical to say that this has left me feeling any better, but I at the same didn't want to succumb to any of my questioning spirit drives. I've turned off all senses and reached a distorted form of nihilism where I felt resigned to facts instead of rejecting them and where I was receptive of the world standards and started questioning mine. By putting expectations on others, you give them the power to deceive you; but put expectations on yourself and you could be the one deceiving them.
Milan Kundera wrote in the "Unbearable Lightness of Being" that an event is more significant and noteworthy the greater the number of fortuities likely to bring it about and that chance and chance only has a message for us. Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out is mute. But who can spend a lifetime reading the signs and decoding omens trying to identify meanings where there mightn't be any? I wish I could see my life in terms of "what's chance and what's not" then I wouldn't have much to grieve over, but I can't afford such distanciation in my assessment of facts. Sometimes I hate it too much that I care and can't let go of certain things that it makes me feel vulnerable and depressed.
I need ideals to hang on to and to hold in high esteem; I will think the world of them until they disullusion me and leave me seeking refuge in the safety of my isolation. It is finally a balanced equation: You fed their sense of self-importance and they gave you signs of hope that you identified with. The reign of mathematical laws in nature is so great that it hasn't spared human relationships, but nature is not evil, there then must be no harm in being subdued by the power of its momentary outbursts.

A beautiful song inspired by Sarah.K

Pulchre, Bene, Recte!

here

A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision of my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish
With a thought I then did cherish.

"Imititation"-Edgar Allan Poe

Please try to take some time to listen to this, especially towardsthe end; the music
fades away so beautifully.

The nothingnesses of my life

here

HERE'S A GLIMPSE INTO THOUGHTS THAT HAVE BEEN POPPING INTO MY HEAD TODAY:

-I JUST MISS THE LITTLE THINGS SO MUCH BUT I KNOW I CAN NEVER GET THEM BACK, BECAUSE AS SIMPLE AS THEY ARE THEY'RE THE MOST DIFFICULT TO RETRIEVE.

- IT'S BETTER FOR ME NOT TO TAKE HINTS BECAUSE I'M MUCH BETTER OFF THE STUPID WAY!

- EVERYONE REALIZES AT SOME STAGE OF HIS EXISTENCE THAT HE'S THE ACTOR OF HIS OWN LIFE, STARRING A MOVIE OF SELF-DECEIT!!

- WE SHOULD LAUGH AT OUR MISERIES EVEN WHEN OUR HEART ACHES.

- MUSIC KEEPS ME SANE WHEN BOOKS DO ONLY FEED MY ILLUSIONS (THIS DOESN'T MEAN I WILL GIVE UP ON THEM :)

-I'M MOODY, BLUNT AND EVEN INARTICULATE, SO WHAT?

PS:THANK YOU FOR PUTTING UP WITH THE RANT.

Musical moment

A masterpiece that will shake me to the core everytime I do listen to it!


HOROWITZ piano SCHUBERT

Return to Innocence

here

Don't be afraid to be weak
Don't be too proud to be strong
Just look into your heart my friend
That will be the return to yourself
The return to innocence
If you want, then start to laugh
If you must, then start to cry
Be yourself don't hide
Just believe in destiny
Don't care what people say
Just follow your own way
Don't give up and use the chance
To return to innocence
That's not the beginning of the end
That's the return to yourself
The return to innocence
...

Enigma-Return to innocence

Midnight reminiscence...

here

It just brought tears to my eyes seeing this as I remember having a same red one when I was a child. I ignore the process by which a picture can make vivid a memory that's been lingering deep into the recesses of one's mind, but I can't help but think of the human brain as the most complex and bewildring of mechanisms.

The song that gives chills down my spine! (maybe it's also the one song that can make me bawl my eyes out at 2:00 pm for no particular reason!!)

Dust in the wind...

I've been listening to Kansa's song dust in the wind, and the following lines kept running through my head the whole day:

Same old song
just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do, crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see

Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind

The last two lines could not ring truer for me!
Maybe they encapsulate after all the very essence of our existence as humans. Isn't it all that we really are? Just dust in the wind; ephemeral creatures with wavering feelings and inconsistent thoughts, always yearning for more, with nothing seemingly able to satiate our eternal longing for happinnes, no accumulated fortunes that could fill that deep big hole inside us all called greed, always willing to gulp down all that's poured inside it.
We do this while knowing perfectly that nothing's ever built to last!

Life seems to be just one big Deja vu after another, where commonplaces abound and where every experienced feeling or adventure is a replica of one that has already preceeded: We are blasé, all we do is trying to intensify emotions or prolong moments that we know are prone to fade away and that we seem to enjoy all the same...but who gives a damn after all? Isn't that what consumerism is supposed to be about?

PS: Reading back what I've just written made me realize that this post has something gloomy about it. I don't know why my mind did come up whith it now, I haven't the slightest intention of whining over people or things. Maybe that's because I've started reading a novel whose "depressive "characters are starting to rubb off on me, but I absolutely love the book and the pleasure I get from it makes up for it all! (I should dedicate a post to this later).
PPS: I've always been fascinated by countries in eastern europe ( their music, weather, nature, litterature...). Today however, I grew convinced that there are three of them I want to live in:
1st-Poland
2nd-Slovakia
3rd-Russia
(Don't ask my why I chose this order, I ain't got a clue :))

Stupeur et Tremblements

S'il faut admirer la Japonaise, et il le faut, c'est parce qu'elle ne se suicide pas. On conspire contre on idéal depuis sa plus tendre enfance. On lui coule du plâtre à l'intérieur du cerveau: "si à vingt-cinq ans tu n'es pas mariée, tu auras de bonnes raisons d'avoir honte", "si tu ris, tu ne seras pas distinguée", "si ton visage exprime un sentiment, tu es vulgaire", "si tu mentionnes l'existence d'un poil sur ta joue, tu es immonde", "si tu manges avec plaisir, tu es une truie", "si tu éprouves du plaisir à dormir, tu es une vache" etc.
Car en fin de compte, ce qui est assené à la Nipponne à travers ces dogmes incongrus, c'est qu'il ne faut rien espérer de beau. [...] N'espère pas que la vie t'apporte quoi que ce soit, car chaque année qui passera t'enlèvera quelque chose. N'espère pas même une chose aussi simple que le calme, car tu n'as aucune raison d'être tranquille.
Espère travailler. Il y a peu de chances, vu ton sexe que tu t'élèves beaucoup, mais espère servir ton entreprise. Travailler te fera gagner de l'argent, dont tu ne retireras aucune joie mais dont tu pourras éventuellement te prévaloir, par exemple en cas de mariage, car tu ne seras pas assez sotte pour supposer que l'on puisse vouloir de toi pour ta valeur intrinsèque.
A part cela, tu peux espérer vivre vieille, ce qui n'a pourtant aucun intérêt, et ne pas connaitre le déshonneur, ce qui est une fin en soi, la s'arrête la liste des espoirs licites.
Ici commence l'interminable théorie de tes devoirs stériles. Tu devra être irréprochable, pour cette seule raison que c'est la moindre des choses.
Etre irréprochable ne t'apportera ne t'apportera rien d'autre que d'être irréprochable, ce qui n'est ni une fierté ni encore moins une volupté.
Je ne pourrai jamais énumérer tous des devoirs, car il n'y a pas une minute de ta vie qui ne soit régentée par l'un d'entre eux. Par exemple, même quand tu seras isolée aux toilettes pour soulager ta vessie, tu auras l'obligation de veiller à ce que personne n'entende la chansonnette de ton ruisseau: tu devras donc tirer la chasse sans trêve.
Je cite ce cas pour que tu comprenne ceci: si même des domaines aussi intimes et insignifiants de ton existence sont soumis à un commandement, songe à fortiori Tu as faim? Mange à peine, car tu dois rester mince, non pas pour le plaisir de voir les gens se retourner sur ta silhouette dans la rue, ils ne le feront pas, mais parce qu'il est honteux d'avoir des rondeurs.
Tu as pour devoir d'être belle. Si tu y parviens, ta beauté ne te vaudra aucune volupté. Les uniques compliments que tu recevrais émaneraient d'Occidentaux, et nous savons combien ils sont dénués de bon goût. Si tu admires ta propre joliesse dans le miroir, que ce soit dans la peur et non dans le plaisir: car ta beauté ne t'appportera rien d'autre que la terreur de la perdre.
Si tu es une belle fille, tu ne seras pas grand-chose; si tu n'es pas une belle fille, tu seras moins que rien.

Tu as pour devoir de te marier, de préférence avant tes vingt-cinq ans qui seront ta date de péremption. Ton mari ne te donnera pas d'amour sauf si c'est un demeuré, et il n'y a pas d'honneur d'être aimé d'un demeuré. De toute facon, qu'il t'aime ou non, tu ne le verras pas. A deux heures du matin, un homme épuisé et souvent ivre te rejoindra pour d'effondrer sur le lit conjugal, qu'il quittera six heures après sans t'avoir dit un mot.

Tu as pour devoir d'avoir des enfants que tu traiteras comme des divinités jusqu'à leurs trois ans, âge où, d'un coup sec, tu les expulseras du paradis pour les inscrire au service militaire, qui durera de trois à dix-huit ans puis de vingt-cinq ans à leur mort. Tu es obligé de mettre au monde des êtres qui seront d'autant plus malheureux que leurs trois premières années de vie leur auront inculqué la notion de bonheur.

Amélie Nothomb-Stupeur et Tremblements

The International End Title

I'd rather be an outspoken introvert, than an introvert outspoken...

Il y eut une période où je ne pouvais plus écrire, ce fût un état de désaffection généralisée à l'égard de tout ce qui pouvait créer autrefois ma joie, occuper mes pensées ou alimenter mes écrits d'idées même les plus farfelues.
Je n'avais plus envie d'avoir envie d'écrire. Oui, ca aurait bien pû être intentionnel. Je pouvais très bien déborder d'émotions qui me submergeaient jusqu'à l'asphyxie, une fatigue morale me consumait chaque jour un peu plus, me rongeais de l'intérieur et me tiraillait le coeur, mais mon cerveau refusait de m'obéir. Il ne réagissait à aucune de mes pulsions, il existait en dehors de moi, il ignorait désormais ce langage du "ressenti" et a fini par avoir raison de mon état d'émotivité qui frôlait le délire.
Je me sentais faible, fragile, un rien pouvait m'exalter ou me plonger dans le désarroi le plus profond. Parfois quand bien même je me serais décidé à me décharger de ce flux d'émotions, je refusais de le seul moyen d'expression qui m'était possible: l'écrit. Je n'avais plus aucune emprise sur les mots, ils auraient pû m'échapper et je ne pouvais me livrer à ce genre d'écrits quoique j'en ai éprouvé la nécessité. Je refusais de me mettre ainsi à nu mes pensées, et de ne rien mitiger à l'effet de mes mots. Je n'ignore pas ce côté de moi même moi, j'ai toujours été une personne réservée et introvertie...c'est à peine que je me suis résolue à créer ce lieu où je pouvais finalement être "sincère" avec moi même, l'idée même m'aurait parue inenvisageable quelques années plus tôt. Mais je crois qu'il y a toujours une partie de nous qui nous échappe, an uncharted territory, qu'on ne connaît pas nous même et qu'on ne peut révéler aux autres comme il y a des choses qu'on aimerait garder pour soi, c'est notre petit jardin secret, là où on se réfugie when delusion strikes and when the masks fall.

Dreams...

To those who still care dropping by and checking updates, I'm sorry I've been off for quite some time now, it's just that I haven't had anything good to say. My mental lethargy is not over yet, so I thought It'd just be better sharing this extract with you:

" Sometimes you dream strange dreams, impossible and unnatural; you wake up and remember them clearly, and are surprised at a strange fact: you remember first of all that the reason did not abandon you during the whole course of your dream; you even remember that you acted extremely cleverly and logically for that whole long, long time when you were surrounded by murderers, when they were being clever with you, concealed their intentions, treated you in a friendly way, though they had already had their weapons ready and were only waiting for some sort of sign; you remember how cleverly you finally deceived them, hid from them; then you realize that they know your whole decepton by heart and merely do not show you that they know where you are hiding; but you are clever and deceive them again-all that you remember is absurdities and impossibilities, with which, among other things, your dream was filled.

[...]Why, on awakening from your dream and entering full into reality, do you feel almost every time and occasionnally with an extraordinary force of impression, that along with the dream you are leaving behind something you have failed to fathom? You smile at the absurdity of your dream and feel at the same time that the tissue of those absurdities contains some thought, but a thought that is real, something that belongs to your true life, something that exists and has always existed in your heart; it is as if your dream has told you something new, prophetic, awaited; yourimpression is strong, it is joyful or tormenting, but what it is and what has been told you-All that you can neither comprenhend nor recall".

"The Idiot"- Fyodor Dostoevsky

Second guessing...leads nowhere

"I've done the math enough to know the dangers of our second guessing"

Tool-Schism

Reading frenzy

My current state is one of reading frenzy...or shall I say "selective reading" frenzy. I'm ready to read everything provided they're not things I HAVE to read!
My eyes ache from continous staring at the screen, (those goddmaned e-books are really killing my sight) but I'm so high on my new findings... I'm switching from one book to another, wanting to swallow every word, every line that I'm reading (I wish I could feel the same about matters in my studies)...and as weird as it may seem it is just a kind of going so head over heels with words that I become tempted to put down some myself, write something...anything, just to give myself the illusion that I too am capable of this kind of beautiful creation, mine may certainly not be as beautiful but I always get this writing impulse after reading, like being it a part of an equilibrium i chose to believe in, that of "the pleasure of words":I get it from reading then I should try to restore some of what I took throug writing. Believe me if everyone starts to see reading and writing as parts of this process, humanity would never lack of good stuff to read :)

I am vertical....

But I'd rather be horizontal
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more stratling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesmallight of the stars,
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them
Thoughts gone dim
It is more natural to me lying down
Then the sky and I are in open conversation
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am vertical -Sylvia Plath-

I like this Sylvia Plath's poem, it is simply genuinely beautiful.
It radiates with a kind of serenity while having something poignant about it, that makes you feel the intensity of every line and word, words that are just so beautifully put together by the poetess!
I don't know what it is exactly supposed to be about, but having read about Sylvia Plath's life, I think there is an obvious referrence to death in the last line as she herself commited suicide.
However, I like the poetess' imagination...how she associated the postion of lying down with a whole mental perception, that can tell more about one's personality. And how she precisely wants to detach herself from her "conventional" vertical position as a human, shows that there's something more about the vertical position itself that she wants to make herself get rid of!

About my last entry...

J'avais rédigé ceci en guise de PS du post précédent, mais j'ai vite changé d'avis: Il y a cependant assez d'espace pour que je le bâtisse en billet indépendant et pour me créer l'illusion d'avoir posté deux fois quand j'aurais bien pû le faire sous un titre unique!

Je désapprouve la fin du livre. La morale est certes là, elle rejaillit d'ailleurs tout au long de l'histoire, mais je trouve qu'Epiphane a poussé un peu trop loin sa volonté de prouver à Ethel ce "Tout est possible", j'irai même jusqu'à dire qu'il le lui a arraché sans son consentement maintenenat qu'il lui a ôté la vie. Cette éternité qui le facsine tant, et pour laquelle il s'est fait jeté au cachôt, peut-être qu'il n'est en train de la vivre que lui seul dans son propre imagination -c'est bien ca, ce mot me rattrappe encore!-.
Si Ethel était toujours en vie, elle ne lui aurait pas permis de la retrouver "cette eternité". Bof! J'ignore les motivations de ce personnage, peut-être qu'il se plaît dans les "à sens unique" (côté sentiments) ou enocre, voudrait-il s'ériger en figure emblématique d'un amour martyrisé dont il est seul l'auteur, mais ne serait-ce pas un peu trop égoiste comme facon de mettre son bonheur à exécution?.
PS: Vous m'excuserez les cédilles zappées, je ne parviens toujours pas à retrouver cette lettre sur mon clavier
PPS: Les cours reprennent demain. I'd better go to bed early!

Smile! you fit the mold...

J'ai lu récemment un extrait d'un livre d'Amélie Nothomb dont je suis tombé immédiatement sous le charme; et comme plus rien ne plaît beaucoup ces derniers jours - du moins côté lecture-, je me suis décidée à explorer l'une des oeuvres de cette écrivaine, dont un de ses livres "l'Elégance de l'Hérisson" me fût recommandé il n'y a pas longtemps par une amie.
Après une petite recherche sur le net, mon choix s'est porté sur "Attentat", un roman qui remettait en question notre perception du beau et du laid, mais qui convoque généralement une plus profonde médiation sur le regard des autres, sur beaucoup de ces paradoxes de la vie, de ces couples d'antonymes sémantiques à qui seuls nos esprits "tordus" (sounds harsh but can't put it another way) semblent donner un sens, un sens dépourvu de tout esprit d'analyse qui ne fait que perpétuer les travers d'un homme qui consomme idées, perceptions, stéréotypes...quitte à ne rien remettre en question qui puisse le bouleverser dans ses traditions et ses idées même les plus faussées.

Ce roman a donc été l'occasion pour moi de revenir sur cette notion de "Normal" et de "Normalité" qui m'a toujours intriguée. Qu'est ce qui lui confère ce caractère d'"incontestabilité"? Qu'est ce qui la rend si "indésacralisable"? Chacun ressent une fierté à s'attribuer telle ou telle qualité pourvu qu'elle lui soit reconnue par une poignée de gens de son entourage, et qu'elle lui procure un certain avantage, ou le rassure tout juste de sa "normalité".
Laid, pauvre, mauvais,...tous ces mots, ces adjectifs que l'on s'invente tous les jours et à travers lesquels on se plaît à identifier les gens et à les cloitrer dedans, n'existent peut-être que par le bais de notre esprit, et ne revêtent d'autre importance que celle qu'on a choisie de leur attribuer, ils sont conditionnés par notre imagination mais ils conditionnent au fond toute notre existence.
Qu'est ce que c'est que d'être normal après tout? Le normal est l'anormal sont-ils en train de muter en deux grandeurs physiques quantifiables et avec eux l'acceptable et l'inacceptable?

Dieu nous a doté d'une faculté de discernement, cette faculté ne devrait se laisser aucunement réduire à des mots figées, des attributs auxquels on est censé correspondre par quelque déterminisme social pour prouver qu'on est finalement c'est individu normal who fits the mold and who therefore should be fine!

Midnight rambling...

If there's one thing I've been craving, it is my state of sheer idleness. It finally occured, but now it's ending and it's making me sad.

I'll miss you emptiness, I've grown to really love you those last days. But I'm afraid it has to be over soon: Holidays are drawing to an end!

PS: I've been listening a lot to Piano soundtracks by Yann Tiersen lately, and I unconditionnaly love his music. My fingers are playing the tunes all day. I miss the instrument so badly!

I've also found out about some celtic music by Ronan Handiman, It's more like the epic kind of it but the Cello in it is just amazing.

PPS: The Postscript is getting longer than the original post. I've lost all sense of proportions those last days not only in writing but in just about everything. I should be back to normal soon, what am i saying? I HAVE TO!!

A vicious circle...

My performance is reaching its lowest level ever!

I'm far, very far from the objectives I've settled for my self as far as studies are concerned. This ongoing week of exam prepartion, and contrarily to any misconceptions, seems to be never-ending for me. It is just freaking me out knowing that I have three days ahead of me to make myself ready for the whole thing, and still feel completely helpless about that. It only brings me back to my state of relentless unproductivity.Days seem to be impossibly "stretching" when I really only want to see them dwindle down, bringing this week end to an end, and putting one to my everyday slef-inflicted mental torture!

Je sais!...I must be a stupid, an officialy freaky idiot considering things the way I do and still feel completely right about it. But my paradigm shifts those last days are so much to be reduced to that one aspect of things. Actually, they are so much mind numbing and body tiring that they are hindering any action that i'd like to undertake! I think this whole thinking is leading me back to the very point I've started with.

It's definitely a vicious circle