Sunday, April 8, 2012

Brief Interviews with Hideous Men

 

What baffles me in life is when people forfeit true authenticity in pursuit of anything else but that.  It may not be enough, but it's just about as important as being human. Sometimes it's hard to judge what true authenticity really is. The concept of it gets muddled amidst so many illusions. I find myself asking if I am authentic, or have ever even come close to being so.  


I was read an excerpt from a marvellous novel yesterday called "Brief Interviews with Hideous Men" by David Foster Wallace. In a chapter called "On His Deathbed, Holding Your Hand" the author describes (either in his own voice or in the voice of the character) his hatred and disgust for his infant child. The words in this story were piercing and revealing to me, as was the subject matter it talked about - complete and utter abhor for the basic human condition, the id. The vividly loathing words the father emblazoned his own son paint a clear picture of how easily detestable something so "unhuman"...nay "pre-human" can be. Because being human implies having the ability to reason, perform cognitive processes, to have shame, to have self-control, be self aware and all that is to do with the moving away from being an animal and being controlled by impulses and driven by pleasure. The infant, lacks everything a human should wield in order to exercise autonomy over his instincts. Thus the infant in the story was greedy, ravenous and ceaseless in its demands, hunger and wants. What disgusting nature! 



Bringing it back to what we started off with. Is the infant though, authentic if he lacks everything that is to be learned and indoctrinated throughout the course of his development? Does authenticity = primal/id/infancy? Perhaps not? Perhaps authenticity should've been more clearly defined as something outside of the ugliness of the human's lowly origin - an animal. 




Monday, April 2, 2012

meme




I say Disney Land has outlived its usefulness and appeal to a person when that individual reaches his/her mid 20's. The happiest place on earth rings hollow to someone like me whose favourite place to be is her bedroom. Perhaps it's because the connotations of the bedroom allude to tranquility, safe haven, slumber and many other down-time themed concepts. To me, those things mean so much more than just having a place to rest, they are part of one's inner peace.


And what would a bedroom be if it didn't have a wicked closet...or two?


A matching dresser/bed set is always nice. If your furniture consists of mainly scraps and hand-me-downs, you can achieve having matching sets by applying the same coloured paint. This is what I did. Can you believe that dresser used to be a black filing cabinet?!

Sunday, April 1, 2012

silly face time

This is the face of someone who recently just painted her bedroom furniture and slept to the scent of undried paint. Either that or someone is making a face at her that's really, really funny.


Now that the paint scent molecules have combined with some of her neurotransmitters in the motor cortex of her brain, she's now unable to control her movements and postures. Rendering her unable to stand still instead she's swaying from side to side. Either that or she's just trying to a "dynamic" picture of her outfit.


How is she standing on a slanted floor? Perhaps days of paint-breathing have given her the super power of having extremely having and sticky feet. Either that or her camera was tilted slightly to the left, creating an optical illusion that the floor is slanted but rather the right side is actually further away from the camera than the left side.


?????!


This is important: GRANTS NOT LOANS!!!! FTW!

Friday, March 30, 2012

Cat Eye Classes

I enjoy certain sensations. I like feeling my fingers digging into bread dough or rice, lentils, beans, pretty much any type of grains. It is a very satisfying tactile emersion. Other than putting my hands in stuff, I also find the sensations involving using a brush to paint on surfaces very appealing. I recently painted my bed and dresser. They are now a uniformed colour of pastel seafoam green with black trims and deco. I like them. Perhaps I will take a picture later to show you how wonderfully minty they are.


I will always be a school girl.


These shoes are old and I always trip wearing them because the tips are unglued.


This brooch is the cat's meow.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Art Nouveau

After months of waiting; I'm back to revive this blog. During my absence, I fought The Man, wrote about strange psychological disorders and almost struck a child in the face. It was quite the exciting stretch of time indeed. Now I'm back with a new haircut, which makes me very aware of my eye brows, and armed to shit-kick fashion, art and politics in the faces with snappy blog posts.


"Feels like I'm wearing nothing at all. Nothing at all. Nothing at all..."


This jacket came with a removable inner layer which can be added or subtracted as needed (super handy). I speculate that it is actually a Canadian army jacket because the disclaimer message sewed inside of it told me that the side pockets are especially designed for magazine rounds and the chest ones for grenades. Cool eh?