The only card I need is the ace of spades…THE ACE OF SPADES

I’ve started watching Skins- season 3, mind you- and I feel like such a freak of a teenager.
I don’t get drunk, I don’t do drugs, I don’t crash parties, I don’t hang out with people that are completely messed up (case in point, James Cook; what a repulsively intriguing human being), I don’t go round having sex, I’m not skinny or indie or whatever Effy is; despite all my wishing and hoping, but then I got to thinking- why would I want to be like them? Do I want a carefree, alcohol-ridden adolescence, or a time that I’ll merely be able to look back on and nod, smiling slightly at the memories but never being able to tell crazy stories? I’m a thirty year old (at the very least) in a 16 year old’s body. How completely and utterly sad is that? Wait, I don’t want to hear your answer. Let’s assume the elements of rhetoric are highly prevalent here. Man, that makes no sense. It sounded kind of good in my head, and I wrote it, but I’ve decided that I won’t ever back type anything I write anymore, except typos, so this is me in my unedited form. The hills are alive with the sound of music…ah ah ah ahhhh.
Tonight, I went to this music festival thing that was run at a church; at this church that a girl at my school belongs to, and I went with my friend, her sister, a French exchange student (whose host sister ahem SHAZZA was too busy being all intelligent at math tutoring) and my friend’s friend. I think his name was Ian. It sounded like Ian. It was kind of flat. The entire atmosphere of the place just reeked of churchy youth dullness. You kind of had to know people there to enjoy it, I think. So my friend and I plus her posse hung around, trying to get into the music of the bands because I really did want to be able to enjoy myself. I mean, the artistes upon those dry ice infested stages believed in what they were doing, or so I like to think, and it’d be nice to be able to encourage them by having some faith in them too.
I think people are dying outside my house again. Oh well, not important.
Yeah, so, the main point of my story is that I feel like…I’m worth something again? I don’t know, I mean, I was just able to talk to Ian so casually. I can never do that with any guys, like ever. I completely freeze up and they think I’m a snobbish weirdo, but tonight I chatted with him and I ENJOYED myself. Me. I had fun in a conversation that was purely for the sake of conversation; for breathing in the summery night air and for just feeling young.
I sound like such a sad case.
I haven’t felt that way in a long time, and maybe it was just because I was a little high on Coke and he was quite simply a lovely guy. Don’t get the wrong idea here, because I know you will (haha <3), there is no romantic attachment, or anything of that kind. It was nice and I had fun, even though we decided to go to the Glen as the night’s energy started to drop, where we wandered around and bought 4 pairs of earrings for $10 (Sarah got these pretty tear drop crystal ones, Alizei- hmm, I don’t know how to spell her name, maaf ya- bought round black ones that’ll really stand out against her fair hair, I don’t remember what Julia got, and I got a pair of classic golden rose earrings, which I’m quite delighted with). So, what a bargain!
Happiness.

Empty Orchestras

The Virgin Suicides is perhaps the most hauntingly beautiful film I have seen to date.

Every single character involved directly within the plot is just so messed up on so many different levels; the five daughters of the Lisbon family seem to intoxicate everyone around them, drawing them into the disturbed mental depths of their lives, and it is said near the very end that Cecilia began to spread the poison the day she slit her wrists.

I’m quite positive that the images of that film will remain with me for a while; hence the moodiness with which I try to conduct conversations with people I’ve slowly and sadly drifted away from. I’m sorry if I’m not responsive. Do I have to be? I feel like I’m selfish for wanting distance between myself and other people, but then surely, it’s for their good too? I don’t know. Perhaps I should wear a symbol, like a David’s star, on my jacket so that everyone around me will know not to associate with me.

The Virgin Suicides depicts suicide as a gentle, peaceful, ease into death if you will, and this could be said of many other representations of suicide in popular culture, such as The Falling Man of 9/11. It got me wondering if suicide is just that; a still death by choice. By choice. By choice implies acceptance on some levels. I don’t know what to say. Stillness is also so…unnatural. I feel so encompassed now by the notion of taking one’s life, but then it could be that I’m just tired. I’m always tired, but now I am especially tired as it is Sunday evening and my last memory of sleep was waking up bleary eyed on Saturday morning, dreading the day of studying ahead.

Suicide is to the most violent form of death. The mind tortures its victim endlessly and there is no escape, not from this; there will never be a way out of the mind. The aggressive nature of the constant mental self harm makes happiness seem a memory from long ago, or perhaps it was only a dream and this is reality. A reality which is harsh and brings you to loathe yourself and criticise yourself and beat yourself down but the really scary part is that you yourself are the enemy. It’s kind of like Harry Potter, I guess, and the Seven Deathly Hallows. If you haven’t read the book, go read it. Right this second.

I MEAN IT.

I’ll just assume that you’re done.

I love the colour gold. Is it even a colour? To rephrase: I love the shininess of the surface of the mineral that is gold.

I’m going to go and write another fucking essay for history. I swear, I’m going down. Death by essay writing.

Serious eyebrow raising of a Sherlock style is about to occur

The other day, I asked my father what he’d think if I said I was gay.

I don’t know why I asked. I guess I just wanted to see where the boundaries between me and my parents lay. It never even occurred to me until I just recently that you don’t have to be straight. Isn’t that funny? And sad. ALERT: this is a touchy subject concerning sexuality. Parental guidance is recommended.

But then, it’s only me. It’ll be as G rated as possible.

The reason I had some worries about this is because my father is Catholic, but not a very strict one, even though he was pretty mad when I officially became…UnCatholic.

So he told me that it’d take some getting used to, but he’d eventually come to love and accept me, and I know I probably shouldn’t be, but I’m surprisingly grateful to hear that answer. Like nothing else matters if I have my father’s approval. That’s absolutely pathetic, but it’s how I feel.

So I asked Dad what my grandfather would say, and both my parents inhaled sharply. I knew the answer already, of course. My grandfather is such a strict, homophobic, no sex before marriage kind of Catholic. Apparently, my grandfather would never speak to me again if I came out to him.

That is, if I’m gay.

My dad was like, ‘Why do you ask? Are you gay?’ and I told him that I didn’t think so.

*cries of pain and sorrow*

Dear chaiteabluediamond.blogspot.com
Please let me edit you. Especially the header bit. You look strange and I just want you to be pretty, honestly. I only want what's best for you.
Sincerely,
Anna Karenina (aka the girl that brought you to life in a lonerish kind of way)

You don't have a soul. You ARE a soul. You have a body- C.S. Lewis

So I was kind of super excited...I don't know why. It might have been because of all the sugar running through my veins like sharp surges of scalding mercury excoriating my very being. My brittle bones (from the calcium I supposedly lack due to my *unhealthy* vegan diet) shuddered with exertion as I dragged my flesh burdened corpse down my street as the clouds slowed to a halt to watch.
I'm done. How do people use adjectives and still write well? This I well never understand.
I'm going to go to the kitchen and make dinner >insert sexist joke here< TTFN.
I'm back and dinner was edible. Quite honestly, I feel like I deserve applause even though I've made dinner a far few times; it's still an acomplishment.
Tra la la. I'm so tired all the time. Why? Why does Gos want this? Do I even believe in God? My friend Emily actually went away and researched all the different types of agnosticism, because when she asked I believed in God I told her that I wanted to, but couldn't. It's just life would be so much easier I think, if I did. I wouldn't have to lie to my extended family and I'd be able to go to church and soak up God's word like the Shamwow absorbs tsunamis. Emily came back with this theory: (this was quite a while ago though, I just haven't thought about it much lately because there's other stuff rushing through my head) I'm what they call an agnostic theist. It means I don't believe in God, but only because I feel that we, as humans, aren't able to know of supernatural beings like a God. I think. I'm not sure if this is true. All I can say is, I'll never become atheist. Ever.
I know a lot of people who won't be able to understand this, but then I also know people who'd look at me and smile if I told them. I spoke to my mum about this and she sort of smirked and nodded. It's because I've felt that moment of utter conviction; that moment when you know He's real and it's like...you just feel complete. As if nothing could ever cause you to falter because all that matters is He's there. I can't explain this in words; it's just a feeling. I got it the day I visited the pentecostal church. I sat during their service in complete silence and disbelief; how could I feel so in awe of something I'd convinced myself didn't exist? But it was real and I felt it. Sort of a warming sensation from the inside. Atheists are generally lovely people, as are people of all religions, but I wonder how they...live. WHAT AM I SAYING? I'm not sure. I'm still completely out of it, even though I slept 15 hours last night.
So. I believe that when you die, you die. The idealistic part of me says that when you die, your soul is recycled. The rational side of me says that's bullshit. I don't believe in souls. I don't believe in miracles. I don't believe in fate or chance or destiny; I am not a determinist. I believe we control our own lives.
I feel sick.
So I guess what Emily says is true. But then, I've never liked labels. I'll never close my mind to the possibility of the existence of a being greater than the human race. In fact, it kind of comforts me knowing that there could be something that won't harm, abuse, be intolerant of or feel as if they are more deserving than others like mankind does.
I was talking to another friend of mine about his faith, and this is what he told me:
Him: I'd say I'm roughly borderline between Christian and Atheist
as in my religion is Christian, but I also am not entirely sure on the whole idea with God. Meaning,I would completely believe in him if I could see him. I'm not catholic.
Me: But then, if you're not so sure on the whole idea of God, what makes you Christian?
Him: There is no proof that I am a Christian, but I still have the right to choose my religion, whether or not I'm a devoted one or not.
To me, this makes no sense. Why identify with a faith you don't completely believe in? He attends church. Church is nice; being around people so within themselves, reaching out to touch the light of God.
I'm still confused. I still think and think and nothing ever changes, but as someone pointed out to me once, that's the story of humanity, really.

Intoxicate me now

HELLO.

Today I have little to talk about.

In two days we go back to school. This is a sad fact, but it is true. And therefore it must be said. I think in this post I will practise writing short sentences. This is because my English teacher constantly tells me that my sentences are too long and convoluted. Convoluted is a cool yet unnecessary word. Look it up, kids.

So, I haven’t done any homework. Well, I did a bit of English. However, that was back in the first week. In the first week I was feeling pumped and motivated. I’m sick of not sleeping the day before school due to homework cramming.

GRRRR all this short sentence stuff annoys me, so we’re just going back to normal, slightly obsessive me because that’s just so much more interesting, right? Right?!

I think I have an unhealthy obsession. It is horrible beyond belief and it’s just so addictive; so in my humblest of opinions, the obsession isn’t even my fault. It’s reality television. I waste hours a day watching people scream at each other, bitch about each other, hug each other and then bitch a bit more, because it’s just so fascinating watching these people that are supposed to be of my own race. To say I feel completely disconnected from them would be an understatement. I don’t feel that depth of emotion. I mean, I don’t even bitch that much because what is there to say? Humanity is indeed interesting to observe, if not purely because I don’t feel like I belong. And before you go and be all “Duh, dude, all teenagers feel like they don’t belong,” I’m going to point that out first, because I KNOW I’m not the first nor the last to feel like this. I’m not an idiot, contrary to popular belief. I am also, to the best of my knowledge, mentally able to make smart decisions, again despite popular perception. (This is according to mainly my parents and grandfather, but I think everyone must look at another person and not understand that person’s train of thought at all.)

I wonder who invented reality television. Hold up, imma google it. Well, there were varied answers. Some claim it was the Dutch, others say it was Endomol because they were the first to air a reality television show, and others again say it was George Orwell in his book 1984, etc., etc. But then, there is also the other option. Are daily chat shows reality television? Because then we’ve been livin’ it up REAL STYLE for decades already without having appreciated it. I realise that a lot of people hate reality TV, just going off some of the responses that popped up in Google. The first link actually stated (to my question, Who invented reality television?): “I don’t know but I’d like to kick the SHIT out of him. Reality TV sucks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I also like how this person assumed it was a guy. It probably was, but political correctness is oh so important nowadays, so Mia Freedman told me. But why do people hate it so much? They’re members of your race which you are evolutionarily programmed to empathise with! You should be proud and support the reality television business because I know that too many people dream of being famous. Not that this is a bad thing, but even I have to admit that reality TV makes anyone and everyone look bad in some way. Like, I was watching this show called Four Weddings before, and there was voice over who kept making snide remarks about what each person said when they had their “private cam time”. Not sure if that sounded dirty.

Meh meh. I wish to go for a walk. It is 11.56pm, and I’m worried that I might end up freaking myself out like I did last time by thinking about that Lucky guy who came to my school and taught us about some self defence and how to look after ourselves. I’m guessing midnight walking isn’t the smartest idea. But the kick! The adrenalin rush! The freedom of the holidays slipping ever so gently from my finger tips into the fresh night air!

Yeah, so. I watch reality television and I’m not proud of it, but I do love it.

One thing I am proud of, though, is how I danced in public this afternoon at the traffic lights in my suburb to Britney’s Toxic. I think the act speaks for itself. I’m hardcore.