Meaning by Surprise

I think people are color-blind in the morning. When I wake up and look out the window, I can’t tell if the sky is blue or gray. Likewise, I can’t tell which way this day is going to take me. And sometimes a bit of grogginess is all it takes for a thought to take me by surprise.

Quotes from “Charmed Thirds”

by Megan McCafferty.

(sequel to Second Helpings, sequel to Sloppy Firsts)

A note on the style of writing… convoluted, antithetic, yet hilarious. Here’s a typical sentence:

“Thus, the of-the-moment, faux-antifashion fashion statement was to go out looking like you really didn’t care what you looked like when you went out.”

Freak

I’m such a freak.

I thought you were happy.
I thought you had a girlfriend
and you had money
and that made you happy.
I was wrong.
I’m such a freak.

I thought you were happy
and I thought I envied you,
or perhaps I really did.
But not anymore.
I was blind.
I’m such a freak.

We went to a pub.
You drank.
I didn’t.
You said I was missing out.
Maybe you’re right.
I thought you were like me.
I’m such a freak.

Peer pressure.
Fuck it.
Fuck you all!
Hate me!
I hate you too.
I’m such a freak.

Every time I’m supposed to be happy,
I think of some part of my life which is not OK.
I thought,
I’m such a freak,
I don’t know how to be happy.
But you don’t know either.
Oh wait,
you do.
C2H5OH.
But that doesn’t work for me.
I’m such a freak.

The smoke stung my eyes
and I felt like I wanted to cry.
Because I wasn’t like you.
Because I never could be.
Because I felt more alone than ever.
I’m such a freak.

I don’t understand.
Show me an adult that’s happy.
Really happy,
not just a mask
like you.
Or me.
Is this the big lesson in life?
The final revelation?
“Congratulations, you’ve come to the end of the line.
There’s nothing for you to see here.
Now you die.”
Congratulate me,
I’m such a freak.

Right now I’m sitting on a chair.
My breath is shallow.
My butt hurts.
And sad music is in my ears.
And I’m writing this freakish poem.
Which is not even a poem
but some kind of hate speech
or a confession
or a cry for help.
I’m such a freak.

And maybe I’ll delete everything I wrote
or maybe I’ll throw my laptop out the window
or maybe I’ll throw myself.
Then maybe I’ll somehow stop being
such a freak.

Clint Mansell is a genius.
And I’m thinking of a drama.
Someone else’s drama.
And how easy it is to feel compassion.
And how hard it is to express it.
And what good does compassion do,
when everybody else just makes fun of you.
(Nineteen Minutes taught you nothing.)
I feel like tapping you on the shoulder
and saying
“Don’t worry –
they’re all idiots.”
But I can’t do it.
And maybe that’s not even true.
Like you,
I’m such a freak.

An idiot and his “social skills”
and his way to laugh loudly
go a longer way
than a freak with his compassion.
This world is so unfair
and it makes me want to cry.
I’m such a freak.

I didn’t know you smoked.
Is it wrong to hate you for doing it?
I feel like I’ve been lied to.
But I saw you
simulating pleasure
as you drew in smoke.
Then throwing your head back
and simulating pleasure again
as you opened your mouth wide
to let the smoke out.
Eyes narrowed.
A superior smirk on your face
as you tapped the thin cigar
(I always thought they were for women)
upon the ashtray.
It was so fake.
Aren’t you disgusted?
Are you all blind?
Or am I
such a freak?

I know.
I do that too.
I try to look cheerful on the outside
and normal
and composed,
when inside my guts are boiling.
That’s why I’m so afraid
of showing my real self,
because everyone will hate me then.
And I’ll be even more
of a freak.

That’s why if you meet my eyes
and I don’t know you
and I’m not somewhere familiar,
you’ll likely see anger on my face.
Because anger is easy to muster.
Because anger is better than fear.
No I cannot afford to show fear.
Or you’ll all know
that I’m such a freak.

That’s why I have S.A.D.
(or at least I think so)
in a mild form
and I never told anybody.
Because that would be
scientific proof
that I’m such a freak.

That’s why I jump if you touch my back.
That’s why I want to hide my face all the time.
That’s why I don’t have a cellphone
and I dread calling you up.
That’s why if you point at me
and laugh
I’ll probably swallow it
and get out as fast as I can
and feel bad all day
and listen to Katatonia.
Like a freak.

That’s why girls are a different species
and I don’t have a definition for “friend”
and like Joel in Eternal Sunshine,
I fall in love with every woman I see
who shows me the least bit of attention.
I’m only brave
when I am alone.
And books are my closest friends.
What a freak.

But I digress.
(Or maybe a digression
is the best way
to make you understand
this hate speech
or confession
or whatever,
and that’s why
I’m going to make this sentence
longer by three words:
one two three.)
This was about you,
and how you make me feel.
I don’t care if you read this.
In fact, I hope you do.
I’m not sure why.
I’m such a freak.

You drew the line some place else.
And I don’t blame you
as long as it makes you happy
(whatever that means).
In fact you almost convinced me
that you’re right and I’m wrong
like so many other times.
But I never learn,
because I’m such a freak.

I won’t do the accounting for you
because I’m sober.
Fuck you!
It feels good to tell people to fuck off,
it gives me power.
That’s where I’ve been missing out.
I never knew the power of the middle finger.
I never thought I could actually choose.
You freed me in a way.
I’m such a proud freak now.

---

Note #1: I’ve just had a conversation which made me unable to write this any further. But since this does reflect my thoughts at a certain moment in time, I want to publish it as is before I decide to delete it.

Note #2: If you feel that I’ve personally mentioned you in the text above, please understand that nobody except you knows that. So don’t feel threatened.

Quotes from “Cat’s Cradle”

All of the true things I am about to tell you are shameless lies.

For this and other gems of Bokononism, read Kurt Vonnegut’s book. It’s a pretty amazing science fiction novel with original ideas about life and religion. No damn cat, and no damn cradle!

Here are just some of the interesting quotations. I should have paid more attention

• Anyone unable to understand how a useful religion can be founded on lies will not understand this book either.
• There is enough love in this world for everybody, if people will just look.
• Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.
• Maturity [...] is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.
• It is not possible to make a mistake.
• Science is magic that works.
• It is never a mistake to say goodbye.
• A lover’s a liar,
  To himself he lies.
  The truthful are loveless,
  Like oysters their eyes!
• Don’t be afraid of straining your brains. They won’t break.
• History! Read it and weep!
• Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before. He is full of murderous resentment of people who are ignorant without having come by their ignorance the hard way.

Added later:

• Live by the foma that make you brave and kind and healthy and happy.

See here for more quotes.

“Gluma”

Încă o carte de geniu a autorului ceh Milan Kundera. Personajele: Ludvik, trădat şi trădător, bântuit de trecutul pentru care vrea să se răzbune, Jaroslav, martor al decăderii folclorului în care şi-a căutat refugiul, Kostka, ajungând să nu mai fie sigur de nimic, Helena, disperând în faţa deşertăciunii, (Lucia, înfierată din copilărie, şi celelalte nume episodice), sunt plasate atent pe pânza romanului, surprinzător de densă şi elaborată (deşi poate greu de urmărit). Printr-ul joc al imaginaţiei prozatorului, aceste schiţe de caracter trec prin nişte evenimente şi reflecţii care le aduc pe fiecare în faţa adevărului şocant al vieţilor lor: vieţi deşarte, lipsite de sens, pierdute în vârtejurile trecutului revoltător, ale prezentului meschin şi ale viitorului apatic. Ludvik, căruia îi revine cea mai mare parte a povestirii, vede că nu are rost să mai lupte cu trecutul său, dar în acelaşi timp nu vede nici o lumină în viitor (totul va fi dat uitării, nu există nimic semnificativ). El este întruchiparea nimicniciei umane conştientizate, distrugătoare. Jaroslav este dezgustat de panta pe care a luat-o lumea din jurul său. Susţinător al folclorului, el priveşte decadenţa şi corupţia acestuia ca pe un lucru inevitabil, prezentul diluat de timp, devenind trecut, continuând să se dizolve, pierzându-şi mesajul. Kostka, cugetând asupra deciziilor sale din trecut fără să accepte faptul că nu există răspunsuri, îşi pune la dubiu religia, piatra de temelie pe care stătea toată viaţa lui de până atunci. Helena, dezgustată de inutilitate, de trădare, încearcă să se sinucidă. În cuvintele autorului, toate aceste universuri personale sînt surprinse în momentul descompunerii lor: patru forme de dezintegrare a comunismului, ce simbolizează şi prăbuşirea celor patru aventuri europene.