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ThEBeAuTiFuLMeSs
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Name: Noodle
Birthday: 11/1/1988
Gender: Female
Interests: Analyzing Religion and Philosophy. Politics. Psychology and Sociology. Etymology. Performance and visual arts. Literature. Poetry and Prose.
Expertise: supposedly: interpretive acting, singing, dancing, drawing a certain type of art, piano, guitar, and writing poetry; I have written over 100 poems. However, the key word is supposedly; I have not yet met my standards.
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Other
Message: message me
Member Since:
9/27/2003
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| I've finally realized......that you are a mistake I am not going to regret.
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| -Holding onto promises like we hold onto the ashes of our loved ones. and I am
breathing, laughing, living, and moving without you here. There is pain in my
bones and today I woke up and realized it was still another day without you. My
fingers are still tracing your name into the condensation on the windows while I
murmur to you in my sleep, and I am just tired, tired, tired. Were we really
happy? Did we really mean anything? The most you can say by now is that you do
care about me, and you'd touch me so gently, and I'd still feel so safe in your
arms. I promised, promised that I'd stop crying over you, but I can still taste
the saline drawing maps down my cheeks, and we'd still laugh like we meant
nothing, and look into the future like it means something. and it is like
swimming on the bottom of the ocean without wanting to come back alive, and it
is like sleeping without you beside me. and could you feel my heart beating, and
my lungs breathing, when you told me that you were, oh, so sorry? Do you know
everything, by now? Do you understand? and you would look at me so insincerely
while I'd offer my heart to you, but maybe I just want to be rescued.
and a month later, I am still running our promises through my fingers like children thread sand through their fingers while playing next to the beach. the waves ebb in, and out, in, and out. The sand stretches, stretches, and the sky is as white as a dove's wing. I imagine and take a step back, into where we used to be, what we used to be. You always tried to tickle my legs with yours when we were falling asleep together. You used to push yourself out from bed just to embrace me from behind. You used to pick me up when I was down. You would hold my hand when I was scared, saying that you would, that you would protect me. You made me feel as though I were a child again, that maybe, just maybe, I could fly. but my wings are dying without your smiling next to me. and everywhere I go I am still a little scared of finding your face in the crowd, even when you are hundreds of miles away. and I miss you, even when you are right next to me, and I miss you, even when I am laughing, because I want you here to laugh with me. We were under an ocean, and it was like we were not scared of drowning. but you have resurfaced for air, and I am still down here, still wanting. and you would thread my heart with hope every time you knocked, every time you called. You always wanted to know what I was doing, and now that we are apart, you are still laughing. and you are doing fine without me, and you are happy when I am not there. and others say, "whatever, you deserve better." but as the sand is to the beach, you are to me as the stars are to the sky. and when I exhale condensation while I walk alone at night, I remember how you used to sit your arm around my shoulder, and I around your waist. and I always tried to take care of you, I wanted to show you everything, I wanted to be your everything. While the tears blur my vision I am still wishing and wondering what you think now. because I am calling, calling, yet when you pick up I am too scared, and I am suffocating, and I say nothing at all. My phone is closed, and it is like I was never there at all. and I am tired because I know I know better, because I am not foolish, because I have been where I have been. yet, as a frantic dog is tied to a wooden post, my mind is anchored by my heart, and my eyes are bright and my hands are shaking. and you are as cold as lonely snow, and I am missing. save me.
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| I don't know what to say anymore, really. If I'm always gonna feel this way when I'm around you, then maybe I just won't be there at all. Because I hate that I want to love you, want to be near you, want to always be near you. I tried, and I tried...
with the best of me,
I think I really did want to make you happy.
But you want nothing from me.
and I'd still remember sleeping in the same bed
and kissing your forehead.
And we said goodbye
and good night.
No matter what I'll try and do,
is it ever going to be good enough for you?
I'm wasting my heart over this.
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| English 1A: Midterm In-Class Essay In the beginning of the novel Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, the narrator sets his standards upon lies, saying that, "I hate lies; they degenerate morality and always have the ironlike taste of mortality upon them." Yet, by the end of the novel, he finds that he must lie to a fiancee of a man he knew - Kurtz - so that his death would not sadden the woman. To this day, people still question the narrator's lie; his moral ambiguity, his hypocrisy, his double standard, and his justification.
In three dystopian novels - Fahrenheit 451, 1984, and Brave New World, written by Ray Bradbury, George Orwell, and Aldous Huxley, the morality of lying is brought up as well. The main idea - also the core root of each dystopia - is the extinction of human emotion for the sake of progress in technology;ology, consumption, class level, and intelligence. The protagonist, Guy Montag, of Fahrenheit 451 has a love of burning books, or houses if there are books in them; such is his job of a fireman, after all. Yet, everything changes for Montag when he meets Clarisse - the only thing he finds that truly touches him in a world of seashell radios, television screens the size of walls, sleeping pills, and robotic dogs. Clarisse tells him of her family that talks late into night on the porch, of the meaning of rubbing dandelions under one's chin, of the taste of the rain, and of the color of leaves in the fall. Clarisse is the catalyst for Montag's seeking the truth; in the beginning of the novel, Montag feels his body divide into a coldness and a hotness when he first meets the girl; he feels himself fighting over the truth of human emotion and the lie of human extinction.
As for 1984, the protagonist, Winston Smith, is introduced as someone who starts out knowing that something is not right in his microcosm. The government is always watching the public through what are known as telescreens - no one knows if they really are watched every second of every day. But, any sign of thought, anything that may cause the thought police to perk up - otherwise called a thought crime - meant that that person would be incinerated, that he would be extinct. There was a constant change of history; people worked all day every day to burn old historical documents while dictating and writing new ones. Announcements were made, yet all evidence of an announcement would be destroyed, leaving no room to prove a new and opposing announcement wrong.
Then comes Brave New World. Though similar to its oppositions in terms of technicalities when compared to 1984 - the controllers seek to give pleasure while the government of 1984 seeks to give pain. The controllers wish for everyone to be promiscuous while the government of 1984 prevents sex in order that the population will drive more motivation into their work, and the public of Brave New World has the freedom of taking soma, a drug, to cure all their troubles, while Winston's microcosm does not - the concepts of both novels are the same: if a society is consistently flowing with lies, accompanied with control, and nothing but the two, the ones being buffeted with said lies will do little to protest, and if there are protestors, such are punished, or killed, as a sign to potential protestors.
Yet, all examples up to this point are of large, grand-scale lies. What Stephanie Ericsson is saying here is of small-scale lies, otherwise known as white lies, or sugarcoated truths. She speaks of the preference for avoidance most people in our present society have, she speaks of our forbearance toward ourselves when missing a meeting, or failing to finish a paper, she speaks of our sparing of other's feelings in order that we may gain approval and tolerance from the others, and of course, it does not physically hurt.
Yet, one cannot lie all the time. Sigmeund Freud, the man who is most known for the second branch of psychology, or psychoanalysis, developed the concept of the three dimensions in an individual's personality. The first dimension to develop is the id, the infant only knows desire; he wants and will not stop crying until he receives. The id is naive and knows no boundaries; it has no moral principle. The second dimension to develop is one's superego, otherwise known as the conscience, or the internal judicial system. The superego guards the id; it strives for perfection and nothing less. It will not let the id have what it wants if it finds the id's desire to be bad for the individual. The third dimension to come into play is the ego; the ego is the moderator between the id and the superego. It always has a plan when the id is wanting something now and the superego will never have it.
What is being said here is that lying must have a balance to it, lest it make the individual lose track of his morals completely. There are circumstances when it should be used, and circumstances when it should not. For example, when a woman asks her spouse whether or not she looks fat in a certain outfit, he should give her the whole truth, though it may hurt, for the sake of their marriage; after all, marriages must be build on love and trust. Yet, when one asks of his friend's death, he should not be bluntly told that his friend "died" or that he "kicked the can," he should be told that his friend "passed away" or that "he went away." Euphemisms are lightening of truths, but white lies are as well.
Lies are always dependent on the moral ambiguity and the circumstance of the situation. While there really is no set boundary to the concept, such should only be used when absolutely necessary; if we, as a society, really do desire progress, it must be done through truth, because truth clears the waters, while lies do not. Truth is solid where lies are shaky; when a house is built, it must be build on the strength of stone, not the weakness of sand. When a marriage is consummated, such is consummated through the truth of love, not the confusion of lust. When a business contract is signed, it is signed upon a trust, not a competition. There is a merit to lying, but such only goes so far.
I got the 3rd highest grade out of 100 on this essay. So I'm an attention whore. :].
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| It has been a whileI don't want to lose the warmth.
It's always been like this.
Don't give up now.
The myth of Sisyphus.
These days, I'm just so tired.
Not much I could really say to anyone.
What's it mean, anyway?
Maybe it's just best to live without thought.
But thought progresses toward truth. always.
One day, I'll get you.
I think I'm wrong. But maybe it's your mistake. Who can really say?
I don't care anymore?
To ebb and flow with the tide of life. Maybe that is all I can do.
Great minds talk of ideas. Average minds talk of events. Small minds talk of people.
Fall asleep forever.
This is not where I want to be.
Tired morose and lonely.
Change everything. Change nothing.
Ignorance is not bliss.
There is an Icarus inside all of us.
A clockwork orange.
Let it go, let it go, let it go.
What is motivation, really?
"If you're happy, nothing else matters."
"What great artist was ever happy?"
The older you become the more fearful you are.
Wisdom of children. Be as a child.
Your heart should be strong. Persevere, and always keep your heart ordinary; to become as strong as iron, the will to pursue as though this is your life - maybe that is the ultimate wisdom.
Your life, your drugs, your choice.
Who you are. It is your life.
If human nature were truly inclined toward evil, what of the ones who fight for the good?
Let us stop focusing on religion and start focusing on ourselves.
Hard science and logic dictates everything.
The unconventional. The difference of opinion. The flaw. The competition. Find truth. That is the only reason for living. Truth.
Talk will not cook the rice.
You must always fight. The means justify the end.
Come to grips with reality.
I find that I'm just tired, but since when was humanity all about me.
Balance. Moderation. Accommodation. Tolerance. Communication. Patience. Strength. Perseverance. Resolution.
"From sea to shining sea the country is filling with
slag, shale, and used-up automobile tires. The fruited plain is coated with
insecticide and chemical fertilizers. Even pure horseshit is hard to come by
these days. They add preservatives. You don't find fish in lakes and rivers
anymore. You have to catch them in cans. Towns die. Oil spills. Money talks.
God listens. God is good, a real team player. 'America the Beautiful' isn't: it
was all over the day the first white man set foot on the continent to live. The
Fuggers were all right as long as they stayed in Germany: then they sent their
mothers here. Depreciating motels, junked automobiles, and quick-food joints
grow like amber waves of grain. The faces of the rich and the poor age from
nativity into the same cramped, desiccated lines of meanness and discontent.
Women look like their husbands. God had no computer. He had to use clay, which
was hard to work with, and a human rib, which was a little easier. God was just
and fairly ambitious, but in a rudimentary way. He had to use a flood once (He
couldn't think of smog or nerve gas) and fire and brimstone. People between
rich and poor radiate uneasiness. They don't know where they belong. I hear America
singing fuck off." - Bob Slocum (Something Happened by Joseph
Heller)
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