Two roads diverge in a wood and I, I took the one less travelled by...

Everyone's got an opinion. Everyone thinks they know best. Everyone thinks they are right. (No, really, they are, you just don't see it.)

An eye for an eye they say. An eye for an eye, fuck the person who fucked you, make them bleed, make them scream. Make them cry.

But what if it's you that has to make the choice, be the bad guy, cut the eye out, let the blood? What if it's you that has to live with the consequence? Because, what if no-one's right? What if there is no right answer? There isn't always.

What if all roads, all the roads lead to upset, to sadness, to displacement, to devastation?

What if the choice is so hard that the only option you can see is to pluck your own eyes out instead? To forgoe the choice. To pass it over. Give it to someone else.

What happens then?

My Grandma and Quan Yin

necklace
Originally uploaded by olulabelle.

My Grandma would not have known about Quan Yin, the goddesss of compassion, of loving and kindness.

Actually, I have no idea if that's true.

She didn't know about a lot of things: she didn't know about computers or mobile phones or internet shopping or any of these 'new fangled technologies' but she may very well have known about Quan Yin. She may very well have called it 'mumbo jumbo', but she may equally have studied mysticism, spirituality, Buddhism, Hindu. The thing is, I have no idea whether she did or not, because she never told me. I was always too little for her to have initiated discussion on such matters.

Mainly I just wanted to make jam tarts with her, and go to the beach.

Anyway. When my Grandma died she left me some money which I have now been given. And with some of it, I bought this:



It's Rose Quartz with Quan Yin carved on it. It also has Rubies in it and Pink Tourmaline. Rose Quartz and Pink Tourmaline are for love, self love and tenderness, purity, kindness, energy, passion,  compassion, loyalty, faithfulness, happiness and softness and they both stimulate your heart chakra, Anahata. Rubies also stimulate Anahata, and they are intense, vivid and they teach you how precious you are.

And I really think, regardless of her knowledge of all things Buddhist, and what she might have had to say about crystal healing, Chakras and Kundalini, my Grandma would have though my Quan Yin pendant an excellent thing to spend her money on.

So Grandma. Thank you.

What Art Are You For?

I think everyone should do this, it's a fascinating exercise.

As a result of this text by Claes Oldenburg, Puck asked on his blog, "What art are you for?"

These are my answers.

I am for an art that wakes me up before my alarm for the first time since winter, the one that wafts golden bright dust particles through my curtains and across my room.

I am for an art that grabs my arms and stops me dead, that demands I observe and interact with it, that shouts and screams for attention like a terrible two-year-old tantrum.

I am for an art that weaves itself subtly through my body, slow, yet insidious in its pervasion. An art that taints my blood without me noticing until it is too late, until I am well and truly hooked.

I am for an art that takes me by surprise.

I am for an art that is slipping, sweating, perfectly tangled loving naked bodies, loving naked minds and the indescribable beauty of the love despite imperfection.

I am for an art that is ever changing, multi-directional, and yet intricate in its simplicity. Spaghetti Junction and the Mobius Strip.

I am for an art that takes the piss. The art of trickery.

I am for an art that chops vegetables swiftly and perfectly with the sharpest knife available, each slice exact and identical to the next one. Chopchopchopchopchopchopchopchop. And I am for an art that is a bright red drop of blood on the tip of a knuckle as the knife slips.

I am for an art that is blue sky at the top, green grass at the bottom, and white space in the middle where you draw things like dinosaurs with impossible limb positioning. And people with no necks, transparent clothes and dots for eyes. I am for an art that has been laboured over, tongue sticking out.

I am for an art that appears with the ease of a flock of Swallows turning, the one, two, three strokes to a perfect form.

I am for an art that lets my fork be a thing of beauty, my toothbrush be a thing of beauty, my teacup be a thing of beauty.

I am for an art that embraces messiness, that encourages orderliness, that delights in simple extravagance.

I am for an art that grows trees. And bluebells. And coral. And Army Ants.

I am for an art if you are not.

I am for an art that insists upon emotional response but is liberal in what that response is. An art that dictates the uncomfortable, the confrontational, the depraved and the sick, the wonderful, the delightful, the ecstatic, the amusing. The utterly miserable and despondent. The weary.

I am for an art that takes my focus until I am quite, quite still and barely breathing, art that makes me go to bed at four in the morning because I can’t tear myself away from it, take my eyes off it, take my head out of it.

I am for an art.

What art are you for?

Erm...How the buggering hell did this happen?

From: "xxxxx xxxxx"
Date: Wed, 16 Mar 2005 15:38:20 -0000
Subject: Today weblog

Hi,

Thank you very much for applying to be a blogger for the Today programme during the forthcoming General Election campaign. In order to further narrow down the many many applications we received, we'd like to see what our potential bloggers would actually come up with if chosen…

If you're still interested in blogging for us, please submit a sample blog (anything up to around 700 words, but it can be as short as you like) between now and 10pm Friday. Please send it direct to me at xxxxx.xxxxx@bbc.co.uk

The blog should be politically-themed - as it would be during the campaign - and should be as personal, opinionated and punchy as possible. Humour wouldn't go amiss, but isn't compulsory. Listeners will be able to respond to the thoughts of our chosen bloggers: what have you written that would arouse their interest and make them want to respond?

You can pick on anything - or anyone - the choice is yours.

And thanks again for taking part

xxxxx
xxxxxxx xxxxxx, Today

http://www.bbc.co.uk/

I appear to have been shortlisted for the Today weblog, as a result of the 100 words on why I should be chosen which I submitted last week.

This is lovely, but more lovely is that it is the second thing in one week to make me feel more confident about my writing. The first thing is the comment someone identifying themself as a professional writer posted here the other day. They wrote: Like that weirdo from the TV..today I was 'mostly going to drink beer and write beautifully' Then I accidentally landed on this site and today I mostly sat and read your archives from start to finish! It took me 5 hours.


There's much more, some constructive criticsm that my writing was more 'vibrant' in 2003, which I actually agree with, and some advice. But basically it's the best compliment I have ever had about what I write.

So yes. And now 'Today'!

What the hell am I going to write about? The whole bent of my 100 words was that they should pick me precisely because I am not an obvious great political thinker, but that many things currently in my day to life would be relevant and pertinent. So I don't have to write about the in's and out's of parliamentary questions or detailed comment on the economic implications of the budget. But I still have to find something interesting.

Tactically the best move would be to write about my job, since it's very unusual and very relevant. It's being directly affected by the election in that the government will not make a decision on the A303 tunnel until after the election and this means we cannot make a decision on Stonehenge. But the thing is it's a tricky issue because I am also supposed to remain impartial on the whole subject. Writing an opinionated 700 words on how the government should get on with it might compromise the project somewhat.

I could write about being sent to the back of the list for my Rheumatoid Arthritis specialist even though I've been through the system once, purely because the last appointment I had to see him was over a year ago. This is quite frankly, outrageous because the specialist told me to make another appoinment when my hands got worse. I have no control over how long that has taken! Now I have to go back to my GP, get referred to the specialist and go on the waiting list again.

I could write about lots of things, but I just don't know what!. Help. Help...

Dog Experiments Part One.

Dogs can make choices! I've just put three things on the floor for my dog Pickles to choose from. I offered him a piece of dried liver, a piece of dried tripe (see the pattern emerging?) and a piece of dried bulls penis. (I kid you not. In the Pet shop it's more politely referred to as bulls pizzle but it's basically bull knob. Dried. Eeewwww.)

Anyway. I put them down for him and he sniffs them one by one, and then goes back around and sniffs them all again and then he picks up the dried liver and takes it back to his bed. (Please note, I don't condone eating dried liver in bed, it's a dreadful habit.)

So I think, 'Ha! You made a choice!' and I start to put the other two away but then I realise he's coming back. He's coming back to get the other two things.

So not only did he make a first choice, he also has enough brain to realise if he comes back quickly enough the other two things might still be there to have as well.

Yes.



Tune in tomorrow for more gripping installments.

On University Being An Abstract Country Shaped Thought, And On Why Mothers Of Seven Year Olds Think They Know Everything But Appear, It Seems, To Know Precisely Nothing.

I have been duped by a seven year old.

I have, his Dad has, his Gran has, the beautiful man has. We've all fallen for what shall henceforth be known as 'conning-your-parents-itis'; a disease which manifests itself in the form of butter-wouldn't-melt smiles, general helpfulness and tears if told off even just a little bit when at home. 'When at home' is the crucial bit.

Because (so I was told at parents evening) it appears that at school there is also a seven year old who is kept in at playtime for not finishing his work, who is regularly hauled in to stand outside the staffroom if he actually does make playtime because he 'plays too roughly,' who won't apply himself, who is angry and cross and who actually spat at someone the other day.

I don't think I have ever, ever spat at anyone in my life.

On his good days (of which there are more than the bad, by the way) he's a top mathematician, ace at writing and reading, helpful, friendly to the littler children, artistic, creative and has a good imagination. Sometimes he gets stickers for picking up rubbish.

That's the good days. But apparently, his behaviour is 'erratic'.

Anyway, so I come home from parents evening and I front him up about it and he cries. His teacher and I have talked about this. She calls the tears 'guilty tears.' So I tell him this and he just stops instantly, flabbergasted. And I ask him why he's been behaving like this, but he doesn't know. Or he won't tell me. So I make him sit and write a page in his best handwriting on what he thinks he's done wrong, what he's going to do to address it, and his Dad tells him over the phone to write down five things that make him angry and cross and behave badly at school.

This is what he writes:

I had bin asked to rite this becuase I was beining horrid and in future I will think before I do anything and when im at school I will change my attitude from now on.

1. Ollie make me upset.
2. Work is boring.
3. Cose Ollie dose it.
4. I talk too much when im working.
5. Cose the big boys do it.

[SIC]

He asked me how to spell attitude, the rest is all his own.

So I do the big long talk about how school is very important and that he only gets one chance at it, and how that the way he behaves now will affect him for the rest of his life, and that it's not me he's letting down, it's himself.

And I mention University.

And he says this:

"Oh. I thought University was a country."

So here's what I've learned;

The Vital Parent Rules:

1/Your child is not telling the truth when he says school was 'fine' and 'nothing happened'.
2/Just because your child is sweet and good at home does not does not automatically discount him from turning into the Troll under the bridge on arriving at school.
3/It's got to be someone's child who is the naughty one.
4/If it is your child who is the naughty one, it's not another child's fault, and he's not being 'led into it'.

Finally,

5/Be clear. If you say someone's gone to University and you don't explain any further, it's likely your child will assume it's some far flung country.

I blame the parents myself.

Oh bugger. That's me.

Who are you in Middle Earth?

Via Barbelith I have discovered that my Elven name is Aredhel Lossëhelin. Which I like.

Far less glamorously, in The Shire I am Belladonna Bramble of Willowbottom.

On why the age-old Darlek joke is not funny anymore.



Everybody, it's not alright. You are not safe. Get back behind the sofa (and there's no point choosing one that's upstairs). Dr Who is back and it's not funny, because now the Darleks CAN...

Oddscience, Parts 2 and 3

Oddscience

The Definition Of Crap.

On LJ everyone's making lists of 5 things they are crap at.

Here's mine:

1/ The cup and ball game.
2/ Going into town without buying something.
3/ Not rising to the bait.
4/ Remembering the 8 times table.
5/ Keeping my fingers off cheese grated in exactly the correct quantity for a recipe.

Making that list is not as simple as it looks. You try it. It took me ages, and it occurred to me that I thought I was crap at a lot more than I actually am. So I got to thinking about why we constantly assume we are crap at things when actually we just haven't learn how to do them yet.

For instance, if I were to try to build a house it would probably be crap, and if I were to try and translate Japanese into Russian it would also be crap, but that's only because I haven't learnt how to build houses and I don't know how to speak Japansese and Russian. I'm crap at Poker because I never learnt it. I'm crap at reading music and crap at playing the guitar because I don't practice enough. And today I'm crap at doing my work because I've got things on my mind and it's easier to divert myself from them with the internet than it is to divert myself by battling with complicated mapping software.

Then there are things we are crap at because we don't really want to do them or we are scared to; I am crap at ringing people I love but whom I haven't spoken to in a while, and I'm crap at giving up smoking. I'm crap at riding a motorbike and I'm crap at getting up in the morning.

There are also things we don't like doing so we're crap at them too, I am crap at listening to the football on the radio because I don't follow football and so to me it's like trying to make sense of a language I have never heard before.

And then there are all the things we are crap at simply because they're completely impossible or impossible at that point in time; I am crap at fitting into size 10 jeans because I'm not a size 10, I'm crap at writing with my right hand because I'm left handed and I'm crap at seeing those magic eye pictures because I have imperfect vision in my left eye but a normal right one, and you need both eyes to see at the same level to make the pictures work.

So what's the definition of crap? Things you can't do no matter how hard you practice? Things you can't do no matter how much you will yourself to? Things you see a certain way no matter how much you try to see them in another?

If you think about it it's not very often that you try and try and try but you simply can't do. I'm good at many, many things, crap at a few and have a very great deal to learn.

But I really am and always will be crap at the cup and ball game.

Everybody!

You need one of these:



It's a Kitchen Waste Digester from the Living Soil site.

We've got one and it's brilliant. It turns all your waste food into compost, including cooked food and meat. The only thing it doesn't like is Teabags.

Oddly.

I feel like utter crap today. And it's funny because my Biorhythms say I should be on a high. Which goes to show. What do they know? Crying in the loo and staring out the window. Too hateful of myself to bear looking a/down or b/in the mirror. I keep thinking that maybe what I need is a really big cuddle but that's not something that's available from anyone right now.

I am so sick of hating myself, christ, I can't even look people in the eye. I think people hate me, can't be bothered to waste time talking to me. This is so egocentric! Nobody gives a shit what I look like, why should they? But still I keep saying hideous things to myself, then try to counteract that with something nice. I know the lines about being good to yourself to feel good, being kind to yourself, making yourself feel special. I know that, but the trouble is the real bit of my brain, the 'me' bit, (not the faker saying the kind things it is 'supposed' to) the real me bit knows that the faker's talking bollocks and that it, me, I, am right.

Uplook your very own biorhythms here.

Maryland is for crabs.

It says here.



What a wicked gift! It's from my friend in America whom I've never met in person, but with whom I regularly correspond via the internet and parcelforce. Chocolate is the mainstay of such parcels but occasionally wonderfully weird things like this lighter also arrive. And I do love this parcel correspondence because there is never any discussion of it, things just come and get sent.

The lovely boy adores these sometime packages as much as me, especially when as a result of them he gets to eat Spongebob Squarepants sweets for pudding.

Anyway, I digress. What I wanted to say was, 'Maryland is for crabs' is the best tourist slogan I have ever come across and I couldn't begin to compete. The only thing I have which is even vaguely similar, is this:



For those of you unclear about the picture, it depicts 'zummerzet' locals drinking cider.

Oh, and now you nick my lighter at your peril. I defy anyone I know in the UK to own such a thing.

'Missing' Plutonium...

Apparently, Sellafield has 'lost' enough Plutonium to make seven Nuclear bombs. (They don't say what size bomb.)

But it's alright though because it's only a 'paper' loss. In other words their records say they should have it but in practice it's not there.

Hello?? Isn't that an actual loss? If the petty cash tally says you should have fifty quid in the box but inside there is only forty, surely the answer is that someone is nicking it?!

Repeat after me: Gotobedgotobedgotobed.

Failing that...

I've got a friend who is appalling at spelling. However he's one of the most articulate, intelligent, fascinatingly erudite people I know. His tutor at college (he's a mature student) told him he should be tested for Dyslexia but he's worried that if he gets tested and he's not Dyslexic, then that means he must be thick.

This is what I think.

If he gets tested and he is Dyslexic then surely that would be nice to know. Also it means he can hand in all his written work on Tape (Strike that, these days I mean CD) which is fairly bargainous to say the least. And if he isn't Dyslexic it just means that he didn't pay very much attention in English at school. That, however, doesn't make him any less intelligent. It just makes him once a child who was far more interested in Lego/Building den's/Star wars* than learning that 'I' comes before 'E' except after 'C'.

I mean, do you know when the Crimean War was? I'll tell you. It was 1853.

Do you know Florence Nightingale had a tortoise on her ward in hospital? That she kept an owl called Athena? That she died in 1910 aged 90?

No, neither did I, even though I was taught it in school. I know it as of yesterday purely because the boy had a homework project to find out about Florence so we had to look her up. You see, it's interesting now. Of course it is! Now I'm 32 and care about knowledge and learning and such like.

*Sigh.* I really think we should start school when we're about 25 and start to care. Before that we should be allowed an entire childhood of dicking about.



*Delete as appropriate.

Why it is not a good idea to leave BBC Radio 4 on all night.



Courtesy of Fridgemagnet.

Tick, Tock, Ticky-Tick-Tock.

Where does the time go?

I don't have any time any more.

I can't sleep, I don't dream, and my days are spent writing documents about rare snails and light pollution. I get home, I feed the lovely boy, I feed me (too much) I drink (too much) and I watch crap television. Television is crap. Why do I waste my time watching it?

Where has the sun gone? Where does the day go? I drive two hours a day to get to work and I leave in the dark and get home in the dark.

This is not life.

Where has this evening gone? It's one o'clock in the morning. I should be in bed, to not sleep, to not dream, to get up in the morning, bleary eyed and have to switch all the lights on in the house.

It's halfway through February already.

Give me back the sun, the warm evenings. Let me have the time to paint, to write, to learn the guitar. Let me learn how to silversmith, to make soap, to dream.

Give me back the loveliness of laziness. The laziness of love.

To dream.

This is not life.

The UK has finally turned into an everlasting episode of The Day Today.

First, there was the new IKEA superstore riot in London as people crushed each other (actually crushed each other) in order to get their very own fitted washable covered sofabed for a knock-down price.

This in itself is dowright strange because it means as a nation we appear to be completely apathetic about, say, participating in a war, but are prepared to stage a full riot in order to refurnish our houses.

But then I heard Newsnight reading an email sent to them by Alistair Campbell in response to the infamous alleged Jew bashing adverts, which finished with (and I kid you not) "Now fuck off and do some work, you twats."

Alistair Campbell.

Sent that to Newsnight.

...

Not-so-free information

So whilst at where I work we are killing ourselves trawling through ancient and dusty stacks of old files, picking out the relevant bits in order to comply with the new legislation, the government, it appears, can't really be arsed...

Not-so-free information.

He he he.

OXFAM's Spending Habit.

I'm looking for the income versus expenditure figures of Oxfam, I heard somewhere that the amount of money that actually goes to funding projects is a scarily low percentage of what they get as donations and I want to see the figures.

My figures web-fu is not too hot...where might I find this?

All I've got so far is this: random chart but it really doesn't make much sense to me. What's it telling me?

S.A.D?

I've just read a description of the symptoms of S.A.D. and it sounds suspiciously like me.

Seriously. It can't be right to want to eat beef stew and dumplings and mashed potato and syrup-sponge every night, and I don't do it in the Summer.

And I won't even begin going over the sleep thing again. I already feel like it's all I ever talk about.

Hmnmm...

Can they test for it? You know, measure your seratonin levels or whatever? Isn't depression to do with your seratonin levels anyway? And if so, why are sun-lamps not the treatment for depression in general?

Neurocam

I'm tired of reading everyone's blogs and all the chit chat about Neurocam, but never finding anything out.

Does anyone know what the point behind it actually is yet? Or is everyone joining and being given random small tasks just because everyone else is?

I might join.

An article in The Age started the worldwide interest and lady j's site is full of information about it. But no real help...

Sod it. I'm gonna join.

The beautiful man and his band Planetman playing live on the radio station GTFM.

How exciting is that?!