Not too Proust to beg..

It is quite possible that I will never be satiated. And will always be dissatisfied, embittered, anxious, always looking, never conceding, always demanding.. I want more. Even when I have nothing else to give.

I want everything to have a "name" and "place". A "cause and effect".. engraved deep and bold, a clear distinction, easy on the eye to identify and mind to recognize. In time, I will be clever enough to know its subtle accents.

"That is a cause."

"That, however, is the effect."

And then smile triumphantly at how the chaos of others/Life packs itself neatly in boxes. To be carried away, stored till further notice, archived and to be retrieved at moments of great distress and delivered "just so" at full effect. The audience will then marvel at the succint clarity that is my mind and how it must be Dewey decimal-ed in this Life and possibly the next and its next.

Everything must have a name. That is law. Shape, form, substance, spirit, concepts.. all intangible, all fleeting .. until it has a name.

Everything new: babies, ideas, inventions are given life only after being named. Not at inception. Not at "Eureka!".

But deriving its name!

Proust mentioned that it's only when you are in pain or suffering that you will learn something. And that you should not take out your bitterness on others, the ignorance of not knowing, not wanting to desire... seek out the pain, gracefully. Find its name. Even if its in a language you do not quite understand. Let it roll off your tongue till it becomes a familar taste.

I am still looking. I don't quite understand so much. So I keep asking. And I keep learning. The bitterness of learning from my own mistakes and the empathy of learning from others. For the sheer fact that their mistakes and their lessons learnt can never truly be mine, their knowing something that I don't quite know of yet.. I will always be inadequate.

I. Am not quite whole. Not yet.

Uploading..

I was reading (spying) through blogs over the past week and marvelling at the amount of detail that go into them.

Pictures (a), videos(b), posters(c), web links(d), music(e), etc etc.

Hell, I can't even be bothered to update my blog much less upload (a), (b), (c), (d), (e), etc etc.

Writing has always been an outlet. For the things I lack the gumption in saying or doing at the time.

Like meeting someone I don't like in REAL LIFE:

She: Hey! How are you, I haven't seen you in a long long long time. *air kisses*
Me: Hey! Yeah, I know. I was in jail.
She: Haha.. you're so funny. You were always the funny girl in school. So so funny.
Me: Haha... yeah. I am. That's me. See, I am laughing at my jokes. Haha.

BLOG IT! BITCH:

"Today I met She, the bitchiest mc bitchy whore, my UNI has produced... what a SLU.."

Yes, it is an intimate bitchfest.

For the insecure, afraid, uncertain, self doubt ridden...

Me.

And of course, in times of extreme mood swings:
PMS-> euphoria of ovulating/having consumed chocolates..

So you can safely conclude that I will write only when I am moody.. and have the time.

Which is usually the former, not the latter... With me surfing Facebook all the time, I really don't really have time for www.blogger.com/post-create...