trapped in a box

Perhaps when I started out on the net, I was just a young naive thing. I would say that i was.

I look back and i think of the people that have chatted to me online and i think, shite, there's a lot of interesting people from all around the world. It sounds like a trite comment to make, but it seems to be the only way i know how to say it!

Whether or not I believe what they tell me is another thing. Some of them were publishers, one was a well established author, a snake breeder, a few rough and tumble bikies, musicians ... i met one person whom i sure was compulsive liar and apparently was a masseus in france massaging well to do ladies and models. What fascinated me most was the vast array of people i've met, and the kind of communication you can have...whether you believe them or not is another thing too. I think that the net can actually be an interesting learning experience.

Nowadays, the image of the chatroom as a community has gone a little bit awry. They're so pumped full of sex ads, and indian telemarketers you're not sure what's what. (Not that you did in the beginning to start with!)

The illusion is broken into by commercialism. I guess it had to happen. It's not a straight line though. Without the popularity and blooming commercialization of the net, people would not be able to accept it so readily as they do now. One does not come without the other. I can't say i dislike the state of it, because i think that without the popularity of it, people would think i'm star raving mad to say the internet is a great way to communicate to someone in the UK.

Some of the best working relationships work over the internet. I'm not talking about 'i love you', although i think that probably has and will work out for some people. Can you fall in love with words? With the idea of someone? That's an age old question. I think you can. What's love anyway? Since when was it something tangible? Does a ring signify the person's measure of love for another?

I'm not saying that i approve, but hey whatever goes for you!

moderating, obligating

I remember one dream. One beautiful dream, many years ago.

A man came to me in a dream, and suddenly I felt at peace - no words were spoken. Nothing was necessary, he communicated everything without words and he adored me, accepted me for everything i was, loved and admired me for everything inside. There was no need for insecurity, and he was equally beautiful on the inside and out. His voice was deep and sonorous, warm and comforting.

He knew what i was thinking, i understood perfectly what he needed. It was that feeling of peace that kept me so transfixed with him, that complete ease that i could be myself finally, be loved for that. That feeling of tranquility in my dream, is something i have never experienced in my life and something, that many people ordinarily take for granted. I couldn't hold on to it though, my mind wouldn't let me, i felt i was losing grip of that image, he stayed for a short while...but he left because it was like, anything that perfect - never exists.

I woke up in tears.

yellow fever, blue fever, red...

I don't know how many people realize how difficult it is to be a different nationality in a western culture and not get looked at or noticed by the opposite sex.

The times people notice this the most i would have to say would be when we're all out along the clubs. The first people to get noticed usually (if you take observation): are the blonde chicks. They could be the ugliest dogs on earth and guys would still look. It's hard when you're from a different background and you're only semi-okay looking. Or you're not white. Living in this country, it is difficult to get noticed if you're from a different background other than that of someone whom is white. You could be Naomi-fucking-Campbell in this country of mine and not a single guy would batt an eyelash when you walk past a busy club. They'd still look at the stray blonde dog behind her consistently chain smoking, with big tits and dressed up to the nines with clothes from that horrible cheap chain store, Supre.

You might think i have something against blonde women, but i don't. I just wish guys would be more open minded in our country with a bit more headroom up there to register different hair colours other than yellow or peroxided platinum yellow.

Having said that, not all guys are like this in our divine country. It's just that a great majority seem to be...however, when the country with it's globalization now, there'll be a more diverse mix hopefully and we can stop all this hairist-colorist shit.

extreme difficulty

I love the anonymity of the net. The chance that *you* the reader will read this. It must be a voyeuristic pleasure. Did i catch you off guard with that sentence? I bet I did.

It always does for me whenever a blogger directs his/her audience directly.

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One of the things that used to keep me artistically motivated, (despite the fact that I didn't exactly enjoyed it at one stage) was a certain online community of artists. I won't say which group, but it has funnily enough motivated me in the past. Stranger things have come to pass.

While I enjoy trying to motivate myself to do better, to improve myself in one way or another it's becoming stingingly apparent how inappropriate my past behaviours towards goals like this were. Self awareness is a big fat burden.

random disorganization.

So i receive back an essay, and i discover to my horror that i have merely just passed. Just passed. Weeks of work, research gone down the drain. I stare at the paper in unresolved shock.

Recently, I asked my lecturerer to discuss the paper with me. Fortunately he was very accommodating and eager to discuss my paper with me in detail. He noted that my essay was a bit like blocks of writing that had been stuck together and had not been organized properly. I nodded quietly and realized what he was saying was true.

I began to wonder, was this an indication of the workings of my own randomly working mind, or just pure laziness?

For years i have been writing, reading and learning. And yet I still struggle with grammatical issues, syntactical errors and general disorganization in my writing. It shouldn't be the case. Since he noted this, I have decided to make a larger effort to read more, write more and concentrating on trying to understand the English language a little more effectively.

While I was taking in all the academic issues, I began to wonder how much writing is an indication of my own behaviours of late. Is it possible to gauge a person's confusion to their ability to write and read coherently? Organize thoughts in their own mind like they do in their essay? Does it correspond with one another?

I began to wonder if i was completely transparent as he spoke to me. Can you see through me through my own writing I wonder? I realized in what intonation he was speaking to me - that of a child because of my own silence. Every lecturer seems to think i'm going to crumble if i ask for constructive advice because of my quietness. They reassure me and say, 'but...it's only a...', which always makes me laugh inside because I wouldn't be there if I were afraid. Or if I were going to crumble.