Foaming at the mouth, take 2

I'm pondering between going "fucking hell", "oh my god" or variations of "graah yargh gurgle bleah".

I

can't

believe

it.

And yes, I know it's envy, after all is said and done, this humongous humongous bout of "rip-his/her/its-throat-out" envy. Or is it sadness, or is it self-loathing, or is it just "bleah". But what should I care, where she goes and what she does, when I cut that off almost two years ago. But seriously. And no, I mean /seriously/, of all the places, of all the things - why? Why there? Why?

Now I know I'll never forgive myself if my plan fails. And I know it's childish, and lame, and small and petty, and any other way you wish to call it, but that was just low. Only it wasn't, because it theoretically shouldn't have anything to do with me. I'm taking it personally out a form of very twisted and misplaced greed.

I haz a sad nao. Myeah.

Mahadeva

... or, in other words, post in which the lemming once again fangirls until run dry.

So in (I can't remember, but I think it probably was) October, I discover a new-ish Jrock band called Deluhi. For much too long a time - by the standards of a person who has the attention span of a, well, lemming. I swear I'm probably the most difficult fan out there, ever - I had to make do with a mini-album and a single, which was all I could get my hands on.

But recently, oh, recently... I got their entire discography to date. The effect was disastruous (on my mother's ears. The poor dear still has to share a house with me, and she has yet to forsake her dignity enough to run to the neighbours' whenever my speakers start blaring) and orgasmic (on mine).

Short digression:
I actually recall doing a last.fm meme and being asked what my fondest memory of Deluhi was. I answered "making my mother fall off the couch when I first listened to Yomi no yuzuri ha cranked up to full blast." ^__^

I can't begin to express the shivers that go up and down my ribcage (I don't get the spine variety of shivers, never have.) when I hear the guitar and the drums. When I fail to hear the bass, but feel it holding the song together on a below-sound level (or whatamacallit). Of course, my greatest frustration is that I can't understand what they're saying, but that time will come on day. *Ties "tatakai" sign to forehead*

As for Juri's voice, it's been leaving me speechless from the very beginning. Deep, versatile, engulfing, raking, angry, not angry powerful, more level than any other Jrocker's I've heard so far (I'm refering to the young generation only. Legends are excluded.) So, so goddamn beautiful (and the really lol bit is when you see Juri and Leda from the neck up for the first time and instantly label them as Oshare-kei. And then they start singing *__*)

The most pleassant surprise of all, however, came today, when I saw their first PV (I'm not expressing properly. When I first saw one of their PVs. There.) and, better still, a live. No way, they sound soooo good live! And they seem to be in this dingy club, no bigger than a Suburbia or whatever, with a foot of space between Juri and the fans, with a rather disreputable sound system (though what is disreputable in Japan is probably state-of-the-art for us, but they still sound indie)and their stage movement is, um, static :)), but the energy they impress upon the viewer is so out there, it's amazing!

I'm happy to have gotten a new source of strength and swoon (lol), and I'll be stalking them faithfully from now on, as I am also doing with Matenrou Opera, Versailles, SID and heidi.

Oh, the joys of being a fangirl! I think I've finally found a reason /not/ to wish I were a guy. (although, if I could have taken my pick, I would have been a gay guy, so that's ok ^__^).

Um. Yeah. I proudly give you DELUHI.

Pulled and puller

(yeah, I'm aware the title makes no sense whatsoever. You may sue.)

To start with a truism: in life, on this planet, there are ambitious people, and then there are complacent people. Fair enough, right?

Sometimes, you hear about a friend, or whatever - someone from your entourage - who hooked up with someone who is rather different from your friend, in terms of life dreams, in terms of drive, of what they want to accomplish - or even what their definition of "accomplishment" is. Or maybe we're talking about a pair of very good friends, but it's still a "relationship" in the end.

(I'm purposely discarding the XX / YY relationships (ambitiousXambitious / complacentXcomplacent). They're another Mary with another hat altogether *hah for Romanian ancestral wisdom*. I firmly believe the latter are not meant to last, or are meant to disintegrate into mediocrity, while the former will produce sparks which are pleasing to the eye, even though they end up burning the performers to a crisp. 'Nuff said.)

So we end up with two people who are in it together for the long haul, with one running slightly ahead of the other. Every time. Overall. Myeah.

I was analyzing myself, and how I'm always, joyfully, preppily [sic?] grasping at the driver's role. I run. I pull. I get worked up and flail around in all directions, like in the "Lost in Space Fungus" Neopets game, where the purpose is to achieve a linear trajectory through a limited number of restrained circular movements (is /that/ why I'm so good at it, I wonder? Haha. ha <- Ed!laugh).

As a consequence of the flailing, more often than not I get where I want to be. Of course, there's stuff to pay for transit, and stuff to be discarded along the way, but I've long ago decided not to regret anything anymore.

I'm fine with it. With being the initiator, as well as the executor, to run around half-mad with worry, as long as I see myself where I had wanted to be. And boy, do I have a long list of places (metaphorical or not) where I want to be. In life. In love. In friendship and family. In entertainment. In social and cultural lifestyle shizz. And I work for it, as if it couldn't come to me by itself. I wonder if it would.

I'm reading "A spot of bother", and wondering at Jaime, who has "built himself his own pretty, safe life", in all respects. But Jaime is now satisfied - I don't think I'd ever be. Does that make me greedy, or is that just Jaime being a static fictional character (who will no doubt wake up to see that he's living a lie by the end of the book. These things are so predictable, so much like life, that I can sometimes sympathise with TP for only reading fantasy and SF. Of course, that would mean I'd be missing out on small masterpeices like "The rain before it falls". But, in the words of Rosamond, I digress.)

The point is that, sometimes, I get tired. I'm tired of me being the one to organize trips, and make up a team to enter contests, and pimp master programmes or internships to my friends, I get bored of /myself/ - of the way I seem to be twice as frantic as everyone else. And those are the times I'm depressed and bitter, those are the times I'm sick of myself. And I crawl to a corner and hug my knees to myself, metaphorically speaking (mostly metaphorically), and wish to be the one being pulled along. I want someone to be taking care of me, thinking of me when they see an e-mail on a discussion group, be the one to receive a phone call asking if I want to go to the movie festival.

Up till this moment, there are only two persons who have done this for me. I've lost touch with one of them through my own volition.

I'm not saying that I'd like to be just as complacent as everyone else, though. Which is strange. The thought never crossed my mind, once. What I guess I'm wishing for is to find other people who like to get involved (in /everything/, really) and who would pimp stuff to me with the same sense of love and caring as I do for them.

How about someone else made the reservation to that restaurant? Or found a hotel, or a movie? I wouldn't last for long, being pulled along like that, but it would feel nice: pampered, and loved, and not in a one-sided relationship (from /that pov/)

Maybe I'm just soially defective and have no other way to express my love for some people. If you don't feel that the words "I love you" mean anything special, why should the receiver of those words feel it?



________________________________________________________

Later edit: this post was in my drafts for a while. I didn't want to post it, because it sounded small and spoiled and whiny. However, like I said (because "redundant" is what we do best):

1. I don't want to regret anything in my life anymore, which includes not saying stuff which eat at me from the inside
2. I'm depressed, therefore I wsant to be spoiled
3. You may sue.

*off to Jrock land. I wonder why almost all DELUHI albums / singles have Buddhist names, while the songs themselves are so powerful (I don't want to say "angry"). Damn, how I wish I could understand what they're saying!*

A question of some philosophical merit

Stage 1: Dreaming

Lately I've been anticipating going to sleep, because I've been missing my dreams. While at the mountains (and generally every time I travel somehwere, especially with TP) I was so exhausted by the end of the day, that I slept like a log. This might not seem like a big deal to most people, so I'll try to explain why this is a big deal for me.

For years, I was terrified of my own dreams. Not permanently, but right when I thought it safe to go to sleep, this weird fantasy would pop out of nowhere, with no relation whatsoever to the events of the previous day, or whatever, and I'd wake up in the morning sweating, rattled, sometimes crying - the whole shazzam.

Since about the beginning of this year, however, Dreamland and I seem to have found the means for reconcilliation. I'm /having fun/ in my dreams, I remember them fondly in the morning, or joyfully discard them with a "pfft". And since I've... how should I say? "Dilated" (to make a silly but rather appropriate analogy) my mind enough to welcome them instead of shunning them, they've rewarded me with ... fuzzy* experiences.

Why have I gotten into so much detail? Mostly, so that I can make an e-memory of:

- having a deja-vu while sleeping. Which is the other way around from how it usually happens. Normally, I dream something, and later it happens, and there goes my deja-vu. This time, however, I'd seen/done something while awake, and the deja-vu occured while I was asleep, talking to someone (most likely TP), and at some point digressing and announcing that I'm having a deja-vu. It was immense fun, and I woke up with a feeling of satisfaction similar to the one you get when you drink a glass of good wine, or have just finished reading a good book/manga.

- having to prepare a theatre workshop, and /dreaming/ up an exercice for said workshop. The entire night was spent in a sort of cellar (reminiscent to our very first headquarters) with 6 people whose faces I couldn't see, working out the kinks in the exercice. "The idea is good, but you need to systematize the lines"; "the pairs of participants should not be allowed to discuss each intermediate conclusion"; "what are you going to use to mark the line that runs across the floor?", etc. I am now confident that I've come up with a good exercice, though, and I can't wait to run it past the girls (doubtless, it still has some kinks I've overlooked while... whoa, it sounds weird... asleep ^_^). Needless to say, I woke up, sat up straight, and refused to get out of bed until I was sure I'd committed it all to memory. I was sleeping with my head on my desk for the entire remainder of the day. Meh.



(*fuzzy does not mean difuse - rather, in my own special vocabulary, "warm and fluffy and to be fondly remembered, or at least that which makes a funny story to go with a beer ")


Stage 2: Translating with Dad

Work is fun, apart from the bucket-loads of spare time that I have, because sometimes dad calls me in to help himn with an e-mail or offer. The offers are formal affairs, and no fuss is made over them. E-mails, however, are a fun event which could probably be likened to a family outing - we laugh over them, they give us reasons to dive into easy banter, and we part with a smile on our faces (how sad, right? that we're bonding over e-mails? Wartsheep Clan FTW).

For the longest time, I suspected my dad of having pawned off his sense of humour (or something). Last month, however, the more-or-less following exchange took place:

Dad: Cum inchei mailul?
Lemming: Pai, il cunosti pe nenea, deci baga un "Best regards".
D: "Bine. Nu e bine. Mai vreau sa ii mai zic ceva"
L: "Nu-i nimic, ca poti sa mai adaugi. Zi ce vrei sa-i zici"
[insert boring lingo]
L:"Altceva?"
D:"Da: sa ma lase in pizda mamii in pace"
L:"'Lastly, please leave me in peace in my mother's womb'"

We laughed. It was... surprisingly natural.


Stage 3: Dumbledore's love life

A conversation that took place in Laptarie between the world's first two talking lemmings (TP and myself, in other words) was debating the specifics of Dumbledore's sexual orientation: SEME or UKE?

Things got pretty heated. Usually, I take up the flag of the "point of view other than TP's" for the simple reason that I love our debates (yay for having someone intelligent to argue with!), but this time I trully believed what I was claiming: that Dumbledore was the seme.

I realize I'm getting ahead of myself, but I suppose there's no other possibility to entertain to begin with - the relationship discussed was dumbledoreXgrindelwald. TP was claiming that Grindel was the seme, that he was more impetuous, more manipulative, and therefore would have naturally taken control. I claimed - and still do - that just because the Dumbledore we know is wise, soft-mannered and the "behind-the-scenes", "eminence grise" sort of thingie, that doesn't necessarily make him "the pillow-biter" (TP tm). And my strongest argument was that, in this situation, Dumbledore was much more manipulative.

In the end, the conclusion was left hanging in the poplar tree (stupid name for a plop, really) - no matter how valid my arguments, neither of us could envisage a submissive Grindelwald. Damn it, defeated by fiction!