solitary_summer: (Default)
Hm, also, the new John Barrowman CD? Is a bit sweeter and schmoopier than is my general taste in music, even if that has been careering wildly & schizophrenically between NIN and John Barrowman for the last year, and even if I've always had a fondness for pop and kitsch. It's not that I dislike it, but I suspect either being in a really romantic, heart-broken or maudlin mood would help appreciating it; or maybe at least being slightly drunk.

And maybe the songs - not those specific ones even, but the type of song, the general mood, remind me of the few parties that I attended as a teenager and never had anyone to dance with when they put on the slow songs.

Bottom line, perpetually single and mostly asexual or just plain messed-up me just isn't romantic enough for this kind of music.

It really struck me this summer when I was reading Doktor Schiwago (loved the book; beautiful, absolutely stunning language, but the part that touched me least was the romance between Schiwago and Lara) that I don't understand love at all. It's an alien country and the people inhabiting it a different species. Or, more likely, I'm the alien.

Er. Back to what I was saying, sweeter than I usually like, but Time After Time is beautiful and the stripped-down version of Heaven made me shiver the first couple of times I listened to it.

Weekend In New England I do like, as well as Please Remember Me, and Feeling Good is a really nice break musically as well as thematically. Being Alive I've simply heard too often already.

The rest is okay, I guess, but doesn't do all that much for me. On the whole, I'm getting more emotion from the musicals-CDs than from the these pop covers...

And as much as I fangirl him, I wish he'd push his boundaries a bit further musically, which I don't really feel he's doing here; the next CD would profit from a bit more variety and a bit of an edge, IMO. And a song-selection not determined by a pre-Christmas release date.
solitary_summer: (Default)
What's the point of having a day off (an entire day too, for once, and all to myself, since Ch. and I have arranged the horse schedule so that I only have to go every other week), when you've just got your period and feel crampy, tired and generally disgusting? I went to the zoo in the morning (listlessly), mostly to get the annual season ticket as long as the voucher was still valid, and had planned to go photographing in the late afternoon, but watched three episodes of B5 (which I've decided to re-watch, yes, all five seasons, yes, I've all kinds of never-watched dvds lying around at home, and and no, i'm not sure there's a point to it, but since it's been years I've forgotten enough to see it with an at least partly fresh eye...) instead, because I just couldn't face the idea going out again.

[ profile] soavezefiretto writes about what she'd do if this were the last day of her life, which got me thinking, too... (And depressed, oh, yes.)

Make a will [you'd get a first pick on the dvds, cds, and books, just so you know... ], maybe write messages for a couple of people, but probably not. What they know, they already know, and it doesn't seem fair to drop any kind of emotional bomb on someone when they can't respond properly any longer.

Then I'd get to some beach, Greece, Turkey, doesn't matter, somewhere that's reachable within a day with some time to spare. Granted, it'd mean spending much of my last day on an airport and plane - although I'd also get to see the clouds from above one more time, which is one of the great things about flying, IMO -, but I think it'd be worth it, sitting on some beach, looking out at the sea and listen to the waves, maybe watching the sun set. Maybe take a book I love, something familiar, (at the moment it'd be something by Thomas Mann, I think), read a few pages. Have a glass of wine, maybe.

I don't think I'd want anyone with me, because that'd lead to all kinds of tears & drama (although I'm toying with the thought of bringing a mobile phone, just in case I want to hear someone's voice, after all), and in the end you're alone anyway.

For me the surprise in thinking about this was (even though today was a rather crappy day where I've already asked myself why I keep going on, etc.), the sadness, and the regret. There have been years where I'd probably have welcomed dying (at least in theory and my imagination; reality might/would still have been somewhat different, I guess), now... it depresses the fuck out of me, because after all I don't want this to be over yet, and at the moment (I want to blame the hormones, but am not sure I can) all I can see is regrets, missed opportunities, thirty-five years of nothing and failure. (Funny. Because when I started to come out of that long phase of depression I thought that was enough, having survived, living, and and I wasn't regretting anything, because all this made me who I am, was who I am. Right. Riiiight.) And what I'd regret most is the general lack of love, and perhaps I can blame the hormones for all this disgusting sentimentality after all. God.

And I guess this should make me reflect on how to re-structure my life, make it more meaningful, start dating, etc., but I suspect I'll just go back to watching another couple of B5 episodes. Literally and metaphorically.
solitary_summer: (malingo (© clive barker))

Compulsory Dance is boring. No really, it is.

[Holiday reading, continued]

I liked Der Idiot, I really did. I still have something of a problem with the way Dostojewski rushes one through the plot, always on the edge, always big emotional drama and bigger philosophical issues, with barely any time to simply take a breath, but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it, or could put it down. But still... after a few hundred pages I always get a little tired of the constant tension that just keeps building up and up and up, and long for something... not meaninglessly ornamental, but perhaps a simple descriptive passage, a break from the long, emotion-charged, almost over-excited dialogues, something that allows you to breath a little, look around...

But there is so much that is wonderful in there. The end. Oh my god, the end. It's terrible and lovely, strangely tender, and wholly unavoidable. Calm, finally.

I loved the Jepatschin family, Jelisaweta Prokowjewna and her three daughters, in all their beautiful, impetuous weirdness.

'Haben Sie meinen Igel erhalten?' No words.

Myschkin... I don't know. Initially there is something utterly compelling about his honesty, his belief in others. It does wear off a little, though, and his exalted outburst at the dinner-party in the end seemed slightly odd. And when he is caught up and destroyed by these events that he isn't in the least equipped to deal with, I couldn't pity him as much as I wanted. In the end I think there's a lot of truth in what Jewgenij Pawlowitsch says.

And again, love. It flares up, so very passionately, it destroys people, drives them to murder, but I don't feel it. Should I feel it? Is love important in this novel? The only emotional connection that truly works for me is between Rogoschin and Myschkin.


I give up, I can't write about Dostojewski. There's this huge rush of characters, emotions and ideas, and I never know where to look first, can't pick it apart enough to analyse and verbalise, make sense of it, at least not after one reading.

solitary_summer: (candles (© clive barker))

Last day tomorrow. Thank fucking god. One co-worker has decided to quit, and I'm already half way there, which, all things considered, probably hasn't been the purpose of the whole thing.

So, for something different. Fragmented ramblings, because I'm really not up to a coherent discussion.

Buffy S6 )

Also, meme, because I'm such a sheep.

You fit in with:

Your ideals mostly resemble that of a Humanist. Although you do not have a lot of faith, you are devoted to making this world better, in the short time that you have to live. Humanists do not generally believe in an afterlife, and therefore, are committed to making the world a better place for themselves and future generations.

0% scientific.
40% reason-oriented.

Take this quiz at
solitary_summer: (Default)

Sometimes writing seems so very redundant...

August already, this summer is slipping by so fast; tired, badly in need of a holiday, thank god it's only one more week & then I'm off.

At least managed three morning runs again this week.

Had dinner at my sister's Wednesday, came home, threw up and felt vaguely nauseous the next two days, not that anyone actually needed to know that.

Finally had my hair cut on Tuesday & henna-dyed it today. Am very red-headed now.

Half-way through Dostojewskij's Crime and Punishment, and finally, after two hundred pages or so that were rather hard to read, very much intrigued.

Continued to write my Wesley vignette thingy, which is really just an exercise in procrastination considering it takes me months & a lot of dvd watching to come up with 2000 words. But the fact that I can actually write anything fictious at all, even if it's only fanfic, is still something of a pleasantly surprising novelty and kind of nice...

I've been going through my old paper diaries recently & thinking about the past, the whole M.-related drama. Probably not a good idea, thoroughly embarrassing, and too, too long ago in any case. Still... despite everything, part of me, the part that isn't shit-scared of going through these emotional ups and downs - mostly downs, really - again, longs for this intensity of feeling.

solitary_summer: (night (© clive barker))

Well, thank god for not-so-crappy tv shows, because apparently somewhere in the process of analysing a character you may actually get some insight into yourself. Then again, could be this is projecting my own issues onto the character in question, but as far as the results are concerned it doesn't make any difference...

I've come to the conclusion that what I've been doing for some time now (with barely any exception at all) is keep people at a distance, emotionally as well as physically, making it impossible for them to hurt me, to reject me; to have power over me in any that matters.

I can keep up a level of good-will towards the universe in general, but as far as individual people are concerned... either they just don't matter very much, or in the rare case when it seems they may begin to do, at one point some kind of defense mechanism kicks in that makes me pull away, even break off contact entirely.

I'm guessing the mostly-asexual thing is also part of this problem.

So of course I don't, can't, really appreciate affection (love?) either, because I can never entirely believe it's real, and even while I occasionally whine about being lonely, most of the time I - probably unconsciously, at this point - choose safety over the risk of emotions.

When did this happen?

More importantly, how do you even begin to try to change something like that? How do you consciously try to let yourself get close to anyone again, maybe in the end let yourself love anyone? Seven easy steps, or twelve, or whatever it is?

So, so fucked up.

solitary_summer: (candy 2 (© clive barker))

::sigh:: I want to fall in love (again)... it's been far, far too long.

So long that the pain of unrequited feelings seems the lesser evil.

Emotional, aimlessly romantic, sad, slightly tipsy. Wanting to be held.
solitary_summer: (Default)

For many, many years he had been unable to open his mind fully to any man or woman at all, and at times it seemed to him that candour was as essential as food or affection: during most of this period he had used his diary as a kind of surrogate for the non-existent loving ear - a very poor surrogate indeed, but one that had become so habitual as to be almost necessary. He missed it now, the close-written coded book, and having stared at the fire for a while he turned full to the table. His indifferent eye fell on the note, addressed in that familiar hand, and he drew a sheet of paper towards him.

'If I no longer love Diana,' he wrote, 'what shall I do?

[Stephen in O'Brian's The Fortune of War]

"And so do you really think they're still out there, loving each other, and then being separated, and him finding her again, only to be separated again?"

"Yes. I do," Finnegan said.

"What a terrible way to live."

Finnegan considered this for a moment. "Love makes its demands, and you listen. You can't bargain with it. You can't fight it. Not if it's really love."

[Clive Barker, Abarat 2: Days of Magic, Nights of War]
solitary_summer: (Default)

love is either magnificent, passionate and unexpected or it's best replaced for great literature, travelling, ideals. fuck all that needing to find someone. nobody needs to find anyone. if there's anyone to be found then it was never there, never meant to be, as love can only be true if it feels that there was never a begining. it's like rain; it just rains, you don't force the water down from the sky.

([ profile] juno, here)
solitary_summer: (abarat.night)

Opened my book of poems by W.H.Auden today and the first thing I saw was this, which struck me as a strangely beautiful image:

Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.

[[Another random, and really rather stupid, thing, I caught George Michael's 'Amazing' video on tv today, and it's not as if the lyrics were all that special, probably nothing that hasn't been said & sung (and smirked at by me) a million times before, but still it suddenly struck me... does this kind of thing actually happen? Can love 'save you'?

*self-disgusted* Gah. I blame spring for this... sentimentality. ]]
solitary_summer: (abarat. tower)

For some reason I find it almost frightening when images from dreams I had a long time ago suddenly and without any provocation surface in my mind, very distinct and clear... it begs the question, what is happening in this strangle place my brain, what an amazing mass of data must be stored there, if such extremely random things are, only I can't consciously access any of it. Or maybe... I think it's part of a dream I remember, but maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, like with déjà vus...

Rain all day, depressing; also I'm feeling strangely emotional recently... yesterday browsing through a book of oriental poetry at work, reading a couple of Persian love poems was enough to make me melancholy... :: shakes head @ self :: Spring maybe, even if it's not exactly happening at the moment. I think I want to fall in love, except, with whom?
solitary_summer: (Default)

the one thing I want to happen in 2004, though sadly resolutions are no help here at all, and i don't know if i'm really ready, and maybe it sounds cheesy. but, anyway. i want to fall in love. i want this fucking emotional desert to end, finally.

Catch me, heal me, lift me back up to the sun / I choose to live, I choose to live...


solitary_summer: (Default)

March 2013

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