Christmas classics

"All right," said Susan. "I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need... fantasies to make life bearable."

"REALLY?" said Death. "AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE."

"Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little—"

"YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES."

"So we can believe the big ones?"

"YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING."

"They're not the same at all!"

"YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET"—Death waved a hand. "AND YET YOU ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD, AS IF THERE IS SOME... SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED."

"Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what's the point—"

"MY POINT EXACTLY."

-Terry Pratchett, Hogfather

Merry Christmas/ Yule/ whatever celebration you celebrate to everyone! I hope you are all safe and in the company of the ones you love.

Triggers

I recently read that grief isn't a process, but rather a new way of seeing things. It was one of the best ways I have seen grief described. I'm still mourning for my friend Virve and it has altered my entire perception. I will include the quote at the end of this paragraph. Some might find it helpful. I did find it helpful.

How do triggers work? They work due to the mind's ability to make associations and connections. You see something that for another person means nothing, or something positive. For you, however, it has a very different meaning and causes vastly different feelings. For example today I saw a bottle of soda water on my desk. I wanted to give you that bottle because you love soda. Then I remembered we're no longer together. That's a perfect example of a trigger. A soda bottle made me feel sadness and a sense of futility.

Don't get me wrong. I don't regret a thing I did for you, and I don't consider it futile because you didn't appreciate it. I am who I am. Nothing can change me. Only death can take my personality away. When my time comes, death will step in lightly and transmute my being into something bigger and brighter and literally larger than life. Death is the one place, the one condition that wipes the slate clean of everything. And guess what, the first thing to go are our lies. All the lies we told ourselves and other people are gone like morning mist under the blazing sun. For death is yet another sun; it shines black and negative and peaceful in its anti-existence. The doorway opens and you step through it naked as a baby. Everything you have been holding onto for comfort is gone.

When your comforting lies and possessions are gone, I hope each of you will hold onto the one thing no-one can take from you, not even death. Your dignity.

Good night. 

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Two cats on one lap

"What do you mean you want to check your Facebook? Surely you can fit us both on your lap while typing on the keyboard!"

Of course, they are not happy that they are BOTH on me, because each would rather have exclusive use of my lap/ boobs. So they are giving each other dirty looks.

  Aaaand there is another one on my bed waiting for her turn.

Life isn't boring around here, not ever. 

 Those two gray bumps are my boobs.
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Black Books

My friend J. gave me to watch the old British sitcom Black Books. It's so funny it makes my knees rubbery. There are instances I have fallen off my chair and struggle to breathe between waves of laughter so painful that my stomach hurts. I have grown a six pack because of the damn series, and it's good, I guess, because there is no other way I'd ever grow a six pack. I am far more likely to grow tusks. 

I am window shopping inks for my beloved fountain pens since I came across this amazing site on how to take proper care of my babies. The majority of my writing nowadays is done on the PC, with the exception of my diary. Still nothing can replace the feeling of a fountain pen in my hand and the steady, velvety flow of ink on paper. There is absolutely no comparison with any electronic device.

It's scary and adorable how much the inside of the Black Books bookshop reminds me of my home. There is nothing resembling normal in my life, except for the fact I have a job and a house. The rest is pretty much random heaps of objects and cats, jumbled occurrences and an insane, if adorable, mom. It's OK, I don't really mind. That's how it is and there is no reason to worry about it. Things will take care of themselves, I guess, or they won't, and I'll have to take care of them. I'll cross that bridge when I get there. In the meantime, worrying is a waste of time. I have a very difficult December looming ahead, with very long work hours and a mob ahem... customers wanting to buy Christmas gifts and pralines. The fact the majority would love to lace those same pralines with poison to get rid of their relatives is not strictly relevant. ;) 

The human race is equipped with an amazing ability to go on living even after a nuclear disaster. Look at me, window shopping ink while I still can't figure out a valid reason we are inhabiting this poor, poor planet. There are nights the owner of Black Books is an avid humanitarian compared to me. Other nights, I want to take care of everyone. But still, here I am tonight looking at inks and wondering if lilac is a good colour choice and if it will still be readable in twenty years from now. As if there's any guarantee I'll still be here in twenty years from now. Heh. Humans.

Enjoy a new song by P'haan and Calliah while you're here. They are as good as pralines, maybe better. 

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On love

Source: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=348914941857380&set=pb.100002166317517.-2207520000.1480292734.&type=3&theater

The following dialogue is taken from the movie "Interstellar". Highly recommended.

COOPER

"You’re a scientist, Brand -"

BRAND

"I am. So listen to me when I tell you that love isn’t something we invented - it’s observable, powerful. Why shouldn’t it mean something?"

COOPER

"It means social utility - child rearing, social bonding -"

BRAND

"We love people who’ve died ... where’s the social utility in that? Maybe it means more - something we can’t understand, yet. Maybe it’s some evidence, some artifact of higher dimensions that we can’t consciously perceive. I’m drawn across the universe to someone I haven’t seen for a decade, who I know is probably dead. Love is the one thing we’re capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space. Maybe we should trust that, even if we can’t yet understand it."

Yes, but love takes effort. And it takes effort because like light, love is made of myriads of tiny particles; kindness, generosity, understanding, selflessness, care... This is the secret that allows it to transcend space and time. Every one of these characteristics is about overcoming, transcending, breaking through the barriers of everyday life, normality, expectation. Beyond gaining, beyond life itself in some cases. 

"Do not go gentle into that good night; Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

The sky is roaring tonight. So am I.

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After the elections

Today I wanted to write something that makes sense, but I found myself incapable of saying anything other than one syllable words like "shit", "fuck" and "fuck this shit". No, I don't want to analyse why electing the next Hitler of mankind and giving him access to nuclear codes is insane. I can't even begin to analyse why this misogynist, racist, disgusting man is a terrible blow to everything I hold sacred, to human rights and the evolution of human race. I wish I could send him and his voters to a planet in another solar system and leave them there, to let us the rest of us live in peace AWAY from them. But as I said, I won't analyse. May whatever Higher Power exists, if something exists, have mercy on us all. End of analysis. I'll drink my tea now. Soothes the nerves.

A few days ago I was on Ymittos at night, the mount near my home. It was awesome, because the cloudy sky provided plenty of illumination and I had good company. The best bits were the total absence of artificial light and the wind in the trees. The forest speaks in sounds unlike human languages, in rustlings, shakings and creakings, in the soft sound of leaf kissing leaf. Forests at night are another world; different rules, no human presence, no-one to help you except for your wits and common sense. Words can't communicate the beauty of the night outdoors, the sensation you aren't alone, the irrational certainty that tree somehow got closer since the last time you looked at it.

When I am in a forest, I speak to it and explain I mean no harm, but there are things in such places that mean you harm regardless of your intentions. Nature isn't your mother. Nature is the Queen Bitch of all bitches, and you should treat her like a tigress that can pop out claws and rip you apart any time she feels like it. God(s) know we deserve it for what we've done to the planet.

I love the night, I love the forest. But at the same time I'm smart enough to respect and fear it. In the forest of my mind, alongside wonders I host monsters, and what is inside will inevitably be met outside.

Which reminds me. A few weeks ago I was returning home on foot. It was late at night, and I chanced upon the carcass of a ginger tom-cat on the pavement. Judging by the blood in his mouth, he had been run over by a car. But someone had also burned his cheek and his fur at parts, which made me sick. I do hope that person did that to the carcass, and not before; I think that was the case. 

I picked the poor fellow up and put him in a garbage bin. I had to empty a bag of garbage and use it to pick him up, but I felt it was the right thing to do, to somehow undo the damage done to him and offer him the respect he was denied. Who would do such a thing? Why would anyone do that? And how long before that person does the same to a living cat? I don't want to consider these questions. It makes no difference, and I did my part.

We live in a very fucked up world that's light years away from making sense, let alone from perfection. That's why we have to hold onto those things and people who make us feel happy and whole, imperfect as they may be.

Take good care of yourselves and be careful.

Over and out. 

The aftermath

No such thing as perfection. But we try. And we both have stupid smiles on our faces. So I guess it can only get better. Or worse. Or not work out. But that's life. No guarantees, no safe bets. Just leaps of faith, one after the other. And that's OK.