Sunday, July 9th, 2017 01:58 am
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Am just now watching a CNN series on the 1980s.

The first part they showed was about MTV. I didn't know that MTV refused to play black artists in the beginning. Back then we were living in Germany, and the only American channel we got to watch was AFN, the Armed Forces Network. I didn't get to watch MTV until 1985 or later, when we were back in the U.S. But nonetheless, it seems like nearly all the music that was popular in the 80s is among my favorite music, even without me having seen the videos for those first years.

There was a segment about the space shuttles and the Challenger disaster on Jan 28, 1986.

I had a memory of being at home, listening to my radio in my bedroom, and hearing about the Challenger accident on the radio... as if I was hearing it live*, or right after it had happened. The apartment/bedroom of my memory matches the year, 1986. Both the year before and the year after, I lived in other places. So the memory must be at least partially true.

But I just looked it up, and the accident was on a Tuesday, at 11:39am in the same time zone as I was. So surely I would have been at school when it happened. I don't remember hearing about it at school though. If I was home that day, what could the reason have been? Even if the school day ended fairly early, it wouldn't have been that early. So surely I must have been at school, gotten home at the normal time, and then heard about it on the radio after the fact. Unless we had a half-day for some reason...

Surely if I had been home at the time of the launch, I would have been watching it on TV, not listening on the radio? Or were space shuttle launches not televised live back then? ...

When a national disaster unfolded live in 1986
If you were an American kid in 1986, you probably remember exactly where you were: That's because so many classrooms were watching the shuttle launch live via a special NASA satellite feed to showcase what would have been the first American teacher in space, Christa McAuliffe.

No, I don't remember watching it live in school. Gah, no way to verify my patchy memories.

*I do think it likely that I listened to the launch live, probably on PBS, because I was into astronomy and NASA and things like that. Maybe we didn't get CNN at the time, or maybe I didn't know it was being televised too. I remember listening to other launch attempts on the radio, including aborted ones. (But as this post shows, I no longer trust such old memories. Maybe I only heard replays, not live broadasts?)

This morning I was lying in bed trying to figure out how long ago Qiao bought his house - was it 2 or 3 years ago? And how long ago was his accident? 2011 or 2012? And when was my brother living in my house? etc., etc. All that only within the last 7 years or so, and I'm already getting it all mixed up in my mind. At least now I have ways of looking up what happened when in my life. But not for 1986. I did occasionally write in a diary back then, but not about the space shuttle.

Update (7/10): I think I figured out why I was not at school that day. According to historical weather sources, it was a very cold day. In my area, it was under 20 degrees until 9am, and didn't go above freezing until the afternoon. Such weather is not usual in the South, and school was probably cancelled to keep kids from having to walk to school or wait for the school buses in such cold.
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My mom sent me a cassette in 1986, back when I was living in the U.S. with my dad, and she was in Germany. She spoke on it, and let several of my German relatives speak on it too during a family gathering over there, and then let it record in the background while relatives were chatting with each other. She and my aunt sent me a few such tapes during those years, and I likewise recorded and sent a few to them. When we ran out of things to speak about, we recorded music on the remainder of the tape.

I must not have listened to this tape in a long time. Six minutes into recording the first side onto my computer, the tape got stuck in the player. I managed to pull the tape back out without breaking it. I twisted the tape back into the shell. The reels weren't turning smoothly or easily, which is why it got stuck. The part of the tape which had been stuck was crinkled up, and I worried that it might get stuck again.

This page: FRUSTRATED by old cassette tapes binding my decks
Try slapping the sides of the cassettes firmly against the palm of your hand (do it on both sides.)
This does help in many cases in freeing the layers of tape, and in my case I am talking tapes that go back to 1972.
If the rollers in the cassette are sticking, this could also help loosen them
Then after that, wind them through.

So I tried that. After slapping the cassette, the reels *did* seem to turn more easily. I then fast-forwarded and rewound the whole tape, and started the recording over again. This time it is playing fine.

There are voices on this tape from aunts and uncles who are no longer alive. I didn't even remember that they had spoken on the tape, and that I had any recording of them. What a precious treasure to find.

Update. Ok, while recording the 2nd side, towards the end, the tone started shifting between low and high. So I had to slap the cassette some more, but that fixed it.


Friday, October 2nd, 2015 11:18 pm
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I could have made brownies. I could have watched a movie. I could have washed the dishes.

Instead I wanted to get this task I was working on for work, working. Because it was one of those coding/testing/figuring out/tweaking/trying again/failing/getting a little further/thinking of a new way of trying again/etc tasks that's hard to walk away from.
Now it's 11:30pm and is it working? NO!!!! The zipped files aren't working; the gzipped files aren't working; the compiled stylesheets don't seem to be making any difference; waaaaahhh! phooey!

It keeps raining and raining and raining. It was a fine mist most of today.

At the Little Oktoberfest in Munich, when I was a kid in weather like this, they sold Dampfnudeln (steamed dumplings) with a plum filling and vanilla sauce. I remember them as being so big. But they can't have been that big; I must have been small.

And then I do a websearch and find out that the Little Oktoberfest was in July, not October, so the weather couldn't have been all that cold and damp. Though it was Germany, so yes it could.

My aunt made green Wackelsalat with vanilla sauce.

Now it's 12:30am, and at least one of the 3 things I wanted to verify were working, seems to be working, maybe. Yes! It does! Woo-ha!


Sunday, May 17th, 2015 11:45 am
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Went grocery shopping yesterday. Red chard (so pretty - the combination of reddish purplish stalks and green leafy parts), later cooked for dinner. Big sweet ripe raspberries - they drew my eye as they were larger and darker-colored than the ones in the adjoining cartons. But they really were raspberries. Their taste reminds me of ones picked wild in Germany.

In Germany, vanilla ice cream with hot raspberries is a common dessert. The combination truly tastes wonderful.

Right before entering the 2nd store at 6pm, nearby church-bells started ringing, and I tarried outside a while to listen. Nice sounding bells; real bells. They reminded me of Germany too.

In the 3rd store, I overheard another customer asking an employee for help in finding an item, "Jum". She had a foreign accent, and I wondered what this "Jum" might be. Jumbo? Gumbo? Jambalaya? Even when she explained to the employee that it was something one eats at breakfast with bread and butter, both he and I were still puzzled. (Does one eat gumbo for breakfast?) When she mentioned marmelaide, it finally clicked for me. Jam! The poor employee still wasn't getting it, so I went over to help him out.

Later, it occurred to me that the woman's accent was very familiar to me. Sort of Indian; sort of German. I can hear someone's voice in my head speaking with the same accent, but can't remember who it belongs too. Maybe someone on TV or in a movie.
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Fascinating discussion over here and here about being able (or not able) to mentally "see" things.

I don't have time to do justice to this post but wanted to jot down a few observations on my own memories.

If I don't have any visual memory of an event, I feel as if I do not "remember" it. For example, yesterday when returning from lunch, as I came out of the stairwell, I realized I didn't remember having walked across the 4th floor landing - I had no visual memory of it. Yet there I was coming out of the stairwell, so I must have done it. I didn't remember it, as I had been deeply engaged in thought (perhaps even thoughts about the above posts!) while walking.

In retrospect, I start to build a visual memory of the event, based on the many times I have walked across the 4th floor landing. So I can picture myself doing it, but in this particular instance, I had no precise memory of it. Now, if I try to remember back further than yesterday, I'm not likely to remember any precise memories of walking across that landing (unless there was something specific that occurred that made me remember it in a special way - such as someone stopping to talk to me), but I have a composite memory of all the times I have done it. And that memory is a bunch of images, both from my own 1st person viewpoint, and from third person viewpoints of seeing myself walk across the landing.

Now, obviously the 3rd person viewpoints are all "made up" by my mind... so maybe a part of my memory isn't actually based on images, but my mind makes up images to express the memories. Yet I do feel that some of my memories are actual images I saw.

Take yesterday when I was walking *out* to lunch. I tried to remember it. At first I didn't recall anything specific; my mind simply brought forth composite images of all the times I've walked out to lunch. Then I remembered something specific - as I was walking out the front doors, there were 2 security people at the front desk, rather than the more common single person. They were talking to each other. I believe one was standing and one was sitting - that's the image I recall. Then I remembered that just as I was walking out the doors, I paused and looked back at them, as I had heard something that sounded vaguely like my name. I wanted to be sure they weren't addressing me. This memory is of something I did, and of something I heard. For this memory, my mental memory was from a 3rd person viewpoint, seeing me turn my head back. I wasn't looking at the guards when I heard that.. so I can't have a visual image of it.. yet I do remember it..

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I've started reading Regenesis, the sequel to Cyteen. This morning, I read the plot synopsis of Cyteen on Wikipedia, as I wasn't sure how much of the background story being mentioned in Regenesis was a part of the prior book. All I remember about Cyteen, besides it being a very large book, was that it was about a cloned girl, and her interactions with a few other characters. It was probably about 20 years ago that I read Cyteen. ::wow, twenty years!:: I didn't enjoy Cyteen as much as I did some of CJ Cherryh's other books.

Yet the Cyteen plot mentioned on Wikipedia doesn't seem at all familiar to me. Did I really read that story? According to Wikipedia, one edition of Cyteen was released as 3 separate books. I remember the book I read being very large, so I think I did read the whole big thing, not only one of the smaller books.

This kind of thing happens a lot with me lately. So many books, movies and TV shows are reruns or sequels, for which I only vaguely remember the plot of the original series. I feel that to get the most of the current story, I'd need to go back and re-read or re-watch the original story to refresh my memory. Yet I don't have time for doing that, and it doesn't seem like it would be worthwhile. If I already read/watched the old story once, and it didn't leave me with enough of an impression to keep me from forgetting about it, what's the point of reading or watching it again? It's not likely to have more of an impact on me the second time around than it did the first time. Even if I enjoyed the story a lot the first time, re-watching or re-reading something is never as exciting and enjoyable as the first time.

the ancient past

Sunday, March 6th, 2011 10:06 pm
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Going through some old checkbooks of mine, I came across various entries which I had jotted down as "Touchmatic". Apparently that's what my bank's ATMs were called back in 1990, even though I don't remember them being called that.

(no subject)

Sunday, February 6th, 2011 09:44 pm
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Oh dang. I already missed the half-time show and most of the commercials. I never seem to be able to remember that the Superbowl is happening, on the actual day of it. The football doesn't interest me, but it would be nice to see a Superbowl half-time show for once, instead of only hearing a bunch of hoop-la about it afterwards.

But I made a yummy fruit filling for a streusel cake, using a can of sliced pears and a package of frozen raspberries. I thickened the pear juice on the stove with some cornstarch, then stirred in the fruit and sugar. Hopefully the cakes turns out as good!

My aunt always used to enjoy hot raspberries over vanilla ice cream. It's a good combination.
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Do you have memories that you consider "good"? Memories of times when you felt great, or happy, or when the world seemed exciting and colorful? Memories of times when the future seemed to offer further fun and excitement? How many memories like that do you have? Does thinking of those memories make you feel good now too?


Memories that at some point seemed good to me.

On Mallorca, walking and climbing out on the rocky lava-like outcropping towards the ocean. Hearing the ocean all around, roaring and rising and falling. With the sun shining and wind blowing. (Magic... stories... accompanying me in my mind) 2 distinct memories like that, different locations and trips, but otherwise similar. One time Forestfen was with me, the other time either Forestfen or my aunt was, I don't remember who... in both cases, they were distractions to me, pulling me away from the magical and back into the mundane. I preferred to be alone with my fantasies.

In the woods behind my apartment house in Munich, walking or running carelessly along the path, and being startled by my older brother and a group of his friends, who seemed to step out of nowhere, surrounding me in a narrowing circle. They must have been playing a game of stealth, hiding behind the trees and waiting to surprise me. It gave me a shivery/tingly feeling, as if I was being hunted/chased, as if I was a hero or on some quest, and an enemy wanted to capture me. It was creepy too; I pushed through the circle of boys and escaped. I'm not quite sure if this really happened, or if I dreamt it when I was a kid and kept the memory ever since.

The Empire Strikes Back. I *was* Luke. I had powers. Darth Vader was *evil* and wanted me to join him. There was magic and light and the depths of space.

The school trip to Egypt and Israel in the 7th grade. I kept mementos from that trip for so long, that I must have associated good/poignant memories with it. I had a mild crush on our tour-guide. He was Israeli, foreign, and had sparkling eyes. He was the leader, and I was one of the followers. He told us what to do. At one point during the trip, he noted my interest in the Hebrew alphabet and words, and he swiftly wrote a short phrase in Hebrew on a piece of paper for me. I treasured it; that was his only personal interaction with me but it felt special. Other memories from the trip were ambivalent; I remember being sad and possibly even crying while alone in a hotel room, while the other kids were socializing together. I remember one boy talking to me... I don't remember what he said, but it was something about me being sad or staying to myself and how I shouldn't do that... The mere fact that he talked to me seemed special and unusual, although I didn't know how to respond to what he said. Overall, it was a good trip. There was magic in the air; life was magic back then. Egyptian mythology and history, and ancient ruins were part of the magic.

Walking on a trail through deep woods near some mountain lake with ForestFen and Bro. I found a smooth gray stone that was vaguely shaped like an arrow-head, which became one of my treasures. Walking through forests, I was a ranger/"Indian"/(or whatever the word may be for that feeling of skillful knowledgeable self). I was in an alternate reality.


Memories don't seem good or special anymore, because the feeling of magic is gone. I don't remember being happy; I can only think back and wonder if I felt happy in the past or not. But I do remember feeling magic, or at least being able to imagine a magical existence, and that made things seem exciting. Life had possibilities; the stories could come true for me some day; *I* would learn magic; I would be an apprentice to a wizard, or would somehow break through to an alternate reality were magic was real, and where someone like Darth Vader would interact with me.

Or maybe I was never happy with real life; maybe I escaped into fantasy. Books and fantasies were the real, exciting world. Maybe the only particularly good experiences I felt were ones where I was superimposing a fantasy onto the real world.

But the magic is gone. It is fiction. It does not seem real or believable anymore. Even if there were a Darth Vader wanting me to join the dark side, so what? And if I did, then what? Or if I didn't, then what? WHAT? Where is the magic? Where is the purpose, where is the reason for doing anything?


I think the interactions with Wododu, and that one other dom, and Qiao early on, were good because I was fantasizing then too. But I was doing it with a *real* person, and they were *interacting* with me, and I started hoping that real life could actually possibly be amazing like a fantasy could, or even better! Except it wasn't real. It was just in my head. Thinking back on those experiences makes me awfully sad now, if I let it. Awfully sad from the disappointment, or not bothering to feel any emotion over it.

lack of nostalgia

Saturday, February 6th, 2010 07:56 pm
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I was reading an article on the benefits of nostalgia. Then I got to thinking that I remember feeling nostalgia when I was younger, in my teens or so. But I don't feel nostalgia anymore. I think it is part of my dysthymia. Most of my adult memories hold no joy for me. They are either emotionally neutral or emotionally negative, and hold no special meaning. That is probably because I've been depressed/dysthymic for most of my adult life.

In regards to my pre-adulthood memories, the ones some of which I think I used to feel nostalgic about.... it is difficult for me to remember what memories I used to feel nostalgic about. I can't think of any particularly happy memories, off the top of my head. I have to sit and think for a long time... most of the details that I recall are negative aspects of things. The experiences that used to seem meaningful and special now seem desolate and lonely and meaningless.

So anyway, I remembered a pleasant experience (sitting in a theater watching/listening to the opening music of Return of the Jedi for the first time, getting goosebumps...) so I focused on that memory. It doesn't make me feel good anymore; it feels neutral; Star Wars holds no special meaning for me anymore. I feel a slight yearning to recapture the magic of that moment. Then a Vangelis song (Chariots of Fire) that I had recorded on an audiotape back around that time started playing in my mind... It was an emotionally laden song, but good emotions - hopeful and majestic. But upon hearing a bit of it in my mind, I burst out crying, for no conscious reason. I don't know why it made me cry. Maybe feeling a glimmer of remembrance of a time when I didn't feel like I do now, makes me incredibly sad that I no longer feel that way.

I don't feel nostalgia. Even when I remember something good, it makes me sad.
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My hands got stained purple while I was rinsing out the hair dye in the shower. I had to scrub them to get most of the color off. Next time I should remember to keep gloves on until most of the color has been rinsed out. And to put a lot of vaseline on my entire neck before the whole process.

But it made me wonder if I could dye my fingernails a dark color using hair dye. If the hair-dye is non-toxic, anyway.

In the middle-school I attended in Wiesbaden, there was a fad one year amongst the kids to paint on their fingernails and hands using a certain brand of permanent markers... it was a thick ink, possibly metallic. I thought it was a neat thing to do, even though I never did it myself. I wonder if that was a popular fad in the states too? It didn't last for very long, as eventually the school officials and/or parents got worried about the toxic chemicals which might get absorbed into the students' bodies from the permanent marker ink.

Nikinje Jones. Tammy Ruda. Shauna and Shelly Acker(man?). Mrs. Barr. I still remember some names from back then. I wonder what I'll find if I look them up on the internet.

The science courses were split into 2 tracks in that school. The physical sciences were taught in a hands-on, small-teams, doing experiments, at-your-own-pace kind of way, while the life sciences were taught in a formal/regular teacher-led way. I have the impression that the "smart" kids were "supposed" to choose the physical science classes, because my teachers were surprised when, after the first year in the physical science class, I was insistent on wanting to transfer over to the life science class instead.

My problem with the physical science class wasn't the subject nor even that I was forced to work together with a team of 3 or 4 other students while doing the experiments. (Students who would waste time chatting about non-science topics and painting their nails with permanent markers instead of doing the class-work, and at least one of whom who pestered me until I finally let them take my workbook home with them so that they could copy all my answers and get credit for the material).

My problem was that after each section in the workbook, you were supposed to have the teacher check and grade your answers. But the teacher was always busy with other students, and there was no set way to get a turn with her. So I'd end up completing the work in 5 or 10 minutes, and then spending the rest of the class period agonizing over when to get up and approach the teacher; you weren't supposed to stand next to the teacher's desk waiting, as that could take ages, and you'd feel silly and awkward while doing so, and there was no process for indicating to the teacher that you were ready, other than possibly yelling out across the classroom which I was not wont to do, or sitting there with your hand raised for what seemed like eons. I hated it. I eventually stopped waiting for the teacher to check my work, and went on ahead and finished the whole workbook on my own. Then I got transferred to the life science class where it felt nice and homey, where the teacher had nice chats while all the students listened, and where my only problem was with being embarrassed by the growth of outward-projecting blobs on my chest.

(no subject)

Saturday, November 28th, 2009 11:22 am
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I'm not going to tell you what I want or need, for you did not care. Your lack of concern injured me. Your lack of understanding, and everyone's lack of understanding; everyone's dissimilarity from me, jaded me. You do not care, and no one cares. I will keep it hidden deep inside me where it is even hard for myself to find or remember it.

You mistook a need for a want. So I decided that you were right, it wasn't a need, for I need nothing. And there's no point in wanting something that doesn't exist.

It's funny how reading a 3-year old temporary chat log file can still make me cry. And that is why I still haven't deleted the file.

(no subject)

Saturday, March 28th, 2009 11:47 pm
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I bought a pretty little wooden nightstand. The smell of it evokes memories of being at my aunt K's place. It must just be the wood stain or glazing, but still...

Home movies of Thailand, little narrow boats on the river, elephants. The slide projector painting pictures onto the linen-screen... the click, click sound as each slide is advanced... click, click... her voice narrating her stories...

Me, looking through magazines and cutting out pretty pictures. Making a collage... airplanes, sunsets, palm trees, beaches...

Her mineral collection, glittery amethyst and rosenquartz, tiger's-eye... Bro and I playing with little translucent colored pieces of plastic - helicopters... soldiers, maybe. I didn't like games of war even then. (Risiko, the board game).
The lamp in the shape of a thick textured glass cube, in the kitchen corner by the table. Rhubarb and ... I don't remember the others or their names. Asterix comics. Biene Maja on TV. Das Sandmaennchen, every night before bed.

(no subject)

Sunday, February 15th, 2009 01:14 pm
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I am not who I was. I am, and I am not. I do not do the things I used to do. I do not feel the things I used to feel. My memories are only memories of memories, not memories of real things.

A memory of a memory of a memory...
Here in the South as a child, in the evening walking into, or maybe it was out of, a movie theater with my dad and his girlfriend. The vivid contrast between the cool quiet interior, and the *alive* warm humid outside... the warm thick enveloping sweet-scented air and the gentle sounds of crickets; the magical world outside.

But even when I go outside, it's not there anymore, the magical world. I'm not sure it ever was.

Were things really more vivid back then? Is there some cloak over my brain? Or were things really always like *this*, and is it those rare memories which deceive?

something else, something...

what was it?... thoughts flicker in and out... dreams?... what was it?... brownies cupcakes shower tags flowers what what what... oh yes

It was in the 8th grade, when I first remember memories of feeling depressed. Of sitting on the steps outside the apartment, and crying. Playing raquetball by myself, hurling some of my anger against the bouncing rubber ball. But I also remember one time in the 7th grade, when I cried, alone in the hotel room in Cairo, during our school trip. But that memory doesn't have as much an aura of depression about it. It might have been hormones; puberty. It would have been around that age... menstruation started in the 5th or 6th grade and stopped in the 7th or 8th (amenorrhea), and started again in the 9th or 10th. I don't remember any great feelings of depression before the 8th grade, anyway. But was life still vivid, back then? Could it be that crying and feelings of depression brought some kind of chemical cloak down over my brain, which never retreated?

(no subject)

Saturday, August 30th, 2008 10:24 pm
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My guyfriend is an old fogey. He thinks blue is not a good color for hair. Sigh. And I was feeling enthusiastic about it this morning. But that made me cry. (Why am I in a relationship with someone who doesn't think colorful hair is cool? He must have been pretending to like my hair the last time I colored it, 2 years ago... or maybe I just remember it that way, because I liked my hair then, and I remember my impressions, not his. How much else which is important to me, does he not like?) After a while of crying, I realized that I hadn't been crying much in recent times. Although I felt oddly bad yesterday evening too.

Memory of rope. Like everything else, ambivalence.

I've got tiger-stripes today. Tomorrow they will be blue. Old fogeys notwithstanding. Growl.


I am an androgyne. That is my word for myself. My thought of myself. Other people probably see me as female, woman, girl, weird person, or whatever. That is their word for me. Their thought of me. It doesn't matter. I am still the same person. I am still me. Their words aren't any less right for their minds, than my word is right for my mind.

Some cultures use the same word for green as for blue. It is one color to them, different shades. Yet that does not mean that they cannot see a difference between something which is green and which is blue. Although the difference may not seem as prominent to them, as to people from other cultures who have different words for each color.



The person who did this video caught my attention yesterday, due to the very cool outfits and hair she has in some of her other vids. This vid, which I watched today, impressed me too, in spite of it not showcasing her. She made the vid while rollerblading through an abandoned neighborhood... it seems creepy, how empty the neighborhood seems and how neglected and rundown the empty houses are, and how many of the doors aren't even locked. It bothered me, the idea of her trespassing into these empty houses.

The first-person perspective of rollerblading down the streets though... oh my, that looks like fun!

After watching the video, I did a search, and found out that this neighborhood had been abandoned over the course of nearly 2 decades, while the neighboring airport took over the land, for a new runway. Yet after all this time, there are still empty houses standing. And these empty houses have become victims of graffiti and vandalism and arson, in addition to neglect. It seemed such a sad thing... to imagine the people who used to live there, having moved away, and then being witness to their old neighborhood and homes transforming into this sorry state.

oh wow!

Sunday, June 22nd, 2008 08:03 pm
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Boy George is scheduled to perform in Myrtle Beach on July 29, 2008.

It was July 25, 1998 that I went to my first Culture Club concert in Charlotte. Almost exactly a decade ago. It was a very special experience... Starting with the "Behind the Music" episode on Boy George and Culture Club early in 1998, I became enraptured by them, and the concert didn't disappoint me any. There was something about the love-hate relationship between Jon Moss and Boy George that was portrayed on Behind the Music, which fascinated me... and George was inherently fascinating all by himself, too.

I'm not enraptured anymore. I hope BG plays some new songs, and not too many of the old ones.. I'm sort of tired of the old ones... all of the ones I'm familiar with are rather old by now, even the ones that were new a decade ago. But still, there is something magical about George, and a concert should be nice. :)

more vids

Sunday, May 4th, 2008 01:16 am
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I was able to get my flogger vid to upload, after converting its format:

Also recorded a couple short vids this evening of just of me talking, not that I have much of anything to say, but I wanted to upload something other than me dancing.

I have started reading a book, "What Becomes You", written by a friend of someone on my LJ friends list. So far, I have been relating with much of the author's description of their childhood. When I was a kid, I didn't really expect to grow up to be a woman... I don't remember what I expected, but...

Well actually I do remember one imagination I had when I was a kid, it was of me trying to order food at a fast food restaurant for a bunch of kids (mine, I suppose) including at least one set of identical twins, and trying to make sure that each kid was given a choice as to what they wanted to get (and how complicated that was)... although part of this imagination, perhaps the more significant part, was of me being one of those blond-haired twins.

So, if I partially imagined myself as the mother (?) of those kids, does that mean I imagined myself as a woman? I don't remember. Maybe I imagined I had adopted them. Or maybe I wasn't ever the adult in this imagination, maybe I was always one of the kids... memory is so subjective and uncertain, sigh.

Then, there was another imagination, of me as an adult in a house. It was next to a cornfield. I was a farmer, and grew corn. And there was another imagination, of me being a postman... postal carrier.. delivering mail. These imaginations were part of trying to figure out what job I might possibly want to do when I grew up, since adults had to have jobs.

(no subject)

Sunday, February 17th, 2008 12:03 am
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1 year ago, I was making two floggers. Gosh, how can that have just been one year ago?

(no subject)

Saturday, August 4th, 2007 11:49 pm
darkoshi: (Default)
I am unhappy.
I don't know what I want.
I can't think of anything I would want.

I don't know what would make me feel good.
I can think of things that would make me feel bad, but not good.

I don't think BDSM can make me feel good anymore.
Does that imply it made me feel good in the past?

Short little spikes of feeling good.

But I don't think it can do that anymore.

My mind can't create the good feeling.

I went for a walk in Georgia once.
And scratched my sign by a trickle of water.

I went for a walk in Massachusetts,
and cried in the rain.
Or was it snow?

I went for a walk in the desert once,
but it is gone.

I don't feel about this
like I feel I should feel.

I don't like penises and scrotums and vulvas.
I still don't like them.

Maybe tonight I'll dream
a wonderful feeling.

ramble tamble

Saturday, March 19th, 2005 02:40 am
darkoshi: (Default)
I've got that heart-thumping can't sleep thing going on again. And it's cold. But at least I haven't gotten any menstrual cramps yet, in spite of having started bleeding.

Work: orbeon oxf ops xpath xpointer xupdate xquery xpl xforms eclipse servlets portlets jetspeed tomcat.... oy. and that's just the ones I can think of right now.
It seemed a bit disturbing to think that I've been going out to eat lunch by that pond for over ten years now. For more than ten years, if you happened to look there on almost any given non-rainy workday around noontime, there I would be...
The trees are ten years older now, even though they don't seem to look much different. I'm ten years older now, and I probably don't seem to look much different either, sitting there, eating, reading, sitting...

I'm considering using lotion on my face, which I've never done. My face seems to have suddenly aged this last year, growing wrinkles, startling me.

I heard Gary Jules' cover of Mad World this morning while driving to work. It's the first new song I've heard in a while which has touched my emotions... although it's an old song, really.

Yesterday was one of the times I didn't feel like crying on my way home from the Munch. And today, it sort of seems I should be sad about something... but I'm excited by it, instead. I've been sad about it enough already, what is there left to be sad about?

I feel alone, even though I'm perhaps less alone than I've been in the past. I feel empty because I remember feeling not-empty, but I'm forgetting the feeling, and I'm afraid of losing that wonderful memory... But I don't want to remember, because it was just a nice illusion, and painful, and it doesn't seem worth remembering. And it makes me not want to take comfort in any other illusions either, so my old fantasy alter-egos don't give me any comfort, and I feel alone.