Assaulted!

And pissed about it!

Just leaving my friend's house tonight and there is this group of kids in the road in front of me. Now by kids I mean maybe 15 to about mid 20's. They're always kicking around late night on weekends and I usually just ride by them without getting much of anything. This being Bermuda people are expected to give the awkward greeting, so I always just smile or something like that. Well tonight I guess they got into a pack mentality or something. They were kicking around a soccor ball and instead of moving out of the road while I'm passing, the stay crowded and the guy with the ball moves it back in forth with his feet to make it seem like he was gonna kick it at the bike. I'm thinking "that's really dumb" because if he did kick it out it wouldn't harm me and the ball would go careening off into the darkness - they wouldn't have anything to play with anymore. Also, while I was riding by, another guy called out "let's knock off her helmet!" Apparently they've been speaking amongst themselves thinking of ways to punish me and that was all they could think of, because well they're stupid dumb kids. And again I think "um I've just been assaulted" the soccer ball and that phrase was enough to have me pretty pissed. Had they kicked the soccer ball at me or knocked off my helmet, then it would have been assault and battery and I would have turned right around and gone back to my friend's house to call the police. This ai n't at some high school, but out in the streets, so, in the streets, the police take over if people don't act civil toward one another. I just rode by quietly and unaffected knowing they wouldn't do anything. Still though, who knows another night they might actually do something. Probably not knowing how these youth tend to be all "assault" and no guts to do the battery part they threaten to inflict. Poor fuckers. They get my "Asshole of the Month Award".

And then I think to myself, what would have happened had I not looked like someone they could potentially victimize? I'm fucking tired of being made the target of people's hate, both within my age group, my sex, my race, outside of my race, in my country, outside of my country, in my family, outside of my damned family, in relationships, etc ... Sigh, but that's the cost of not being a fucking meat bag to be devoured by the brain slug that wicked force in this world.

Women in Space Westerns

In my internet travels I've discovered a nice little way to flex my short story fiction writing skills. A Feminist fiction group is asking people for submissions of various different prose, poetry and other mediums of fiction for their November 2008 event. I would like to write something. Feminist fiction in their standards is everything but the typical white male centered fiction. I have some ideas and am thinking of doing a character based on my younger brother. I have until October 28th to get it all thought out and written down and submitted. :P I can do! :D


Check out the website for more details:

http://www.spacewesterns.com/submissions/#22ndCarnival

Here is an excerpt:

What we are looking for: Genre, Topics, and Themes
Space Westerns

First and foremost, we’re looking for Space Westerns: works with themes from the Western genre set in Outer-space, or having some element of extra-terrestrial travel. This is the majority of the fiction that we publish. Our preference is to publish works that contain, in part, some form of off-earth travel.

For our purposes we consider the following to be examples of works with strong Space Western themes (inter-planetary fiction containing Western genre themes): Flash Gordon (comic, movie serial, and 1978 animated serial), Buck Rogers, Star Wars, Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica (both series), Firefly, Serenity, Mike Resnick’s Santiago, Ande Norton’s Beastmaster series, Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles, The Adventures of the Galaxy Rangers, Bravestarr, Silverhawks, Cowboy Bebop, Outlaw Star, Coyote Ragtime Show, and Trigun.
Science Fiction Westerns

Science Fiction themes with Western elements (setting, characters, etc.).
Steam Punk

We’d like to see Steam Punk (after all, the era is right) with some Western elements (themes, setting, characters, etc.). Space travel is a plus, but not strictly necessary.
Weird West

We’re using the term Weird Western here to denote Western/Fantasy/Horror genre blending. We are least likely to publish a Weird Western unless it also includes Space Western elements.
Feminist & Minority Themes

We’ve all seen the white man in a white hat riding his white horse into the sunset. The Western genre is replete with white male driven stories. The Space Western sub-genre isn’t much different. Send us stories with strong women, weak women, but most of all stories with real women. Send us stories from a non-WASP point-of-view: fiction about Chinese, Native American, Mexican/Spanish, African/African-American and/or even the “New Immigrants” — (German, Irish/Gaelic, Italian, Russian) peoples influences on the Western themes.

So I got this film fest ...

And it's really taking off. The first showing is next week and I am feeling so good. I hope the turn out is decent. 10 to 15 people would be a nice starter, even if they are just friends. I've advertised around campus, have hit Rock Island and Phase One. My next targets are my older brother's work, my mom's work, and possibly my older sister's work. I should also hit leisure time and some of the movie theaters. The week of the event I am going to make an announcement in each of my classes. I would love their support.

But now I have school work, and a break in which to look forward next week. I have some goals I would like to see through and some dreams to realize. :D

I'm learning to balance that inner punky creature with the mopey shy snufflupacuss weirdo and the geeky nerdcore school girl that my personality has triple split up into.

Jobs and Frogs

I've been soooo tired this week. It has been hard to concentrate on school work; or course a disastrous calculus test did not help my situation any. So this week I've been working on my film festival and pretty much coasting. I have a test on Tuesday and special plans this weekend, so well, this tiredness has been working against me by backlogging my work. Ah well. It'll be done and at least my film fest flyers are finish. Pop on over to my film fest blog for a look in the next couple days.

This morn I saw a two day temp position in the paper, and well I jumped on it and applied. It's just inventory work, so it's peanuts really. It's exciting though because the position begins next week and I will be getting cash! Ah making money is such a wonderful feeling. Hopefully they pay well and hopefully this will allow me to feel more comfortable with seeking out more employment opportunities. Still though, this is the perfect little gig. I am waiting to hear on an on-call marketing job. I'll be the person who stands on the street trying to get you to try products or passing out flyers to you. The only draw back of that job is I might have to go and get my look refined as it entails someone who is approachable - makeup, good clothes, groomed hair, etc ... So in my world that means mineral facial powder, newer/my nicer punk-goth-funky-casual clothes, a new pair of shoes (red chuck taylors!!), and doing something to hydrate my ultra dry afro (possibly dye it black with indigo and find someplace on this isle that sell shea butter. That or get twists again with like black and funky green or blue dyed afro-type hair or something).

Yeeeeee-ep. And I am planning for Halloween. I want to make my own costume. I've been going to DIY websites looking for tips on making ones own cloths and so on and so forth. I'm getting a lot of inspiration. Now I just need to go thrift store and yard sale hopping. I want an old wedding dress with a corset-type top and the gauze lacy-type skirt material to dye black and other colors. Oh this is going to be fun!

But school first!!!!!

Megalith

Megalith

The smell of brine was in the air, wafting in off the ocean far below the cliff as the wind blew strongly. The megalith must have stood on those cliffs for how long (?); long enough for the land to recede back as the ocean ate away at the cliffs. In another year or two these stones would be at the bottom of the sea. His hand wrapped around my palm, warm and slightly moist from the damp air and perhaps from well hidden fear. His face was a mask of determination – full mouth set firm, eyes staring ahead softly reflecting the green moonlight. If we had given in to fear tonight and waited until next year, the megalith would be gone and then we would bear the subsequent despair. But if things went wrong tonight! I squeezed his hand and took a step forward towards the megalith. With heavy steps he followed after.

The megalith formed a rough circle of stones, covered in moss and eaten away by the salt in the air. They were blackened with time and one can only wonder what their finish must have once looked like. Engraved in the largest of the stones, barely visible were words in a forgotten tongue and a glyph of a man and a woman standing in the middle of the circle of stones with moonlight streaming upon them. I wondered how many people through the ages came here seeking what they sought now, performing the ritual and then leaving with heavy hearts and great expectations.

Slowly we emerged into the centre of the stones facing the large stone with the glyph. I let go of his hand and turned to face him. He reached out and stroked my face, slowly and lovingly, and then grabbed my arm and forced my wrist up. I grunted and forced my face away from his, nodding grimly. I felt a sharp pain and then it was over. Warm salty blood streamed from the wound on my wrist and fell on the weed littered earth. Together we walked to the large stone, one arm directing me, the other flicking the blood off the dagger he used. Before the stone he stuck the dagger into the ground, following the ritual to the letter. He then guided my wounded wrist to the stone and pressed it against it. It was cold at first but quickly grew fiercely warm to the touch, as if my blood gave it a pulsing life of its own. I began to grow faint, whether from loss of blood or from the energy of the stone, I could not tell.
I finally turned my head to face him. My eyes told him it was ready. The stone grew warm as if alive, as the words we had read and reread so many times over the past few months had told us. Now he must do it and quickly. He brought my wrist to his mouth and clamped his mouth down on the wound. He grimaced and I lost my balance, falling back against the ever warm stone. He didn’t let go, he continued to follow the ritual, pinning me further against the stone, despite my discomfort. I gasped for it was painful and horrifying - his face was slowly turning from that of disgust to that of pleasure. He was enjoying it, greedily feeding on my blood, making loud slurping sounds and sighs of enjoyment. I closed my eyes and fought away my own hysteria. The words we read had told us this would happen. This was a good sign; but what if he didn’t stop. He would drain me!

Soon he let go of my wrist, and wiped the blood from his mouth – my blood which had been blessed by the stone. I sighed relieved and managed to seek his hand and squeeze it. He gazed at me, his eyes seeming to glow, and kissed my wounded wrist so tenderly and lovingly. I trembled and quickly pulled it away and wrapped my palm around it. With my blood now nourishing his body, we both sat in the middle of the stones and waited. I was so faint and tired but refused to give in and allow myself to pass out. I wanted to complete this ritual as it was written, and I didn’t trust him. My stone blessed blood had brought about a quick change in him. He seemed more feral and if I were to lose consciousness he would drain the rest of the life out of me.

As we sat there, I collected my thoughts and settled my emotions. I would have never thought we would resort to going to the megalith and all the risks involved including the risk of being discovered accused for indulging in such pageantry. This was the only way though, we had exhausted all our other choices. He had always been fascinated with the stones. Sometimes I wondered if the reason why we failed so much was because he had wanted it this way all along. I quickly let those thoughts go as I looked at him. He did not take his eyes off of me the whole time. His lips were so red and his skin looked darker. It was his sudden lack of blinking that told me soon the next phase of the ritual would begin. Eerily he stared at me with eyes no longer human, no longer blinking; and I sat paralyzed with an ebbing fear in which no amount of logic, no matter how hard I tried to think about the benefits, could dissipate. I waited for the next phase to begin with terror in my heart.

The moonbeam hit us and took me by surprise by its intense brightness. It was like the glyph on the large stone in front of us, now stained with my blood. Tonight was the night when the moon reflected its light most intensely on this spot. I stared at him, with his unblinking eyes; the moonbeam had transfixed him. I stood up and hesitantly took a step back away from him. That was enough to break his enchantment. In a flash he was on me, tearing the cloth from my body. He groaned and grunted like a beast. I screamed. Never had I thought it would be like this. Soon I was bare and prone. He began, stripping himself of his cloths in a rushed hurry, tattering them in the process. I trembled like a rabbit caught in a snare. This was what I wanted, I reminded myself. When dealing with ancient magic one must deal with ancient feral customs. It was that thought which made me falter with the ritual, willing to forget about it all. I was not an ancient human. I was modern and this sort of thing we were doing wasn’t right. And I was on my feet in an instant, slipping out of the reach of his grasping hands and running for the edge of the circle of stones which made up the megalithic structure. I screamed in full terror realizing that this whole thing was a mistake and a most unforgivable sin. He bounded after me. He was still a man, but there was a wild energy in him, making him like a solid black shadow. He grabbed my throat and forced me down. I struggled weakly, my strength compromised from the blood letting. I kicked him and kneed him and screamed. He was unflinching in his hold on me. Then he threw me to the ground and was upon me.

My insides burned in fire – a bright bursting and tearing of pleasure. I gasped and moaned so loudly and was greeted by his laboured groans. His hands clawed at my breasts, squeezing them in earnest. His mouth would lower to them every now and then, savouring my nipples and before finding my neck and biting it so roughly, drawing blood and lapping up the drops. It was intense and long. For hours it seemed he went at me, devouring me slowly as the time went by. His body was insatiable for mines. The power of the stones coursed through me causing my body to respond to his savage amorous attentions in such exquisite pleasure. It shamed me to enjoy this violation, but the ritual was being completed even if I no longer wanted to complete it. I wondered grimly how many of the other women who came before me were of the same resignation in this phase of the ritual as I. I endured his savagery until the moon began to fall. It was then that he let himself release in me, long and intense. He howled at the dying moon and I quaked and shuddered in his arms with my own long awaited relief. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I lost consciousness in the intense waves of pleasure which were shamefully flowing over me. A fleeting thought of happiness filled my mind.

I thought of that night often in the months that followed. He was never the same after that and neither was I, but the ritual was done and behind us. That fall when our son came, the stones were no more, cast into the bottom of the sea with only the smell of brine to remind us of the sins which gave life to our blessings.

Myspace Stories

I just updated these tales of fiction onto my myspace page:

Music:

Moans and groans filled the air of my new apartment at night. Faint sounds barely heard above the sound of silence in my adobe. Spooks and kooks, hobgoblins and other dead unnatural things that should sleep in peace and leave me alone. And then I was thrilled to be the inhabitant of a haunted manor, as I thought of my quaint place which I had just moved into over a week ago. Every night I would listen and wonder what tortures my poor souls, mines because I owned the place, endured during their short sad existence when they lived in the world. It was a mark of pride and horror. Some nights the groans were so loud and frightening I would have to leave. I could hear them echoing down the halls, chasing me until I would run out into the safety of the night with its prowlers and midnight stranglers to sleep in my car until the dawn. And after a particularly frightening episode I decided to find out a way to put these souls to rest. So I scoured around. In pride I boasted to friends and coworkers about my search to help put these souls to rest. When I started questioning my neighbors, many of whom I was meeting for the first time, they all stared at me with an odd, sometimes mocking look. Undeterred I would not let their judgment of my experience in the paranormal deter me ... that is until I met my insatiable for each other next door neighbors. Shortly afterwards I moved out.

Films:

Wretched things filmed in black and white. The director was mad. She, in her heavy layers of black and gauze and powder, was utterly mad. Like an ancient thing, we couldn't believe she was still alive, living and breathing and fouling up our air. A wave of a wrinkled arthritic finger and her bandaged-masked assistant would go bounding away into the darkness behind the set bringing up things she felt was needed for our role. He was badly burned, she would growl out of loose jowls, slurring her words with an edge of sophistication and a drag of a cigarette brown with age of a brand that had not been for sale for over fifty years, to answer the questions which haunted our minds. Again the haggard mummy would slur, dusting puffing out of her mouth, a jilted lover threw acid on him. And after that we never asked anymore. The studio had sent her, sent us to her in her ruined studio in a rundown part of the city. And she filmed us with her small ancient camera and showed us the rotten fruits of our labor - wretched things filmed in black and white. We were sure we were damned for what we did. Weeks after it was over in the back of a local newspaper in a small passing blurb read - old woman found dead in an alley.


TV:

The TV Sat in my destroyed living room. We threw a rock through it to create a hole through so to watch the world burning in the guise of our favorite past time of being couch potatoes. We filed and polished the rock roughed sides down until a perfect square shaped hole was formed, and set it down in the living room, exposed to the exterior via crumbling walls blasted loose after the car crashed through it (thrown through our wall by the freak storm cause in turned by the accursed bomb which in turn was dropped during the devastating war which was caused by the terror attack which killed million, which was retaliation ...) Holes ... holes ... holes. And through the hole in the tv we looked through the hole in the wall into the chaos of the hell hole this world has become. We sat and watched because this was the only channel and nothing else was on that was better. And our minds were once again lulled as the horror of our existence seemed so real as to not be real, when on tv, and we were able to forget until hunger pains drew back out into the world and we all slowly died one by one on the coach in front of the non-functioning highly functional tv.


Books:

Cursed! How can this be. Every page turned blankness would peer up at me. Now now, my doctor would say, these pages are not blank. See here, can you see the words? I would nod my head for the words would be there and I could read them. Alone in my hands the words would fade and only blank pages would remain. My job let me go. How could I work if documents turned into crisp white sheets in my hand? I traveled the 3000 mile journey on foot and alone to the place where the monks dwell and begged them to tell me why I was cursed. among the throngs of filthy peasants and religious pilgrims I was nothing special and so like a mote in the eye of a god I was ignored. In my sorrow I sparked a campaign to burn all books and abolish the written word. Ignorants of the world bowed at my feet during the day and at night I cursed the sky as books burned, their pages turning black. A blind woman approached me one day, slapped me across the face and spat - pages are blank to me too you fool, it's called braille. I learned how to read braille and that was that.

Heroes:

My left hand is a superhero but not in the Muslim world were left hands are considered dirty. It would try to rescue hijabbed women in distress, dark skinned men who needed aid, only to be met with a look of disgust and the word "we know what your owner does with you!" In the West my left hand became a teacher, a profession filled with many left handers. It was a superhero who saved the lives of children and adolescents from the evils of ignorance and a minimum wage job through the powers of education. My left hand fought hard, winning and losing many battles. When it retired it was given a plaque by all its successful former students. My left hand came back to me one day to relate its strange tales and adventures. I listened with a bowed head and quiet interest. When it finished I complimented it on its prowess and skill and great heroic feats, and then with my right hand pop my two long overdo antipsychotic pills into my mouth.

Myspace Stories

I just updated these tales of fiction onto my myspace page:

Music	Moans and groans filled the air of my new apartment at night. Faint sounds barely heard above the sound of silence in my adobe. Spooks and kooks, hobgoblins and other dead unnatural things that should sleep in peace and leave me alone. And then I was thrilled to be the inhabitant of a haunted manor, as I thought of my quaint place which I had just moved into over a week ago. Every night I would listen and wonder what tortures my poor souls, mines because I owned the place, endured during their short sad existence when they lived in the world. It was a mark of pride and horror. Some nights the groans were so loud and frightening I would have to leave. I could hear them echoing down the halls, chasing me until I would run out into the safety of the night with its prowlers and midnight stranglers to sleep in my car until the dawn. And after a particularly frightening episode I decided to find out a way to put these souls to rest. So I scoured around. In pride I boasted to friends and coworkers about my search to help put these souls to rest. When I started questioning my neighbors, many of whom I was meeting for the first time, they all stared at me with an odd, sometimes mocking look. Undeterred I would not let their judgment of my experience in the paranormal deter me ... that is until I met my insatiable for each other next door neighbors. Shortly afterwards I moved out.
Films	Wretched things filmed in black and white. The director was mad. She, in her heavy layers of black and gauze and powder, was utterly mad. Like an ancient thing, we couldn't believe she was still alive, living and breathing and fouling up our air. A wave of a wrinkled arthritic finger and her bandaged-masked assistant would go bounding away into the darkness behind the set bringing up things she felt was needed for our role. He was badly burned, she would growl out of loose jowls, slurring her words with an edge of sophistication and a drag of a cigarette brown with age of a brand that had not been for sale for over fifty years, to answer the questions which haunted our minds. Again the haggard mummy would slur, dusting puffing out of her mouth, a jilted lover threw acid on him. And after that we never asked anymore. The studio had sent her, sent us to her in her ruined studio in a rundown part of the city. And she filmed us with her small ancient camera and showed us the rotten fruits of our labor - wretched things filmed in black and white. We were sure we were damned for what we did. Weeks after it was over in the back of a local newspaper in a small passing blurb read - old woman found dead in an alley.
Television	The TV Sat in my destroyed living room. We threw a rock through it to create a hole through so to watch the world burning in the guise of our favorite past time of being couch potatoes. We filed and polished the rock roughed sides down until a perfect square shaped hole was formed, and set it down in the living room, exposed to the exterior via crumbling walls blasted loose after the car crashed through it (thrown through our wall by the freak storm cause in turned by the accursed bomb which in turn was dropped during the devastating war which was caused by the terror attack which killed million, which was retaliation ...) Holes ... holes ... holes. And through the hole in the tv we looked through the hole in the wall into the chaos of the hell hole this world has become. We sat and watched because this was the only channel and nothing else was on that was better. And our minds were once again lulled as the horror of our existence seemed so real as to not be real, when on tv, and we were able to forget until hunger pains drew back out into the world and we all slowly died one by one on the coach in front of the non-functioning highly functional tv.
Books	Cursed! How can this be. Every page turned blankness would peer up at me. Now now, my doctor would say, these pages are not blank. See here, can you see the words? I would nod my head for the words would be there and I could read them. Alone in my hands the words would fade and only blank pages would remain. My job let me go. How could I work if documents turned into crisp white sheets in my hand? I traveled the 3000 mile journey on foot and alone to the place where the monks dwell and begged them to tell me why I was cursed. among the throngs of filthy peasants and religious pilgrims I was nothing special and so like a mote in the eye of a god I was ignored. In my sorrow I sparked a campaign to burn all books and abolish the written word. Ignorants of the world bowed at my feet during the day and at night I cursed the sky as books burned, their pages turning black. A blind woman approached me one day, slapped me across the face and spat - pages are blank to me too you fool, it's called braille. I learned how to read braille and that was that.
Heroes	My left hand is a superhero but not in the Muslim world were left hands are considered dirty. It would try to rescue hijabbed women in distress, dark skinned men who needed aid, only to be met with a look of disgust and the word "we know what your owner does with you!" In the West my left hand became a teacher, a profession filled with many left handers. It was a superhero who saved the lives of children and adolescents from the evils of ignorance and a minimum wage job through the powers of education. My left hand fought hard, winning and losing many battles. When it retired it was given a plaque by all its successful former students. My left hand came back to me one day to relate its strange tales and adventures. I listened with a bowed head and quiet interest. When it finished I complimented it on its prowess and skill and great heroic feats, and then with my right hand pop my two long overdo antipsychotic pills into my mouth.

Bleargh

Before I delve into these here Calculus books, just thought I'd give this blog some love.

I've been reading a lot of Phillip Dick in between sessions of studying for my R&R. I really enjoy his writing. It's is just so stimulating and soothing for my mind since it takes a little of what I'm learning and just throws it all out there. I like that - learning while still in pleasure. But he does make me want to start writing again much in the same way Neil Gaimen makes me want to srat writing everything I read some of his stuff.

I've been very fatigued and it is making me cranky. I'm getting my work done though so that's all that matters. I've been hitting a snag with my parents. They don't seem to understand the load of work I have and the balance between studying, leisure and my health and safety I've been trying to maintain. At times I wish I were away at university so that I can factor them out of my school life equation and just focus on what I need to do. When my brother was studying for his CFA exams, they gave him all the space he desired, but with me, no. Directives. It is okay during the week because I leave early and return late - 10 hour days. It's the weekends and asking for money that sucks. I realize I have no time for a job with the class load I have. Perhaps if I can get one for five hours a week. I'm going to put flyers around campus advertising tutoring. Maybe draw in twenty an hour. Fifty bucks a week would be decent!! (It would be enough for me to feed myself). It is the act of askin gmy parents money for food and gas that's a burden. "Oh you need to budget the money we give you better". Sigh, so now I am starving myself just to stretch out my money. >.< Parents ... Just give me 100 a week and let that be that; instead of giving me a run around after I ask for money once a week.

Okay, need to start this calculus.

Oh Look at the Time

Time has just flown by. One second I'm in Europe "experiencing", the next I'm at Gatwick airport in England waiting to head back to Bermuda, and then finally school, like a sudden gust (a week after returning from Europe), has started.

So I will summarize my trip up in a future blog. Right now I just wanted to touch base. My load in school is comparable to a first year med student. I can't complain about that because when I get through this year I will have a lot to boast about. But these are all things I can elaborate upon later. There are books calling me and there are objectives with which to fulfill!!

Venice and Milan, This Trip is At its End

So my trip is almost over and these past two days have been pretty mellow.

Venice, or Veneza, was pretty great. If it weren't for the heat and the tourists I would say it was almost a little magical. The trained pulled into Venice through beautiful and fertile (huge plump peaches growing on the side of the tracks) Italian countryside and across a sudden and long expanse of water dotted with cruise ships and other ocean going vessels. .First and foremost the city is built on a salt swamp so its water everywhere, no cars, only boats and your feet - water taxis, water metro lines with boats, and bridges. If you have a thing for masks, this is the place. I wanted to get one sooo bad, but alas it would have been too much to bring it back in my suitcase, not to mention my funds running short and my mother cutting of the cash flow saying "what are you going to use a mask for?" in a scrunched up face. Ah well. I did get a mask keychain. :D Venice is one city I am determined to go back to, just to explore it properly for a day or two. I did go on a gondola ride and that was a lot of fun. It was very peaceful and relaxing floating through the water. My mom tried to get her Gondola "driver" to sing, to which he replied he only sing when drunk. My mom then pulls out a bottle of wine and tells him, "will this do?" Yea, good times. I even got to sample a sweet - this ice treat almost like a icee flavoured with almond syrup. It was decadently delish, but its sugar content had me a little sore and puffy later on. I had to spoil myself a t least once.

In a few hours we left and trained our way to Milan. The sky opened up and poured rain on the train - the first we've seen in almost two weeks - back in Paris was the last time it rained. Milan proved to be a very wet city, well in comparison to what we were sued to. So in we go to Milan, another fashion central, and to my utter dismay the whole city was pretty much shut down. Most shops were closed as thier owners were away on month long vacations. Yea, Europeans have a month off to vacation. Pretty sweet. Our first day we did the hop on hop off tour bus. Not much I found interesting in Milan after all the beautiful sights from other cities (especially Veneza and Firenza). I liked the graffiti here - very bold lines, robotic, quirky. Each city has its own flavour of graffiti and here it was very fresh and artistic - as if the artists were trying to do something different. Unfortunately I was low of shots on my cam and did not get as much as I would like. Barcelona and Madrid are still my favs for graffiti though.

Today my mom took us to a church and we got to see Leonardo DaVincci's Last Super. Did you know that it's huge and painted on the side of a wall that was suppose to be a masoleum to some Rennaisance guy who died in prison and thus the place didn't become a masoleum. Bleh. And what you see, what you see with a lot of the art, is merely modern interpretation of the original works as they need restoration. The colors, the shapes, even objects can be removed or added and what you get is something slightly skewed from what the original artist had intended. Masterpiece? Or just our attempt to hold onto something and yet brand it as original? These pieces of art are long gone and all that's left are copies called originals. Tsk.

But today was a holiday and hardly any stores were opened. I had planned to do a lot of lastminute shopping today, but alas ... So I bought myself some treats - sesame, pistachio, and walnuts chopped and fused together by honey into tasty tasy bars. I must make some when I get back home. There was one store open so I got myself a nice new umbrella. WHat holiday was today? I 'unno, but the Pope was in town in this great Gothic Cathedral (kinda of scary looking with all its spikes and stark grey color) called the Duomo (lots of places called that in Italy). That would explain the military presence I saw all throughout Milan. I thought it was a little overboard. My sister was like "it's because the Italian Mafia is based here." No, it's just the Pope needs protection from the radicals amoung his flock. :P

So early tomorrow morning I leave back to London and then fly out to Bermuda on Sunday. I probably won't be able to update again until I and back on my native island soil. Until then ...

5 Cities 4 Days

... And some really tired feet. The toughest leg of my journey is over - weds in Madrid; thurs back in Barcelona; Fri in Paris; Sat in Rome and then Florence. Was it tough? Yes. Lugging heavy suitcases around everywhere. Madrid was just a day trip though. Spanish countryside is very ... arid and desert like with dry brush and sparse bushes. Madrid was the most quiet of all the cities I travelled and had some great graffitti. Things were cheap there too and I wish I bought more things in Madrid. Attitudes there though? Well, attitudes all over Spain - eh, they're funny with Blacks but no evil looks like the one I got here in Florence byu a tourist or two. I'll get to that in a sec. So I did my shopping and got some nice stuff back in Barcelona and then hopped the night train for Paris.

Back in Paris we picked up my younger sis and her friend and did some food hunting. I managed to get caught up in a French discount store and walked out with some cool socks. And soon another night train awaited for us. This little French boy ran by our train cabin door and stared in at us, gawking. Afterwards I said 'Yep, that's exactly how the adults feel but they try to keep it in check, except this kid is just curious and not crazy like his adults.' Maybe I'm harsh, but ah the fuck well. :D So in a six bed cabin I slept in the lowest bed which was a clautrophibic sort of this wedge between the seats like lint in a coach. French countryside is gorgeous. I would like to stay in the country next time.

We arrived in Roma, or Roma, checked our lugage in storage and hopped on a tour bus. My thoughts of Rome - eh. It was cool seeing all the old stuff, Vatican City, churches, but I guess I wasn't that enthuciastic. I saw the Colloseum but didn't go inside. Everything was from the tour bus and there were long lines everywhere. Infact, all of the cities save for Madrid were there long long line and throngs and throngs of tourists. That is very much a turnoff to me. I would rather secluded forgotten old things in hidden glens to these over commercialized tourist attractions. Blergh.

So after five hours we boarded a train for Florence or rather Firenze. This city is straight out of a story book with cobble stone narrow streets, and 15 century style. Lots of art here. and great looking homes. There was a funny bridge covered with these Rennaisance styled homes. I think it's owned by a fashion designer now. On the tour bus we travelled up into the hills, where it was much cooler, and got to see a great view of the city at night whilest the big bus rode around tight scary corners inches away from a steep drop. Okay that makes it sound dramatic. It's not that bad. On the way down, since the top of the tour bus is open air, we got smacked by branches. It was a good laugh though, especially when my grandpa said that the branches hitting us were all in our heads. Well, he got whollopped too. Meh! Served him right!

Today I got a chance to visit some museums. On the way to the first museum, a cinnimin roll-faced badly aged Asian woman gave me the most wicked face I'd ever seen. It was so full of disgust and whatever. SO I regarded her as one does a child or senile old person. I grinned at her and gave her silly faces. Oh that made her so mad. lol. I did the same to an Indian man who looked at me with disgust as if saying 'How dare you be in a place like this as a tourist and look so wealthy as you do!' Well I just smiled and stared at him until he looked away. Yep, didn't expect me to handle you that way. I have no shame! It's the cost of being so unabashedly 'Black' with my fro and all. I'm getting used to the attitudes. A smile is a powerful weapon, so full of mischief and scorn. A sly grin can topple stone.

But the museums were okay. I got to see some pornography ... errr classical art, a few tranny sculptures; Leonardo's David and David's massive cock and balls; lots of balls and boobs; Madonna through the ages as she progressively became more and more bare chested and gaudy. I even got to see baby Jesus grabbing her boob and then later sucking it. My for the son of man to suck a teat! How how ... human! lol. I'm being a punk. I can't appreciate this art. It's been appreciated to much. I would rather the graffitti or a good modern art museum. Old things don't resonate with me unless they are untouched or in an ancinet place. Being in a museum they lose their power and magnificence. It's like looking at a stuffed animal or animal in a zoo vs looking at that animal alive in the wild.

So tomorrow I leave for Venice and Milan. After that it is London and a night in Gatwick before flying home. A few more days now in Europe.

1 Week in Europe

Yep. As I am writing this it's 4 am in Bermuda and in two hours I will have been in Europe exactly one week. What have a learned so far? Well ...

• Europeans aren't the shit, well French and Spaniards (haven't been in Britain long enough). So far I've seen nothing that makes them more spectacular than the States. It's not that I'm looking for things to push the States up, but some things are always the same and attitude is everywhere, bias, whatever. White people will be white people - scared of the great big black unknown. Save for perhaps Britain, the people in the countries I've visited have this weird relationship with Blacks and I've seen it in the States too, only more pronounced here since here really lacked Jim Crow laws to show Black folk that "hey white folks really loath us so". I get this feeling that Blacks are encouraged to mix so their kids can be seen as beautiful and accepted (but isn't it like that for Black people everywhere, save for some places in Africa). I know our population is so minute in Europe, but damn still. If one is going to diss the US and then turn around and be a punk when it comes to color in their own country, that's a flying shame (Canada floats to mind, well Ontario anyhow). In fact, perhaps these countries are just too old. So much culture and history and mold, that in these changing times the views of the people get left in the dust. I actually like that aspect of the States - that push forward into the future. I think Barcelona was like that at one point in the early 20th century when its buildings of modern art went into the sky, but now I thinks that aspect is dying off. Then again, I've only been to three cities, so this view only reflect people in the city. For example, a friend of mines said French people to the south in the small towns are friendly and curious. This brings me to ...

• Feminism? What's that? I find in the countries I visited, female roles are more traditional than ever. In Barcelona you see people breaking out though with the whole tribal scene - earing stretchers, women with close crop hair, black hair with rockabilly bangs, tribal tattoos, guys with locs, etc ... A friend of mines put it this way whenever he saw people into the tribal scene - they're trying to rock what they lack. This crew seems to be the exception in a fashion ruled, skirt wearing Western Euro world. I wonder how it's like in the small towns dotting the countryside? To further this, everything is too neat in appearance but not much else underneath. Should I dare say the countries I've been to are shallow? On some levels, yes, but then I think the whole damn world is shallow and my thinker and prover just found evidence. lol. Okay, well perhaps not everywhere is shallow and since I lack the language skills I can't as of yet find the right scene of independent thinkers and freedom fighters. They are out there. I've seen some of them, perhaps I am just too limited by my family and myself. Plus, there are other countries in Europe to explore more thoroughly - the Eastern bloc, the Nordic bloc, Britain.
  

• Raw foodism. It's all about the meat, meat , meat , meat, meat! It's hard to find a good veg restaurant, even harder a raw food restaurant. There seem to be none in existence in any of the countries I visited. Spain was somewhat into the vegetarian scene, but the raw food scene has yet to grace these shores. In Paris I was saved by the fresh fruit sellers and the many many cafes which included vegetable dishes, even if they were cooked, or had cow cheese or meat in the salads. Barcelona has plenty of bigger US chain restaurants, but that is because it more touristy (cruise ships right on the Medi). The local places seem to be focused on either the sea or traditional Spanish food - meat. There's even a ham museum in Madrid. Saving grace though is that grocery stores here pack some spectacularly ripe and delicious produce. Avocados are inexpensive considering the price of the Euro to the US dollar.

Okay, I gather I come across sounding like a bitter old traveler hag woman. I'm homesick and I appreciate my home environment a lot more. God, I could have grown up in some of these cities! Imagine what that would have done to my sense of Blackness if I lacked the right parents and guidance?!? I also wish I had better travel companions. There are so many things that I want to explore, but I am still treated like a child, even more so here on these strange shores, and thus cannot explore. Maybe it's a psychological weight of knowing where these countries came from. Every monument or palace I saw in Spain all I could think about was South America being raped to make such grandeurs. In France, I couldn't help but think about how the Kings abused its people and stole from other lands; or what they did to Africa at the end of the 19th century. When my family gets to Italy, I'm sure I'm just going to be thinking about facism a lot. Part of me says, just relax and enjoy, the other part of me says BS this is the world and the world is not a happy land, it is a dark fairy tale whose grossness is perpetuated into the dark halls of the future . How can I "just" sit back and enjoy things covered in blood of the unwillingly sacrificed. Engulf another spoonful of comatose and fall back asleep or smell the salts and sharply wake up to its bitter smells. I appreciate the beauty, but I force myself to see the daggers underneath and not get caught up in the fantasy that such beauty came without high costs.

I enjoy learning about the world, but this is no vacation.

But to sum up what I've been up to in the last two days.

Weds I was in Barcelona. Didn't go bike riding but did do a long troop through the tourist centers of the city. By troop I mean it must have been close to ten miles. We were just walking to walk and take everything in. We shortcut through local sections of the city that smelled like open sewage to get to a main tourist area with museums and parks and stuff. This is a city made for walkers and bike riders, that's for sure. Once there, we walked through alleyways filled with interesting shops and people. I got myself two books in english by Neil Gaiman since I read through those that I brought with me. My brothers were with me and we got to check out some clothing stores. Stuff that would have been hundreds of dollars in N.America are just a couple of Euros - all under one hundred US dollars. Soon, we were on this square where there were mimes. Now these guys, they're not your typical black and white wearing, face painted, beret wearing mimes. These guys were done up to look like statues. One guy was painted all white and sitting on a crappers; another guy had himself painted like a bronze statue. There was even a guy painted all in blue and bald. He looked so surreal and consequently was very popular with the tourists. These men and women probably have 9-5 jobs and afterwards make a little extra from the tourists by doing the mime bit. I am sure the pay must be good. A one or two Euro coin from a few of the thousands of tourists in the area = sweet money. I like artsy fartsy things like that and wonder ifI could pull something off like that in Bermuda with a troop of folks. :P


On our way back to our apartment, we took the long route along the Mediterranean. Being a Bermudian and experiencing Bermuda beaches daily, I must say the beaches of Barcelona are bland. I don't think I would swim in the waters here in the city. Perhaps further out in the rough and bushes I would where I can see the true bueaty of Spanish beaches. But ah, so as we were walking people were dressed nice and out for a good time on the beach front. We walked by hotels built atop of cool pools of water, giant glittering casinos, beachside restaurants and bars, more modern art (Lobster McPhee - you'll see when I upload pictures after I get back home). I liked it, but I was smelly and my feet hurt, I just wanted to get back home and rest it up for a few hours. Eventually we did get home, and immediately went back out to look for grub. We walked to a mall at the end of this huge diagonal avenue that runs from one end of the city to the other - Diagonal Avenue it was called :P. There was a group of restaurants and each one we approached told convenient closed as we got there. We did get there right at their closing time, but still, we were miffed. Eventually we were herded to a McDonald's since that was the only place still open. I ate nothing but did watch some Spanish music videos.

The next morning, while still operating on Bermuda time, which is 5 hours behind, we woke at 6 and left for Madrid. Ah but, time is precious so I will continue this later ...

Barcelona Baloney Sandwiches

Sepia colored dreams.

Pickle shaped buildings of jade.

Valleys of city and towering mountains of dry brush.

Injects of modern art.

Barcelona surprised me. Tired and achey, we pulled into this city on the Eurorail from Paris at 8:30 in the morn. It wasn't a pleasant journey.

Monday I came home from a rather grumpy shopping trip with my mom (bought a dress and checked out a French health store - goat brie and kamut essene bread are the shitzle-snitzle), packed my things and off we went. While waiting at the station, these three French station police or whatever the fuck they were decided it would be cute to target us out (pointing and staring at us) and do some sort of intimidation crap with us. It was silly and I nicknamed them the weirdo trio (cause they were pale and pimpley and weird). I guess boredom leads them to the worldwide fun of "let's profile the blackie". lol. But I suppose that's what I get for daring to wear my fro' out. Shame on me. Shame! Bull (and that goes to every last person who tried to stare me down. My fro' is cool and purely, naturally me cot dangit!). :D People need to handle the afro and if they can't they can go suck a teat.

But yea, so we got on the train, which was claustrophobic. The cabins were small and had pop out beds. I was with three other family members and we tried to sleep. The room got hot and then someone outside started illegally smoking. The train was careening around the its tracks feeling as if it would derail at any moment. It wasn't a pleasant journey at all.

Arriving in Barcelona, we hopped it on over to the rental agency only to be told our place would not be ready until 12'ish. So we left our luggage at the place and went in search for breakfast and a hop on hop off bus tour. While waiting on my mom to get tickets for the bus I discovered the dirtiest place in Europe - a square filled with pigeons and bird crap covering everything. I shuddered at the sight of this. And then my older brother and father decided to take a picture amongst all the filth. Needless to say I spazzed out.

So my mom gets the bus tickets, now we had to wait in a huge line of other tourists in order to board a bus. While waiting we caught a glimpse of my grandpa talking to someone on a bench in the distance. When it came time for me to retrieve him, I got caught up in the people he was talking to. It was an American guy, maybe in his 50's, and his European wife - they'd both been in Barcelona for 40 years. They were friendly and engaging and curious about Bermuda and us (my younger brother was there too) as a whole because I guess we were different from your average tourist. As they depart they take photos of us. Now, we are surrounded by a line of tourists so I felt very uncomfortable as they took pics because everyone in line just stared at us. My mom mentioned to me that they were about to board so I grabbed my Pa and younger brother up and departed. I was told I have a very "quiet intelligence" by the man and his wife. Cool, but in all a very strange experience. Perhaps it would have been better vibes had it been in a coffee shop and not surrounded by throngs of touristas.


The bus tour was nicer than the one in Paris and London mainly because people in Barcelona drive sooooo much better than people in the two places. Paris is the worse though. We saw funky architecture all around, even the churches. There was one building designed to look like dragon, and a church straight out of some weird scifi fantasy dream. This city is a city of modern art. It is like none other I've been to. Infact, I would have never expected a city to be this way. But each city I've traveled to on this trip has had its own flavor - Paris and its romantic architecture and white buildings; and London with its mixture of contemporary and Victorian. Barcelona is like everything modern art and architecture from the early 1900's onwards. It seems like this is where it started and everyone else just followed suit. I like it though. This city is also hilly and right at the foot of old mountains which lay right on the Mediterranean. It is incredible to see the whole city from the site of '94 Olympics stadium.

So the bus tour went well despite a close bout with heat stroke and having to sit downstairs (it's a double decker bus) in the a/c and rest my head for a while. It's 95 degrees here, although without the Bermuda humidity is actually not that bad. We had time to kill , especially after being told that our place would not be ready until 3 instead of 12. I wanted to sleep though, just lay my head down in a soft bed, peel off my smelly cloths and just rest, but we didn't have that option. We could only just keep on trekking. A stop at a Chinese food restaurant that had an English menu helped to replenish our spirits. It was kind of embarrassing because my grandpa kept demeaning our Chinese waiter "I want a Chine-nee drink" or "I want a Chine-nee dessert". I know it's just his generation and out of his own ignorance (not too many Chinese in Bermuda) but it was still very embarrassing and rude. I know if my grandma was around she'd check him on that hard. So my Pa gave the poor waiter a big tip. >.<

My parents and Pa split to go back to the rental agency to get the luggage while my brothers and I took another bus to get to our rental. We rode that bud route twice just relaxing and taking everything in. We decide that we MUST do a bike tour tomorrow, and to check out the "bollero" the bowling alley just around the way from where we stay. We finally hopped off the bus after an hour and walked a few blocks to our place. My dad was outside waiting for us. 12 floors later and we were finally in our rental - a nice contemporary place where you have to pull these giant things from the ceiling to act as blinds; two floors; no phone or internet. Right now I've gone bootleg. Shhh ...

Time to get some rest finally! And brush up on my Spanish.

Operation Pari Berry Part Deux

Paris in a nutshell:

Beautiful gams and fells dressed to the nines real fine cause hey this is the city of fashion and models and such.


My brothers went to this club and said the bouncers looked like models straight out of that Ben Stiller movie Zoolander - they were in hoodies and posing with that silly ¨Blue Steel¨look.






But yes, this is the place to go to if you like to shop and want inspiration on what to wear. London is eclectic, Paris is Romantic. I can imagine Milan will be sleek in a ghetto fabulous sort of way.

No skyscrapers and beautiful decor on the buildings. There`s a reason why some art freaks go crazy from the beauty of the architecture. You can just feel the history and smell the ancient psychic must in the air. This is a land that`s been people since when people lived in caves. Their history has not been eradicated like other places on earth (Native American and African; save for individual and obscure tribes). Ah the nature of the conquerers. I am sure the rest of Europe will feel this way when I eventually explore it all one day.

French people aren`t snobby. If find them very sexy because of how they openly show passion whether it be raw lust or anger. I guess they show both spectrum rather than mainly aggression that I see on the other side of the Atlantic on my isle. I was a little stoked by it all. Yea! Passion! Alright! And non of that weirdness in the US and Canada towards Black folk. Paris has a huge black population. I have read of the taint, the riots, etc ... so I know this place has its problems with us of ebony skin, but at least it`s a change. As I say to myself, different places have different dimensions of negatude towards my Blackness. What one place lacks in a dimension, they make it up in a totally new dimension. I know with Barcelona, they are weary of color due to their history of Moorish invasion, so I know what to expect when I leave for there tonight. I just didn`t know what to expect here and well, it wasn`t too bad. If I spoke French, looked like a recent African immigrant; perhaps things would have been different. I mean, Black women still fry their hair with relaxers here.

But French people suck at driving. Haha! The Arch de Triumph is a death trap of laneless cars and mopeds going around in a circle. I`m surprised by the amount of folk without bike helmets riding around on their pedal bikes because of the intense traffic and crazy drivers. My dad was like look at that family, they`re going on a death ride. The driver of the night tour van we went on was cutting off people, getting cursed at a lot. He sped around corners real sharp that I felt like I was in Ber,uda again where the roads are so narrow you can`t help but get that effect. The guy even drove us down streets packed with people. I was miffed as people cursed us in French. Yea, cats can`t drive.

You see some American influence - posters for American movies, chain restaurants, etc ... But that`s all over the world. We import French style and wines, and in turn give em`back equivalent quick fixes of fast food, sports and media. Still though, you`d be hard pressed to find a supermarkt and the fast food is only near the tourist areas. Cafes are everywhere and everyone walks. French people are skinny or rather Parisians.

So today I am bound for shopping and a health store and then railing off to Barcelona. I am going to miss these open balconies and little fruit sellers, sexiness, and overall romanticism compared to my isle; but I`ll be back. There are places and things I want to do in this city that having my family around really bars me from doing. My only con, I`m a laid back chick. I can only do feminine for so long. :D

Pari Berri Cha Chah Chah

I`m in Paris.

London was a delight and I would like to spend more time there in the future. Did a tour on a double decker bus that was open at the top. Had a good time making fun of things and being sarcastic with my siblings - tour buses are very touristy. Bought some sushi and a smoothie that said it was for three bucks but knew it was worth 6 dollars. Still though, better than Bermuda prices. FYI there are no trashcans in the city (hardly anyhow) to discourage the homeless. Room serve was my source of grub as my energy bars made me sick with a nasty allergic reaction to the chocolate in them (I barfed). Tea, smoked salmon and avocado was what I got.

Today I left London, took the train under the Channel and two hours later entered Paris. From there I took the metro and then walked to my rental. The rental is great with three floors, a hot tub and two patios.

I got a taste of Paris. On the metro I got to see a splashing of local styles and tastes. I tried out my lame French skills buying two mangoes and two avocados from a middle eastern fruit and vege seller in the metro station - bonjour, merci. Keyboards are all different in setup. I am still getting used to it all.

Compared to London, Paris feels a bit more like Toronto and a bit bigger in feeling. I really enjoyed the London vibe though and miss it, but I've not been out enough to really scope out the vibe here. Part of it is anxiety - I am not familiar enough with the language and thus feel I will fail to connect to interesting people. At times I wish I were travelling sans my family so I can get full exposure, but ah well. My views will change as I get comfortable in this new environment. I just wish I brought a personal camera.

It`s three in Bermuda and 8 here.

Cramped Flight and a Taste of Britain

Coming in from a little posh apartment in London via free internet on an apple computer ...

At 12 ish last night, Bermuda time, my plane zoomed off into the dark skies. I'd never seen Bermuda at night. What a beautiful sight to see that tiny isle sparkling like a jewel in a sea of darkness - hook shaped amber on velvet. Before long the clouds swallowed us up and we were off to spend six hours in coldness and crampness as we (my family and I) attempted to sleep comfortably. Blankets weren't complementary and cost 3 pounds or 6 dollars (along with neck pillow, headphones, eyecover). With the a/c on so high they practically force you to buy their package else face hypothermia. Made it through though. I am thrifty so I brought a blanket and extras anticipating the highway robbery. There was some extreme turbulence, which was fun. Seriously, planes don't scare me anymore. They just don't. Manufactured scare tactics for people who watch too much news. There are better things to be paranoid about.

After one spell of sleeping, my legs sprawled over my younger brother's legs since his legs were long and needed the extra space, plus we were sharing my blanket, I awoke to the sun and a glimpse of British landscape below out my window. The clouds were tiny, white and fluffy. I was surprised. I figured it would be like the US and it's murky grey miasma whenever I entry its airspace. Britain on the other hand was clean and welcoming. The lack of suburbs and the small farm hamlets were charming and very attractive. British time is four hours ahead of Bermuda time, so it was well into the morning when our plane landed. In a flash we were through customs (a very easy process compared to stringent Bermuda and scare tactics US). There weren't any custom guards there to check our bags even! Security was relaxed and not uptight like entering a US airport. Even though the airport was crowded, everyone flowed, unlike Toronto airports. :P

Outside the airport the weather is in the 70's and very nice. Atmosphere is chill. We took a cool old school taxi to our hotel and got to peer out at Londoners. The city looks like Georgetown DC, but the people look like they're from downtown Toronto, only more relaxed. It's a totally different vibe here and I am enjoying it. I suppose, that suspicion that I am used to feeling, even in Bermuda, is just gone - no terrorism paranoia or the fashionable fear of the moment in the States (cause it was there even before 9/11); no blatant suspicion of dark skin as in Canada; and no social suspicion and conservativeness as is prevalent in Bermuda. My family as a group is still a curiosity though.

So I am going to rest and later on go on a hop-on-hop-off bus tour, shopping, and dinner. I'll write again when I get to Paris.

Euroland: The Vacation Begins

Sooooo I am jetting off into the great blue yonder to a place called Europe for the touristy triplet deal - Spain, Italy, France. Am I excited? Yea. Am I anxious? Of course. I am leaving on a downer note though - my cot damn period is on the verge of starting and it, well it just sucks. I have had to deal with intense swelling, funky hormonal induced emotions, and the realization that I'll be facing cramps on a plane or in some strange hotel room. Boo. Buuuuuut, it'll start and I'll be happy. Grabbing a pad = the end of PMS horror and well, that's totally worth the cramps to feel happy and at ease again.

So my vacation begins tonight at the airport, I've said my goodbyes and now I'm off.

Look out for part II tomorrow while I'm wittering away in jolly Britannia.

Zapping out laser beams Cyclops-style from my mutant eyes of destruction

So today I went to get my eyes checked and pick out some new glasses.


My new Vera Wang frames model V147

Ah ... the state of my old pair could fill a book with its adventures. It all began three years ago ...

"Oooh I like this pair!" I say as I take off a trendy thick black frame.

"Hmmm ... I dunno ... They look similar to your last pair. I like the other pair so I think you should get them." Says the guy I was dating at the time. He holds the other pair in his hands. They're pretty basic, black with a clear inside lining.

"Sigh ... Let me try them on again." I put the ones he prefers on. They fit nice but aren't what I was looking for. "I wish they were fully black like the other pair. I really like those."

"Hey, they probably sell these pair in a solid black." I hand him the glasses and he goes to ask the ladies if the pair he prefers comes in solid black. They don't like him and his stern adamant nature, which he showed them - from arranging my eye appointment to getting there and checking me in. So the ladies basically say yes even though they could produce no catalogue to point out that they do indeed come in solid black. I picked up on this, but I don't fight the unstoppable machine that is him though. I was weaker back then.

"See sweets, they come in all black." His posture and expression speak 'these are the pair I like on you and I want you to get them.' I meekly give in because I want him to be happy.

"Okay, but how soon will I be able to get the solid black pair? I need something right away." The secretaries tell me they have no solid black pair in stock and that it will take a number of weeks to order in. I was a little peeved over it all. I needed new glasses right away being as to how I could not see with the pair I currently had.

"Can she get a substitute frame until her frames come in? She really needs to see." Oh how I wanted to say forget it, let's just get the other pair - the frames I want. Instead after a few minutes of scuffling with the already peeved secretaries I pick out some maroon frames that are of the same style as the ones he liked and pay my fees. The red frames were cool though, cooler than I thought, albeit a little larger than I would like (they would fall off a lot).

The ordered frames were nowhere in sight. Two weeks went by and nothing happened. So he called, scuffle, nothing. Soon it was time for me to head back to school in Canada with him, since he was only in Bermuda on vacation. So more phone calls, scuffles and the day of when I am to leave "yea the glasses are ready." Those secretaries really wanted to punish me for inflicting them with him, although they weren't very helpful or professional to begin with. So I get the frames and lo and behold, they are not solid black, they were the very pair I tried on from the get go, slightly brown and totally not what I wanted. At least they were smaller, but I liked those red ones. I wanted to say that I wanted to keep the red ones, but again I said nothing because he put in so much fight to get those frames.

Later on I suspected that maybe he wanted me to get those frames because they were the cheaper of the two. I know they looked decent on me, so he paid attention to that, but I know he didn't want me spending all my money on glasses. Instead he wanted me to focus my money on us, even though it was money my mom gave me for school, not for a boyfriend. We had some issues in that area and I never spoke up about it.

Years later I halted getting my eyes checked and picking up new frames, even when my frames were scuffed up and beat up to the point where they were held together by black duck tape; scratched lenses; peeling plastic. In addition, my eyes became a little weaker and needed stronger lenses - ones that would make my world a little sharper and elevate my eyes from the slighty blurry fog it was slowly descending into (and my night vision sucked sucked sucked. Zombies NEED night vision).

The whole experience three years ago left me powerfully mortified. I did not go back to the vision centre because it was a reminder of my failure to stand up for myself over risking the anger and disagreement of someone I cared about. I was whipped, emotionally and physically. It seems so trite and domestic when I reread all of this, but at the time I felt so frustrated and confused and powerless. It wasn't as if I couldn't do anything and didn't try to on numerous occasions, but to have been coddled and deconstructed for so long that when you do try to break away it is so weak and pathetic and that those that hold you down use it as evidence as to why you need them. In your mind's eye you see your terrible stake at independence and hold it as proof as to why you can't function in life without him. Not only were my eyes in a fog, but so was my view on life. I went on to endure two more years of that fog until I couldn't take it anymore.

Four years of fog is a lot and I am clearing it all away, making my stand not just for independence but self reliance. I'll always be dependent on others for something, but I'll never be dependent on others to live my life for me because I let myself stumble into thinking I am not strong enough to do so for myself.

So I went somewhere new, and they turned out to be more professional with better glasses and better staff. I have new frames on the way, very feline Vera Wang frames of the style I wanted to get sooo long ago, and I feel very happy.



As soon as I get my paws on em', these old frames of mines are getting a good and proper burial at sea in a shoe box tied to drift wood with a eulogy and everything. I don't ever want to see them again.

RetroFuturism, SteamPunk, And All That Goodness

So recently I got to rewatched Gargoyles and scooped out this movie called Mutant Chronicles. And got a surprise - they both existed in a world that is called the "Retro Future."

Retro Futurism is a fantastic genre. You take a past age or decade and you place its spirit in technology or a future age. The result is flying ships decorated in mod; Sherlock Holmes looking characters riding on horseless chariots to solve crimes on a distant world; Mayans or Egyptians zooming around in awesome technology. The possibilities are endless when it comes to Retro Futurism and you can reinterpret any age and make a retro future with it.

You take take Retro Futurism in two directions. The first is is taking certain aspects, the soul, of an age and giving it futuristic technology during its time period or in a separate future (the far future after an apocalypse) or dimension. The next is speculative fiction produced during a time period. An example of the first would be something like say Porco Russo. Here you have circa 1940's air pirate. It is somewhat of an alternative history. The technology is not high or very futuristic, but it is taking the spirit of that age and putting a spin on it with the air pirates. Another, but better example would be say Vampire Hunter D. This takes sampling of the 1700's and it's styles during the age of enlightenment and mixes with some styles from the mid 1800's. Amid all of this you have iron machine horse, spaceships, and laser weapons. Very cool. An example of the second would be say Metropolis. Here you have the future as envision by people from the 1920's with robots and super cities. Another example would be 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea with its Captain Nemo and his submarine. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen plays off of this piece of fiction. Alan Moore takes speculative fiction from the late 1800's early 1900's and weaves it together to form a tale of famous literary characters who wield fantastic technologies not of their age.

Have I made this thoroughly confusing for you yet? lol. There are many genres of Retro Futurism. Let's take a look at a few:

SteamPunk/Foglight: This takes everything from the Age of steam engines and uses it to craft the future. H.G. Wells is a huge inspiration. You get a lot of early science fiction from this age that can be taken to inspire tales from modern writers as it did with Alan Moore.

1900 - early 1960's: You know, aliens on every planet; jet packs; bubble shaped space helmets this is everything before man actually went to the moon and developed more powerful probes and telescopes.

1900 - Now: Each decade is marked with a certain soul that is ripe territory for Retro Futurism. Let us look at the soul of our decade: Terrorism. This has shaped our decade in a monumental way. Cellular technology has expanded and gotten smaller and smaller (120 gig ipods); internet is growing bigger with blogs, while dot coms have died; space exploration and other technologies have leveled off; environment is in peril; and bioplague haunts our every corner. Right now is a very social time as the earth goes from turning outwards to inwards. We won't really feel the spirit of this age until ten to twenty years down the road.

Above I mentioned Gargoyles. This cartoon takes place during the early to mid 90's and has futuristic technology that meshes with the time. Side by side with great flying machines, robot battle suits, cyborgs, and cloned beasts and genetically spliced humans you have boom boxes, mullets, rat tails, 90's lingo, disks, and heavy computers. The show represents 90's retro futurism in its glory. But you can find examples of such throughout the 90's in many of its scifi offerings.

With Mutant Chronicles you have a steam/ironpunk lover's wet dream. In it you get future technologies and early 1900's circa WWI wrapped into a delish package. They even throw in trench warfare to wet our tongues. The style of wear, the ship design, the buildings, the workings of technology everything is wonderfully steampunk. The movie is pretty bad, but for its genre it is very appropriate and you can only appreciate the attention paid to making the film as true to steampunk as possible.

You can argue that given some time any scifi can be Retro Futuristic. This is true because we are only humans and can only envision the past and future with perspective to our place in time and society. Retro Futurism is based so much on where and when. If I were living in some other part of the world, my idea of a spirit of an age would be totally different from now. The whole genre could even fail in some areas. Then again, it is all up to the imagination of the fiction creator. Retro Futurism is very Western.

Here are a list of movies that are out right retro futurism:

Steamboy
Vampire Hunter D
Time Machine
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Escape From New York
The Day the Earth Stood Still
Back to the Future II
Star Gate (Egyptian space aliens)
Laputa
Howl's Moving Castle
Metropolis
Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow
Mutant Chronicles


Sigh ... I will expand this list as more flicks come to me because there are tons more out there which begs for attention. Best to explore and be aware that retro futurism is present in so many films. Also check out the wikipedia entry on this fun genre.

Letting Go and Frankly Doing What I Want

So I am in yet another mire. In a few short weeks I am jet setting to Europe and have some languages to brush up on and some planning to do; I am working on projects that'll make future scholarship committees have boners; and am getting my stuff together for school in the fall. In all of that I get so insular. My past has led me towards squashing my inner rebel fighter demon and just doing what others think is comfortable. Frankly, I am tired of that. I don't like it anymore. There is doing what one needs to survive and then there is doing what one needs to survive. I think I have been doing a good ob to deconstruct that though, but at times I really feel the weight of it all. I would ever so love to just disappear in some steamy jungle or wilderness or quote unquote country that ain't like the West and its haughty attitude and lifestyle. I want paradise and I want it now and it is this desire that is destroying me and putting me into a mire. I need to find that slice here and now and just live it up happy, now. So many things I have done this past year to further myself and now I realize that my biggest challenge of all is delaying my perilous habit of instant gratification. A little restraint and will power never hurt no one.

So what can I do?

Meditation - I hardly do any and I should set aside time each morning and evening to do this. Perhaps taking a yoga class would help too.

Internet Liberation - I spend to much time on this beast. It has become my life blood. I suppose a goal would be no internet for all of August. I know there are things I need to do online - research for various endeavors, contacting people, etc ... But that takes mere minutes and at max an hour of raw online time. The rest of the time I spend browsing, not being productive. A month of productive only internet at 1 hour max a day would be best for me. And I will expand that as I go.

Running and Walking - I love these two activities. I like waking up early while it is still dark and running for an hour or so. Too late and the brutal sun, 9-5'ers, and everything in between slays me. My body enjoys the exercise and I am pumped for the day as long as I don't over do it.

Rawness - I admit, although most of my diet is raw food, it is typically of the "junk" raw food type. I don't eat enough hearty green salads which should compromise the bulk of my diet. Instead I eat raw bars and other such filler foods that are certainly not giving my body what it needs. And after that, I eat too much fruit. Priorities in my diet should be green green green and a little in between. :D

Those are good starter goals. I can expand later.

The Raging She Beast Within (A new asshole of the month)

Today I am mad but the facts that surround said madness will remain anon. All I can say is that this island really peeves me at times, usually a lot of times. No, it's not the politics or whatever, it is a segment of people, a segment of really lazy and really spoiled people. I could care less for them when the figurative bombs drop - that which signals the end of our decadent age. These are the same kind of people who jeer at first responders when they are trying to administer aide by tellings them they don't know what they're doing, or that they are doing it all wrong or whatever bs. These are the same people who will gossip and lie about you while you're just trying to do your job, meanwhile they're lazy shiftless bastards who could care less to lift a finger if it would save their lives. As these people grow their insides will scum up and turn ugly because they're ignorant and pea brained. Unfortunately their destructive bitterness will only grow bringing with them a brand new generation of stupidity which they will inflict unto their unfortunate kids. These are the type of people tyrants love because these are the people who are easiest to shape into sheep. As long as their own tremendously shallow interests are satiated, they'll be blind to getting raped up the arse, unlubed and hemorrhaging to death afterwards with a stupid smile on their faces because at least they looked cute, resting on the spent remains of those who came before them and all the people who had to suffer for their foul rot of an existence. If the world were to go to hell these are the first to stab you in the back, shoot you in the head for something stupid and then go on to die fast, leaving a trail of devastation that could have perpetuated humanity and even kept them alive but now that's lost no thanks to their fear mongering stupidity and selfishness. These people can be anyone - the so called rich or poor or whatever cultural or ethnic background "white man's IQ scale" education or whatever. These are the people that comprise lynch mobs and death squads and nations endorsing genocide. They join the mob mentality and hold no shame towards the bloody gristle decorating their hand - "oh, there's no blood on me, I did nothing wrong; just went with the flow." And I wonder why I hold such contempt for humanity cause I see this rot everywhere, even within my own very soul. I wish people would leg up and fight that which dwells inside them more. Instead they foster it in blind ignorance and it grows into a beast striking down anyone in its path. I am angry and I wonder if that which is inside of me will have blood?


She Hulk watch out! I think I have a new recipient of my asshole of the month award.