"I'm Not Your Mary"

[This post was going to be some photos of Pyramid Head, James and Maria but it seems to have morphed into a (highly intellectual) dissertation of Silent Hill 2]

In the 2001 psychological horror video game, Silent Hill 2, gamers were introduced to the enigmatic creature named Pyramid Head. His name is somewhat self explanatory:

Pyramid Head has become something of an icon among horror gamers of Earth. Much wordage has been devoted to the deconstruction of "that red triangle thing" and especially to exploring his connection to the tormented psyche of the protagonist of the game, James Sunderland. Here is James, displaying his tormented psyche:

Many analyzes see Pyramid Head (as well as most of the monsters, certainly the 'bubble-head' nurses and 'legs' mannequins) as representing James' unsatisfied sexual desires and the resulting frustration he feels. The reason for his sexual unfulfillment being that he hasn't been getting any lovin' as his wife had been very sick and he wouldn't be unfaithful to her, and even after she died - apparently 3 years earlier - he hasn't been able to move on. Pyramid Head's seminal (albeit without any semen or, indeed, a penis) first cutscene appearance has certainly influenced this theory:

This scene is often referred to as the "Pyramid Head Rape Scene", though I question if 'rape' is the correct descriptor. If this scene does depict rape (or a representation of rape), does this imply that James has raped? Or contemplated or fantasized about rape? Given that the received wisdom - and specifically, James' statement before his final battle with Pyramid Head - is that Pyramid Head exists to punish James (for his weakness and transgressions), then it would be reasonable to link Pyramid Head's actions in this scene directly to James. But it may not be explicitly about rape.

The "rape" that's being witnessed in the cutscene may be more akin to a weird, and unsettling, sex dream. Are Pyramid Head's motions/gyrations during the scene actually violent or are they somewhat rough or 'violently' passionate or overtly dominating???? The distorted moaning noises heard during the scene evoke a sexual context, with a suggestion of pain - maybe James associates sex or sexual intimacy with pain (physical and/or emotional). But if this scene is sexual, it's not clear to me if the mannequins are consenting or not; Pyramid Head grabs their legs, which are flailing around, but that doesn't inherently mean that the mannequin's legs are pushing him away; maybe they're just kicking around with reckless abandon, without a specific purpose. When the scene ends, the mannequins are motionless on the ground; seemingly they are now dead. Did Pyramid Head rape them to death or (consensually) shag them to death? Either conclusion is pretty messed up. But are the mannequins even dead? The mannequins don't attack James once Pyramid Head is finished with them but I don't know if this is proof that they are dead, maybe they just lie on the floor once James/Pyramid Head has finished his crazy sex dream.

A subsequent cutscene involving Pyramid Head and another monster (officially known as a Lying Figure, though I call it a Puker) is further amped up, with the moaning noises sounding extremely orgasm and pain but with more ambiguity - to me at least - as to what the hell Pyramid Head is doing:

I think that a definitive interpretation of Pyramid Head in these scenes is not entirely possible and any analysis is greatly reliant on the subjectivity of the analyzer. But in terms of James' response - in both cutscenes, upon witnessing Pyramid Head's actions, James is visibly distressed and attempts to flee the situation - it is clear that the part of James' psyche from which these scenes have been extracted and distorted is very frightening to James and he would prefer to run away, or hide in a closet:

Then there is The Maroon Menace, or as she is actually named, Maria. James keeps mistaking Maria for his dead wife (named Mary). It happens, we've all been there. Maria looks like Mary, sounds like Mary, but in James' mind, she couldn't possibly be Mary because Mary behaved and dressed like a nun, whereas Maria is a total skank. And, for good measure, Maria is a dancer (though not a reggae skank dancer) at Heaven's Night, Silent Hill's very own nudie bar. Here is Maria, explaining to James that she's not his Mary:

The whole Mary/Maria thing is a bit too virgin/whore, in my opinion. I would prefer that a doppelganger of my dead spouse (if I had one, either dead or alive) be more nuanced (though I wouldn't mind him being sexually available to me whenever I wanted! as Maria seems to be implying she is to James). Maria is another manifestation of James' (somewhat sex-obsessed) psyche but she also exists to punish him. [Spoiler Alert: It is eventually revealed that James actually smothered his Mary with a pillow after years of watching her deteriorate, both physically and mentally, and being subjected to verbal vitriol from her]. Many releases of Silent Hill 2 contain a sub-game titled Born From a Wish, where the protagonist is Maria. Maria has been created purely for James to interact with, and her manifesto is to be totally for James. Here she is, following James around with total devotion (and possibly checking out his butt):

Of course, such single minded devotion to another is not healthy and it takes a toll on both James and Maria. James (and when I say 'James', I mean me when I'm playing as James) starts to get a little creeped out by Maria's over familiarity with him and unnerved by her constant hovering. Maria, meanwhile, is doing what James' psyche created her to do, ie clinging to him, yet he keeps pushing her away and mistaking her for Mary. Fuck you, James! What a cunt. Don't you realize Maria is the embodiment of "Be careful what you wish for"? Maria, quite understandably, starts to lose her shit at this impossible and unfair situation and lashes out at James:

And lashing out at James is exactly what Mary used to do, though presumably only when she was dying and she was angry about dying and maybe the disease physically affected her brain (I'm not completely clear on this last point). James became torn between loving Mary and resenting, even hating, her. As James' journey through Silent Hill draws to an end, and after dodging or killing or maiming many manic monster manifestations (!), James eventually finds a video tape which reveals to him that he killed Mary (up until this point in the game he had been in a disassociated state believing Mary had died from her illness, three years earlier). It is also worth noting that at various points during the game, Pyramid Head 'kills' Maria (Maria keeps reappearing, though, 'cos Fuck You, James!), hinting to James the ultimate shocking truth. James, quite understandably, freaks out after finding out how Mary really died:

James finally has a conversation/confrontation/battle with a Silent Hill version of either Maria or Mary (depending on the player's actions during the game), which is then followed by one of three possible endings (on a first play through): Leave, Maria, In Water.

Leave sees James accepting what happened and moving on with his life and away from Silent Hill.

In the Maria ending, James decides he wants to be with Maria (I take this to mean he'll be continuing to live in some kind of delusional state of mind) and the two of them appear to be walking away from Silent Hill when Maria starts coughing, just as Mary had at the beginning of her illness. I had initially felt this to be a creepy ending, but upon reflection, I decided it could act as a form of therapy for James, still in a very fractured state, whereby he explores his demons with Maria, maybe eventually overcoming them and moving on. It could form the beginning of a healing process, though it could also send him insane.

For the In Water ending, James takes a wild, and presumably suicidal, ride, driving his car into Toluca Lake to 'be with Mary' (a commonly held belief among Silent Hill 2 enthusiasts is that Mary's body is in the back seat of James' car - so, by driving the car into the lake, with Mary's body in the car, he can be with her both on earth and in the afterlife...unless they're not going to the same place...).

Silent Hill 2 is a very narrative driven game (maybe 'game' isn't quite the right word...perhaps 'experience' is more apt). It poses some tough moral questions and has provoked much discussion and theorizing about James' actions, the imagery and noise of the monsters and of the environment, and the themes the game explores. Its underlying story is very real and very human. James' real world ordeal and trauma is not outlandish fiction. Near the end of the game the player is shown a note from Mary which states that despite James' apparent surly demeanour, he is actually very sweet. I suspect this is true. I imagine that James, being a man, especially a young man, would have been subject to notions of tough guy masculinity, and so could likely have believed that he was expected to cope with whatever the world threw at him and not admit his distress or pain or seek help or counsel. And even if he did admit that he wasn't coping and tried to seek help, where would he go for help? I wonder if James had been older, with a bit more life wisdom, he might have found the reserves to endure his "long three years" (it is revealed, in the 'Maria' ending, that Mary was actually sick for three years), but if he had endured, then we wouldn't have this beautifully disturbing image:

🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻


Special End Note: For a maximum high level psychological horror experience, Silent Hill 2 should be played on a pink PlayStation 2 console (with bonus pink memory card):

Obligatory Snuggly Winter Photo

Ms Willow sleeping in Dad's old jumper:

 

Unreliable Narrator

There is a small cafe, located along a dark alleyway, which itself is located off a one-way laneway. The laneway can only be reached by pedestrian access due to an enormous crater - the result of an enormous meteorite - located in the middle of the adjoining main road. Inside the small cafe is a barista of indeterminate species who serves never-ending lattes and plates of cherry coconut slice. Also inside this cafe is a shape-shifting dangerous goods storage cabinet where I keep most of my truths. I rarely visit this cafe, despite my fondness for never-ending lattes and cherry coconut slice. And when I do visit, I tend to sit not entirely in one of the chairs closest to the door. I steer well clear of the shape-shifting dangerous goods storage cabinet and only ever look at it with peripheral vision; I'm not sure how wise it is to get too close to truths kept in shape-shifting cabinets.

It has taken many years for me to mutate into a being with whom I can be comfortable spending time. It's a mostly amicable relationship, and we have a lot in common; we have the same values, we like the same food, we write the same blog, we have the same relatives, we share the same body. But, occasionally, I wouldn't mind some time apart. I don't want to cut ties completely, but a little more space, and maybe a little less intimacy and co-dependency, might be beneficial.

Sometimes I like to believe that I am flawless or that I have superpowers or that I don't exist.

Some years ago, during a break in transmission, I stopped breathing and became a suspended animation. I thought this would kill me but, conversely, it made me more alive. Due to this transition, I am now able to slow time.

Gruelling Television Watching Schedule (aka Too Many Shows)

Weekly TV watching:
Sunday night, 7:40; Dr Who
Monday night, 7:30; Dr Who (repeat)
Monday night, 9:30; American Horror Story - Hotel
Wednesday Night, 9:30; Fargo
Ongoing; repeats of Star Wars films (I-VI) - in preparation for Star Wars VII (in December)
Ongoing; News
Ongoing; documentaries of interest (ABC or SBS)
Ongoing; MovieMayhem films of interest (SBS)

Also, I am currently crocheting a blanket, sewing a pair of 'peggings' (pants + leggings), watching a stack of dvds, reading some books, and, in honour of the new release Tomb Raider game (Rise of the Tomb Raider), I'm replaying Tomb Raider 4: The Last Revelation.

These 'activities' require a lot of time sitting on my couch. Ms Willow Pussycat is very happy about my extended couch time, which equates to much lap time for her, however, my circulation and overall fitness is less enthusiastic. Also, American Horror Story and Fargo are really quite batshit crazy/psychotically disturbing - I worry that maybe watching both at the same time isn't the best thing for my delicate psyche. Or maybe it's just what my psyche needs...

Things I Can Tell Just By Looking at Him

As it turns out, there aren't that many things I can tell just by looking at him. In fact, I can only really observe and then attempt to make conclusions based on my observations (duh!).

Things I have observed and things I know:

• I know for sure that he works at my local library as I have seen him standing behind the library desk, and I've seen him using the behind-the-library-desk computers, and he checked out a branch transfer for me (and while he did this, I 'checked' him out!...see what I did there)
•  I know his first name, which I was able to ascertain by reading his name tag while he was checking out my branch transfer
• I'm guessing his age is somewhere between over 35 and under 50
• He wears brown shirts at work (I don't know if he's wearing the same brown shirt or if he owns many brown shirts)  [EDIT UPDATE: Since posting this blog post, I have observed him wearing a grey-blue shirt]
• I've observed him smiling and being polite and helpful when he is approached by library customers - this could be an indication that he is a polite and helpful person, or it could be an indication that, given that Librarians are meant to be polite and helpful at work, he doesn't want to get fired
• I think I once saw him wearing a cardigan, though this isn't very surprising, given that cardigans are part of a Librarian's armour (but I do like cardigans - in fact, I think the corporate world would be a better world if business people wore cardigans instead of suit jackets)
• He doesn't appear to wear a wedding ring, at least not at work
• I have a suspicion he smoked a bit of marijuana in his younger days, and occasionally still imbibes (I have virtually no basis for this suspicion, other than his longish sideburns, which, in my mind, suggests probable weed smoker, or maybe that he's part Wookie)

But these things do not an insight into a person give. These things don't tell me, for example, whether or not he's a psychopath - maybe he's a psychopath with a heart of gold. Where does he sit on the political spectrum (further to the left would be better)? Is he sexist or racist or homophobic (qualities possessed by some of my ex-boyfriends)? Is he thoughtful or compassionate or tolerant (qualities not overly possessed by some of my ex-boyfriends)? Does he know who The Chosen One is (hint: "into every generation is born") (extra hint: It's Buffy The Vampire Slayer!)?

He has an 'aura' that suggests some degree of weird loner, which speaks to me (I think I'm more likely to connect with another weird loner, even if that sounds contradictory - are weird loners at all able to make 'proper' human connections with normal people, let alone with each other?!?). Though, my 'observation' of his apparent weird lonerism might be more about my projecting qualities onto him that I desire. Maybe, at the very least, he's sympathetic to (and attracted to!) weird loners, whilst not necessarily being one himself.

So, what if he is someone for me (and I'm someone for him). Is it really a good idea to start something which could go horribly wrong? (That last sentence just seethes with optimism). And if things do go wrong, I'll probably have to go to a different library. I enjoy being a weird loner; do I really want to give up my solitude? Maybe it's possible to be a weird loner AND have a thing with someone - I'd still have to work on my interacting with other people skills, though.

And how would things get started in the first place? If something is going to be done, it's likely going to have to be me that does it. I'll have to 'make the first move', because I would assume that a library staffer isn't allowed to hit on a library customer - workplace sexual harassment protocols would frown upon such behaviour. I'd have to approach him; I could go up to him when he's behind the library desk and ask him some library based questions (and bat my eyelashes and give him my phone number!). But flirting isn't my one of my strengths. I'm not very positive about this strategy. I think I need to sleep on it. I think I will need many sleeps.

The Path to Serenity is Paved With Rectangular Vessels

There are few things that bring me as much existential joy as having my tights/leggings/stockings drawer completely full:

Meanwhile, Ms Willow finds inner peace sleeping in my documents container (who knew envelopes could be so comfy):

The Unknown Unknown Unknowns

[Special Note: Whilst the title of this post was likely inspired by the 'logic' of Donald Rumsfeld, the post itself is not about him or his tautologies]

It is unknown to me what I was thinking, 2 weeks ago, when I wrote the title of this blog post. I know I had something in mind, but then I failed to actually write the blog post, and now I haven't got a frickin' clue what it was going to be about. I'm not making this up! It really is unknown to me what great substance was forming in my brain when I audaciously titled my unwritten blog post the unknown unknown unknowns. If Hermione Granger were here she would say, "What an idiot!". If Donald Rumsfeld were here his brain would melt and leak out of his ears.

Still, I'm feeling a hankering to write a blog post. And I have an intriguing title already in existence; a title that could mean virtually anything. And it's wildly random. A virtually random wild title. A wild title of virtually random unknowns. Okay, that last sentence doesn't entirely make any sense. Nevertheless...

random...

I suspect the average human being requires closer to 9 hours sleep per night, rather than 8 hours. That there are 24 hours in a day isn't scientific justification for dividing up the day into 3 lots of 8 hours, it's just convenient maths.

I also have suspicions about the 8 hour work day.

The longer I'm single, the more I enjoy it. I do have the occasional 'relationship', though. For example, I have an on/off thing going with the 12th doctor, so I always set aside time on the Saturday/Sunday nights when Dr Who is screening so I can spend this time with him. But when Dr Who isn't screening, I forget all about him.

(And following on from the joys of being single...the pitfalls of lurv...)
The shouty, volatile, obnoxious couple living in the flat next door need to break up (and definitely not procreate - which she is keen to do, he maybe not so much). Their semi-regular and very loud fights seem to be intensifying; last week's fight culminated in a shattered window and broken glass all over the driveway. It started with a disagreement about driving the car and to whom the car belongs:
she said, "you never drive"
he said, "it's your car"
she said, "it's our car"
and repeat. Add hysterical yelling. And feet stomping. And door slamming. And window breaking.
(Incidentally, the car is actually hers, and he catches the train to/from work, he also rides his bike and walks).
My keen observational and psychoanalytic skills lead me to conclude that the conflict about driving and ownership of the car (a Holden Astra - a notoriously divisive car) is symbolic of incompatibility in their desired levels of relationship commitment: He wants to remain a passenger (just along for the ride), she wants him to 'drive her around when she's 8 months pregnant' (presumably pregnant with their baby). I foresee more and escalating tumultuous times ahead.

Last night Alexander Skarsgård appeared in my dream. It would be okay with me if this were to happen more often.

I should try to write something meaningful about unknown unknown unknowns.

An unknown may not always be unknown, and an unknown unknown may eventually become a known that is known, but the unknown unknowns which are unknown will always remain as unknown unknown unknowns...

Filler New Year Blog Post

As is mandatory for 21st Century blogging, I am writing a blog post to usher in the New Year. However, as I cannot be arsed to think about anything, let alone write about anything, I am forced, instead, to submit this filler blog post. It will have to suffice, despite not containing any of the regular references to hopes/dreams/goals etc. for the upcoming year, nor deconstruction of hopes/dreams/goals etc. from the previous year. Nope. Nada. Nein.
In fact, this blog post refuses not only to not reference anything, but to not say anything at all - except for what has already been written, which wasn't very much or very meaningful or very interesting - and it does not take issue with any overuse of the word 'not', even when too much 'not' not only does not contribute to furthering the comprehension of a sentence, but actually increases the convolution of an already convoluted sentence (or, as is now the case, paragraph).

Contemplative Kitty Lounging on Wooden Chair

Due to the rampant (and entirely justified) popularity of black and white photos of cats (start here, also here), this blog finds it necessary to include such a photo (see below). Note the masterful use of sunlight and shadow and chair (and cat). The unused power socket symbolizes disconnection.

[Model: Ms Willow]

"CALLING ALL FUN FUNKY PEOPLE"

If by "funky" you mean questionable hygiene standards, then I'm your gal! And if by "fun" you mean weird loner, then call me now!

Why do job ads never call for "languid morose socially inept underachievers"?

Also, the job ad from which I got the title of this blogpost wants "fun funky people" for retail (ok), sales (ok), bar (ok), hospitality (ok) AND CONSTRUCTION (wtf!). Since when does construction require funky. Not that "funky" and "construction" are mutually exclusive (just ask The Village People). But, perhaps, other qualities - fitness, endurance, manual dexterity, familiarity with operating a crane - might be more important. Still, the ability to wear a hard-hat and steel-capped boots with pizazz can't be underestimated.

The Bathroom as Feline Sanctuary

The bathroom is, of course, sanctuary for many human beings. But, during this asshole heatwave (planet earth is trying to kill us, and fair enough! - cos we're assholes), Ms Willow has also discovered the serenity, and coolness, of this tiled and porcelain temple.

However, it's a little disconcerting when I have to heed the call of nature.

Harden the Fuck Up, INFJ!

Whenever I take the Myers-Briggs secret identity test (a.k.a personality test), I always 'come out' as an INFJ.
[I=introvert, N=intuition, F=feeling, J=judging]
[Whatever all that means]

Apparently, this personality type is the least represented personality amongst the people of Earth, and sometimes, other personality types think that we're crazy (sometimes we are). We can be quite aloof at times (though we do care). We like to understand and ascribe meaning to things/situations/people. We can only have a proper conversation with one other human/animal/object at a time. We shun conversations that aren't proper. We are terrified of gatherings where we're expected to conversation with more than one person. We love interacting with books/movies/television 'cos we can be alone with them or close/stop them when our brains start to go fuzzy. But the thing that an INFJ most likes to do, the thing that makes it all worthwhile, is wallowing in puddles of maudlin reverie. Oh yeah!

Dark White Noise

Oxymoronic Challenge: Focus on my inability to focus.

The signal strength to noise ratio of the thought-frequencies in my brain is producing disconcerting static - too many (signals) and too loud (strength), and too jarring (unpleasant thoughts are noisy). Translation: I can't concentrate due to mind-fuzz, but also I don't want to concentrate on my mind-fuzz as it is residing in a cranky and gloomy place. Winter, and its short, cold days, isn't helping. Nor is bereft human connection.

In order to combat such dark white noise, I might need to rethink my recent adherence to a (so-called) healthy diet; whereby I've been attempting to reduce my consumption of non-essential and (seemingly) unhealthy foodstuffs - sweets, alcohol, caffeine, babies. Maybe living healthy is mostly only good for my body, and my struggling mind suffers under such fascist food fanaticism. Perhaps, in this time of dark white noise, it is necessary to forgo some corporeal vitality so that menacing mind-fuzz doesn't collapse into a black hole of doom.

Scavenger Mode Beckoned at Me

And, like a neo-mitochondrial moth to a flame, I heeded its parasitic call.

Scavenger Mode (Parasite Eve 2): This mode can be unlocked either by completing Bounty Mode or by obtaining above 69001 exp points on Replay or Normal modes. In Scavenger Mode decent weapons/ammunition and items are mostly unavailable or extremely expensive to purchase. Basically, most things are acquired by either finding them or after beating some enemies - hence, you are expected to scavenge. Also, you lose health points ALOT quicker in this mode (those adorable, flappy neo-mitochondrial moths can actually kill you here).

And, finishing Scavenger Mode unlocks Nightmare Mode!!! (Nightmare Mode combines the worst - hardest - aspects of Bounty and Scavenger modes for a raucous journey of getting killed lots - good times!).

The point I'm trying to make here, is that my Playstation addiction continues. Despite my belief that I was only going to 'have a look' at my old playstation games when I pulled them (and the PS console) out of the deepest darkest reaches of the wooden chest in my loungeroom, they are now (re) consuming me. However, in fairness to Parasite Eve 2 (and myself), I had not realized that I could unlock all these other modes after finishing the original game. In reality, when I packed this game away, 13 or so years ago, I had only completed a fraction of the gameplay it offered.

My brain, therefore, is currently devoted to Scavenger Mode battle strategies. I am honing my tactics and manoeuvres, testing various combinations of firepower, along with parasite energies (earth, wind, fire, water), with a goal to obtaining the best possible outcomes in each of the - progressively freaking harder - enemy configurations I must face. And, so far, I ALWAYS win (except for when I die - but then I can reload the game until I WIN).

Most importantly, playing Scavenger Mode is allowing me to actively avoid the real world, and any battles contained within the real world that I might encounter - and which, most likely, I would NOT win.

Seeking Solace in Tomb Raider

(So, kind of a rollicking, wild ride solace)

(Also, since I possess only playstation 1,  I've been solacing in old Tomb Raider - none of this new fangled, realistically rendered graphics technology for me; the tombs I'm raiding are polygon shaped)

I have much awe for Lara Croft (legendary adventurer and artefact collector of the Tomb Raider series); her unwavering, energetic devotion to the exploration of interesting and striking - and frequently dangerous - locations. (Also, unexpectedly dangerous - gorillas in the Monastery!). She never falters in the face of imminent death, probably due to her uncanny ability to re-animate from expiration after undergoing the mysterious process known as 'reload game'. She has incredible strength, stamina and gravity-defying gymnastics. I have never heard her use potty language, even when she catches on fire. And she has steely attitude.

(However, despite her almost supernatural capacity for maintaining grace under fire, Lara's serenity does, at times, elude her. She can be inclined to unceremonious bumping into walls, accompanied by guttural grunting, and she will let out blood-curdling screams whenever she (mostly) unintentionally plummets into cavernous depths and ravines. And when she's swimming, she has a tendency to position her bottom so it fills, and thus obscures, the screen.)

But I had not realized (until about a month ago) just how much these atmospheric games offer escapist comfort. (Comfort levels which are greatly increased by having cheat codes that allow unlimited ammo and health - though these won't save Lara when her enemy is a tricky set of jumps over cavernous depths and ravines; only incredible skill on the part of the console controller can do that).

I've found a Happy Place at Tomb Raider. An inner calm. I (as Lara) can wander Zen-like through snowy Tibet, searching for the Ice Palace (whilst carefully avoiding massive rolling snowballs, snow leopards and, of course, yeti). Or I can dive down to the bottom of the ocean and explore the tranquil metal-blue of the Wreck of the Maria Doria. There are also shadowy, not-quite-terrestrial worlds to encounter. And, most importantly, I can roam the ethereal ancient sands of Earth's caves and tombs, from Egypt to Peru.

And if anything or anyone gets in my way, I can blast them to the gods with my grenade pistol!

Here is a Flying Swordsman getting in my way on the magical Floating Islands (Tomb Raider 2):

And here are pieces of the Flying Swordsman after experiencing the 'magic' of my grenade pistol (note his disembodied sword at top of screen):

Caught in a Dream Weaver Loop

The recurring dream-mares (they're more disconcerting dreams than actual nightmares) always place me in an educational institution, either secondary school or university. Mostly the dreams occur at university, where I seem to be doing a Science degree, even though I already have a Science degree - both in the logic of the dream and in real life. Sometimes I show up to lectures, sometimes I don't. Rarely do I do any study or homework. Practical experience - laboratory, field work - isn't required. Occasionally I attend a lecture that isn't part of my syllabus. In one particularly frustrating variation of the dream-mare, I adamantly refuse to attend any mathematics lectures/tutorials, but I do take the final exam which - surprise, surprise - I completely fail. My most recent educational dream-mare incarnation placed me in a lecture in which I not only had a notebook with no blank pages left (making it very hard to take lecture notes) BUT the lecture made no sense. It was all words, words, blah, blah, incoherency, more words, something cryptic, blah. Blah.

That Dream Weaver is one sick, sad, sadistic weaver.

Goal Settings

Here is my current plan:

Wander, with meandering intent, aimlessly through life; do some things, interact with some people, admire fauna, be happy, be sad, be neither happy nor sad, avoid pain. If something resembling a goal happens, then so be it.

Worshipping the Red-Glowy Altar Thingy

Willow LOVVVVVVVVVVVVES the bar heater:

Waiting...(with music)...

I seem to be trapped in a lengthy, and slightly excruciating, interlude. Apparently, though, 'hope springs eternal'. I'm not entirely convinced.

Thankfully, during this interim (or is this my permanent state??), I have The Butterfly Effect to quell my hoping angst - which is not to be confused with my hopping angst, a painful and treacherous affliction for which I require much therapy.

Am I holding on in vain
Am I praying for a change
All the wounds set deep within
Cold the walls you set around me
Am I holding on in vain
Am I praying for a change
That's never coming

The Cheese

The cheese is giving me some trouble these days (see cheese mission statement at the top of this blog, which is courtesy of The Cheeseman - from Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Restless). I think the cheese is beginning to wear me. I know I am stronger than curdled milk but sometimes those cheese slices can weigh heavy upon brittle bones. Perhaps I need more calcium in my diet, which can be obtained from eating...cheese! Well, there's a revelation; should I try eating the cheese instead of wearing it?? I'll have to ponder on this, not least to ascertain what eating the cheese entails (I suspect it will partly require me to leave my flat more often and interact with the world - sorry, world). In the meantime, I think it would be helpful to revisit The Cheeseman and his wise aphorisms:

"I've made a little space for the cheese slices." (Willow's dream)

"These will not protect you." (Xander's dream)

"I wear the cheese. It does not wear me." (Giles' dream)

*Shakes the cheese slices* (Buffy's dream)