A Story about a Girl who Lost her Soul

I am thinking of a story.

There used to be a girl who was raised in a religious family. Me. I was taught to purge myself of all individual identity so I could devote myself to god. I was told over and over again that god loved me, and that he would talk to me and give my life purpose if I gave myself to him. So I did. I prayed and worked hard, trying to discover god's purpose for my life. I pushed down my own identity. I crushed my own hopes. And I listened. I listened hard for this god's voice. But I never could hear him.

I got older. And the older I got, the harder I had to work to keep myself clean of independent thought. It was like trying not to grow out of baby clothes – impossible, and stifling. I was more and more constrained, until one day, I snapped. I said to myself, "I give up. I won't do this anymore." It was like cutting the leash on a falcon. Endless potential, possibilities, for good or bad. I set myself on a path of destruction. I thought it was intentional, but the more I thought about life, the more I realized that the only paths in life were paths of destruction.

There's a law. I don't know if it's an official law, but it says that all things deteriorate over time. Destruction is not always a bad thing. Sometimes it is the start of something new.

So. I started on my path. After a while, I realized that I didn't believe in love, I had never really believed in love, and that was okay. There were a lot of things I stopped believing. And one day, I looked back over my shoulder and realized I had lost my soul. Or perhaps I had never really had one. Who can say what a soul is, anyway?

Still. Shouldn't I be feeling more? I should feel something about this, right? A sort of sorrow perhaps, at losing this core piece of myself? Perhaps a horror at my own callousness? But all I feel is liberated.

Of Life and Rebelliousness - and Finding the True Self

I caught a reflection of my self in the window as I walked through the kitchen door, and I thought, "My hair...it's too tame."

And it is indeed. It lay smooth and clean on my head without so much as a stray cowlick to make it look rebellious. I need more rebelliousness. I'm 17. Two months until I am legally an adult. Less than half a year until I go to college. My life is just beginning. I've lived in one little mold for 17 years. I want to break the mold. I'm tired of the monotony. I want to do unpredicatable, nonsensical things. I'll spike out my hair. Tattoo my hands. Get a little tipsy. And one day I'll get in a car and drive away and I won't come back.

Under my parents' watchful gaze, I have grown up protected. I'm surrounded by a layer of lies like a thick gel that covers me. I fall and it will cushion me. I've protected myself from being too independent by dressing normal. From being too opinionated by keeping my mouth shut. I've stayed quietly one the sidelines of life, because I knew if I let myself out, my parents wouldn't like who I am.

See, I'm going on a search. I'm going out to look for little pieces of life that I'll recognize as little missing pieces of myself. Strange things, like underground sci-fi cults, and punky black chokers, and key lime pie gum. Rings that magically fall apart when you take them off. Quirky eye makeup. Trance music. Strawberry daiquiris. Maybe one day I'll come back, but no one will recognize me. Maybe I won't even recognize me.

Lime Daiquiri

Here's something I've been wanting to try...with or without the rum. ;)

For 4 servings:

3 limes, juiced
1/2 cup white sugar
10 fluid ounces white rum
4 maraschino cherries
6 cups ice cubes
 
In a blender combine lime juice, sugar and rum. Blend and add ice one cube at a time until mixture is thick and smooth. Pour into 4 glasses and garnish with maraschino cherries.
 
I'd like to try strawberry daiquiri sometime too.

Driving Rain

I got to drive down highway 20 yesterday. In the rain. It was sort of strange. The speed limit is 65, and all the rain on the road felt like it was dragging at the wheels. I had the perpetual feeling that if I let go of the wheel with one hand for even a few seconds, like to turn on the rear defogger or fix the windshield wipers, the jumper would go careening out of my control and fly over the edge of the road and down the hill.

Like life. Not that my current psychological issues are being superimposed over my daily activities or anything.

Does it ever go away? This feeling like I'm only barely managing to stay afloat and that any second I'm going to be pulled under and disappear?

It's been raining torrents. I made a little paper boat today and put it in our swelled backyard creek. It didn't make it very far. It got stuck in the pine needles. I came back inside and made a whole fleet of little paper boats. I don't know if I should let them go.

Trance, The Auditory Caffeine

The title pretty much tells all, but I'm gonna babble on anyway so you have something to read.

I've never been the type of person to be into music. Everyone else has their ipods and their concerts and whatnot. People ask me what I listen to and never know how to answer. For one thing, what kind of question are they asking? Do they want to know genre? Names of bands? Which ever way I answer, it always seems wrong. But most of the time I just say I don't really listen to music. I get this reaction:

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!"

And then I say I've lived a rather (musically) sheltered life. And then I get this:

"Well then, I guess I'm gonna have to educate you."

I have heard that so many bloody times. Why does everyone think they need to educate me to like music? It's none of their bloody business, dammit! I think everyone just wants to brainwash me to their musical tastes. (And no, I'm not british. I just like saying "bloody".)

Okay, back on topic. Thank god I have a friend of awesomeness who isn't worried about everyone liking her musical tastes (hi Libba!). I asked her for a song reccommendation, and she told me to listen to pandora. I already had a pandora (I can't believe you don't have one, Libba), so I went music genre shopping and picked trance.

God, I love it. I love the catchy beat. The ethereal vocals. The abstract lyrics. The electronic pulse. Like I said, it's auditory caffeine. I have never wanted to know how to dance before, but now I do. Why have I never heard of this stuff before? I listen to it and suddenly I have energy. It's like magic. Caffeine, without the calories. I'm pretty sure just listening to it burns calories. It just gets my pulse going.

All We Know

The earth pulses with life. Everyday people wake up, go to school or work, come home, go to bed, repeat...and yet we go on. Why? Is it because we hope that someday something will change, get better? Some misguided knowledge of adventure?

Everyday our eyes open like they never have before. The pupils dilate at the new light, light which is fresh and has not yet shone. As though each day were new. But can we really live that way? Can we really live as if we were a new person after each dawn?

Somehow our hearts keep beating, our lungs pulse in and out, in and out, sucking in the air to keep us alive. Our thoughts keep flowing, changing. But we ourselves are not the change, are we? Can we be changlings?

People; their eyes meet, flicker away, never to be seen or known again. Hands clasp in friendship, ghosts of ourselves who smile at the other reflections that breathe but do not live. The misty vapors of ourselves when we do not show our hearts.

So much is gained and lost everyday...and still never ceasing. We go on.

Someday I will understand everything.

Libba Bray

My favorite author is Libba Bray. Not just because of her books (which are...well, words cannot describe their awesomeness), but because of her. Her personality. Her writing itself. Her willingness to share her experiences. It started when I read her books in the Gemma Doyle trilogy. As is usual for me when I read something really good, I did a little author research. First I saw her generic, for-the-public biography, 21 Things About Me, which has a twenty-one random facts about her, like she has a glass eye and she hates doughnuts. None of that I-grew-up-here-I-married-this-person-and-now-we-live-here nonsense. Just twenty-one very juicy, hilarious facts. More people should write their bios like that.

More research led me to her blog. Most authors blog about tour dates and release dates and stuff like that. Not Libba Bray. Libba Bray writes about whatever the hell is on her mind. Sometimes she writes about seemingly trivial, everyday kind of stuff, like her favorite movies. Sometimes about important, controversial issues, like tolerance. Sometimes about her past. Whatever she writes about, she is 100% authentic and honest and human, and every time she writes, I think she puts a little of herself in her writing. 

Libba Bray could write about earthworms and make it hilarious, poignant, and inspiring, all at once. She's so good, I can tell you what her personality type is even though I've never met her (enfp).

http://libba-bray.livejournal.com/

If At First You Don't Succeed...?

I am a bad girl. A very, very bad girl. I should not have been away from my blog for this long. I should have stayed here and continued writing everyday.

This is the year of applications. Scholarship applications, college applications, financial aid applications, university applications, various other sorts of applications, etc. Every single kind of application - or very nearly every single kind - includes some kind of personal statement and/or written essay. I am so unprepared for this. This morning, while trying to think of coping strategies that don't involve procrastination, I told myself I should just start writing daily essays on everything that interests me, and by the time I have to turn in essays, I'd have many to choose from. And then I remembered, that's the main principle of a blog: writing essay-type vignettes everyday on interesting things. Perhaps if I'd stuck with the blog and given myself these months of writing practice, I wouldn't feel so lost now.

*deep, deep sigh*

Okay. Gotta pull myself together. Time to whip myself into shape. Here we go.

Punkster Barbs

I seem to have this thing for black chokers. I don't know why, but they just look so... shmexy. Especially with short hair. Maybe 'cuz they're just so punky. Anyway. I found this one whilst browsing etsy. It looks so rebellious.

Later

If my camera was working, I would be showing you pictures of my new tatted mask. Remember, a while ago, I tried tatting a mask from a pattern by Totusmel, but it didn't come out like I hoped? So I decided to try making a different one without a pattern. Well, I made one using and manipulating a simple rings-and-chains pattern and it came out really well. Well enough that I entered it in the county fair on a whim. It won me a blue ribbon and five dollars. On Monday I got it back from the fair, and I immediately wanted to take pictures and blog about it, but my camera's out of batteries and I can't find new ones. So hopefully I will be able to do this...later.

Sesquipedalian Loquaciousness

Sesquipedalian loquaciousness entices me.

Translation: I like big-wordy explanations. I'm kind of a word nerd, sometimes. Back when I entered the public for the first time (freshmen year...*shudder*), I had to learn to simplify what I said, otherwise people would look at me oddly and say, "Oooookay...uh-huh. Yeah, what?" Now I'm much better at communicating, but it took a while.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand: sesquipedalian loquaciousness. I have spontaneously decided to blog every once in a while about a new vocabulary word. Today, I have two words. Why? Because I discovered them together, here. "Sesquipedalian" and "Loquacious". From dictionary.com:

Sesquipedalian: [ses-kwi-pi-dey-lee-uhn, -deyl-yuhn]
–adjective
1. given to using long words.
2. (of a word) containing many syllables.
–noun
3. a sesquipedalian word
 
Loquacious: [loh-kwey-shuhs]
–adjective
1. talking or tending to talk much or freely; talkative; chattering; babbling; garrulous: a loquacious dinner guest.
2. characterized by excessive talk; wordy: easily the most loquacious play of the season.

Bella Lili giveaway

Bella Lili is an artist who makes beautiful gothic-, victorian-, and steampunk-inspired jewelry. She has an etsy shop and a blog and she does a giveaway every month. This month she's giving away this Glam Rock Bracelet. Isn't it lovely? You can enter the giveaway on her blog, here. Other pieces she's made are available at her etsy shop, here.

Personally, I have my eye on the Blue Regenade necklace. I love the shape of the crystal, the blue tint, and the way the chain drapes around the neck twice. I'd love to buy it, but I'm seventeen and (at the moment) poor. I don't start work for another week, but when I have enough money, it's mine, so hands off! :)

Grand News!

I finally have internet again!

I had to move my laptop to another room so that I could be connected to the internet via hardlines (I know, so archiac already), and even that took a while to figure out, but my father finally got me connected. I suppose now I don't have have an excuse not to write anymore. No more laying around like a lazy bum without a pencil in my hand anymore - or with my fingers on the keys, as it were.

So...not much has been happening while I was net-less. I've been reading...and doing homework...and reading some more...and doing some more homework. Which reminds, by the way, that I should be doing homework right now. Next week is the last week of English class, which means that I have a presentation and a ten-page paper due (neither of which are even started), and I also need to study for the final. Guess I'll be blogging more later.

RIP Netgear

I'm sorry; I haven't posted anything for a couple days, and I'm not likely to post anything for a while after this. You see, a few days ago, my internet died. My tech-geek dad hasn't been able to figure it out yet. My laptop is now good only for typing and computer games. So anytime I need to do something online, I have to borrow one of my parents' laptops. It generally isn't very often that they will let me do that.

I'm still job hunting. It will probably be a while before I get hired, and then it will be another while before I have enough money to get another laptop (especially since I have to start paying rent in February), so my postings will be few and far between in the meantime. I'll try to type and save stuff so I can post it when I have the opportunity.

Job Hunting Sucks

I really hate job hunting.

I don't remember if I mentioned this before, but there's a new restaurant opening in town, and I applied to work there last Friday. I was part of a large group interview (which was a horrifying experience, in my opinion - I had one shot to say everything important and that was it). My parents told me there was a good chance I got a job (though I disagreed). My mother was especially optimistic; she made me answer the phone every time it rang on Monday and Tuesday (when I was supposed to hear back if I was hired), despite my cynical, disbelieving attitude. I don't ever expect to get hired. After all, I'm just another hopeful, inexperienced teenager in a mass of people who are looking for jobs.

Well, today is Wednesday and I was not hired. I can't honestly say this surprises me. My mother is driving me insane. Every time I apply somewhere, she becomes just so certain that I must get this job. She tries to get me all excited every single time. And every single time I am disappointed. Now I have to muster up enough energy to put myself out there again, because today I found out that my mother is going to have me start paying rent every month when I turn 18. This means that I no longer would like a job: now I must have a job, because if I don't, I won't be able to pay my rent and then I'll get kicked out of the house.

So today, my mother decided that instead of doing my English homework (which is due tonight in the college class I'm taking), I should go job-hunting! That's what I've been doing today, and it's been very taxing on my nerves. I've had absolutely no luck. Nobody wants a teenage employee; teenagers are supposed to be moody, unstable, and most importantly, inexperienced.

How am I supposed to get experience if no one will hire me?

*sigh*

The Mind in the Night

This is a poem I wrote a little while ago about the relationship between the conscious and the subconscious (or unconscious). I'm still trying to decided if I like it or not. I think there's a lot of room for improvement, so let me know if you see anything that needs work (I'm sure you will - I hope).

We flowed from our dreams into being -

Touched only with our fingers, entwined,

No warmth in our chilled translucent skin -

Spoke only silent words,

Our ghostly breaths on the night air

The echoes of thoughts.

Our pale voices were petals of cherry blossoms, 
locked under the black surface of water,

Ever drifting, mere shadows of light - thin, and soft

There was no fleeting reality as we walked across crystalline waves

And the frothy sea foam washed over our feet.

We swept through the stars, hovering around us like icy fireflies;

Our cold lips were parted as if to let our souls escape...

So we lasted, until the dawn began,

Until dusk shattered our fragile darkness

And sent us back into our dreams.

Calvin and Hobbes - Philosophers

While my dad was cleaning his office, he found an old Calvin and Hobbes comic book that had come from the library. The due date was July 2007. Since I'd already paid for it several years ago, I decided to keep it. I mean, I could have returned it and tried to get credit back on my account, but the library only gives you credit if the book is worth a certain account. Anyway, why take it back when I could keep it and have my very own Calvin and Hobbes book?

I love Calvin and Hobbes. The drawing is fantastic, the facial expression are hilarious, and the subtle social commentary is funny in a depressingly accurate sort of way. Calvin is like a six-year-old genius, who struggles to understand the world. He's alternately planning mischief in the spirit of malevolence and feeling lost at the paradoxes in adult society. And he's always accompanied by his stuffed tiger, Hobbes, who seems to be very smart and at peace with the world. He doesn't wrestle with the contradictions, he just accepts them.

It's amazing how childhood can be used to reflect the absurdities of adult life.

Endless Ink Spots

Ink splatters on a page
Are hopeless fingers
Wasting their days writing -
What does it mean?

I used to be a writer. When I was 13, I decided that when I grew up, I would be a famous novelist like J. K. Rowling. I created my story; a member of an ancient race of mentally superior beings goes bad and must be killed by the Chosen One. I wrote thousands and thousands of words for my story. I did tons of research into the art of novel writing and just writing in general. I took classes. I practiced and I practiced my writing. Eventually, I was even good at it.

But it wasn't enough.

I wanted nothing less than perfection. I wanted my books to wield their own powerful sense of being. I wanted them to be alive and personal and full of color. I wanted my readers to cling to their pages, breathing in the smell as though trying to suck in the atmosphere. I wanted to be placed in the Literary Hall of Fame next to the likes of Bram Stoker, Anne Rice, Stephen King, J. R. R. Tolkien, and of course, J. K. Rowling. I wanted to achieve immortality through my words.

This was an ideal I could not reach. I think I knew that from the beginning, but I clung stubbornly to my ideal. In the words of J. R. R. Tolkien's hobbit, it was precious to me. Still, you can't sleep forever. One day you have to wake up from the dream. My waking up was slow, reluctant, and painless. It was a gradually drifting away pervaded by the kind of bittersweet sorrow that follows things lost. I was distracted. The notebooks began to gather dust, the pencils grew dull, the saved files were not renewed.

I don't write seriously anymore. I just write for fun. Mostly I just have this little blog here for blurbs and vignettes and whatnot. In the end though, all the learning I had during my writing phase paid off. I got full credit on the english related sections of the SAT (except for the essay...I dunno what happened there). I do well in all my english classes. I occasionally write something, a piece of a story, but I never show anything to anyone. I never will. Maybe one day, though, I'll go back to writing.

Get Smarter: Read a Book!

You've probably heard a teacher mention at some point, how people who read a lot are better spellers. They're also better writers, better speakers, better at grammar, more open to new things, more creative, and etc.

Reading is nourishment for the mind. Each book you devour takes you on a journey, teaching you, shaping you, persuading you, exposing you to new ideas, developing you, and changing you - if you open your mind. I've seen those kids in class who are -sure that they aren't going to gain anything by reading an assigned book...and they're usually right, while the kids who went ahead and read with their mind open, usually learn something. Imagination is key. Inspiration.

Books can be your life companions. My mother read me The Hobbit when I was six years old. Later, I didn't remember much of it; there was a dragon, and some gold, and a dwarf king who died. But when I was old enough to understand it on my own, I reread it and loved it. Now I reread it every once in a while.

Words are tools. Reading stretches our subconscious, teaching us vocabulary and spelling. Spelling is a neuromuscular skill, meaning that you have to stretch it a lot, which reading does for you. I suspect vocabulary is also a neuromuscular skill. In any case, it's pretty commonly known that people who read more have a larger vocabulary and are better spellers.

Books give us information, especially non-fiction. Even those puffed-up self help books can teach a few things (although they take too many words to say a thing). Kids these days tend to use the internet to do their research. If they have a paper for which they are required to cite a book source, they usually flip through the book, find one relevant quote, and only use that. Heaven forbid that they actually read the book. The problem here is that the internet, while a great place to do research, is also not known for its reliability. It's also way too convenient. Kids get used to just being able to type in what they're looking for and getting thousands of results back. While this isn't a bad thing, they also need to know how to find what they're looking for in a book.

The library is my friend. It's the community's friend. Anyone can go to a library. Lately, budget cuts have put libraries in trouble. Read more about this crisis here, here, and here.

Why The Internet is Awesome

I will be the first to admit that the internet has a negative side. Mind-numbing games, no-brain-cells-required social networking, and easy-to-access TV shows can combine to stupefy the viewer until their liquified brains start dripping out their nose and ears. And of course, there's also the threat of online predators.

But there are also good things about the internet. It can help you keep up on what's going on, it can help you organize your own life, and there's a wealth of information right at your fingertips. The key is in knowing how to utilize it. Here's a list of everything I love about the internet.

1. If you're an avid reader, sites like Shelfari help you organize your books and find new ones. You can search a book by author, subject, popularity, and genre. Your virtual shelf is sorted by three categories: books you've read, books you're reading now, and books you plan to read.

2. How-to sites, like Instructables and Wikihow, teach you new things and allow you to learn from  and interact with a community. I learned how to tat and make mug brownies from Instructables, and Wikihow inspired my mask obsession when it featured an article on making masks out of foil and tape. So useful! I even once found an article of building a secret door behind a bookshelf (not that I've done that, of course...). Youtube is also good for finding how-to videos if you need a visual on something. It's also a good place to find lectures on, say, physics.

3. If there's something you're intensely interested in, it's almost a guarantee that there's a forum somewhere dedicated to it. Forums are a great place to discuss things with other people who are interested in the same things as you.

4. Free music! If you don't have an ipod or can't afford to buy a ton of songs to fill it up with, sites like Pandora and playlist.com can be great. Pandora is sort of like an online radio station in that you don't exactly get to pick what songs are played, but on playlist.com you can put together your own list of songs (unfortunately for me, playlist.com won't work on my dying laptop anymore).

5. Google. Yes, google is taking over the world, but for good reason. It's just so convenient. It's got everything you could possibly ever need: gmail, google calendar, search engines, online books, maps, and of course, blogs! Which leads us to...

6. Blogs! Blogs are awesome. For one thing, you're reading a blog right now. Blogs allow for us to see the world through the eyes of many different people. They allow us to see several sides to an issue, also. I love reading about what other people are doing and looking at the way they think about and analyze a situation.

That's all for now, but I know there must be much more. What do you love about the internet?

What's going on with the world?

This morning, my mother made me scrub a toilet. I wasn't supposed to scrub the toilet, but she made me anyway.

Okay, now you're thinking that I'm being whiny, angsty ager. But there's actually a story behind this. And a point. There's a point to this story, too.

We the children are assigned one chore a day. Theoretically, we do the chore in exchange for our priveleges, like using the internet, the wii, the dvd player, etc. Usually, each person doing one chore a day is enough to maintain our household at a livable level of cleanliness. Today I was supposed to scrub the bathroom floor.

I was in the middle of cleaning out the mop, when my mother, walking by, said, "Clean the toilet, too."

My response (whilst blinking in bewilderment): "But that's not part of scrubbing the floor."  She was technically violating the one-chore-a-day policy. In my defense, I was not challenging her authority. I don't mind doing a little extra work. In fact I usually do some extra cleaning everyday, especially in the kitchen (not that she notices...*sniff*sniff*). I was confused about the requirementsof my job. But...

She snapped at me. "Well I just made if part of it!"

Ouch.

My response was sort of instinctual. I kind of bristled up and thought rebellious, agery thoughts. But I didn't say anything out loud. I kept my mouth shut, like the little goody-goody that I am. And I scrubbed the toilet. I didn't want to be rude.

My mother was rude. I'm used to her being rude, but it still ruffles my feathers, every single time. I rarely bite back. But today it made me think. Some of my "friends" have called me too sensitive when I expressed dissatisfaction with their rudeness to me. Like my "friend" exhibit A who eats my food without asking or being offered it. Not like my friend exhibit B, who will do puppy dog eyes, look hungrily at my food, and then ask, "Uh...can I has some?" Exhibit A punches people when she is annoyed at them. Exhibit B just gives them a look like "Did you seriously just say that?" I kind of like exhibit B better.

Does it make me old-fashioned, that I prefer politeness, friendliness, and consideration over casual rudeness? I've never considered myself old-fashioned. Has society just decayed to the point where it's okay to be rude? What's going on?

Bejeweled Choker

In my post about the tatted mask, I mentioned I'd found a very simple pattern that could be manipulated to go around the eye wires for a new mask. I saw on agasunset's blog a choker that she had made. I liked it, and as she said, it came out looking rather punky. Punky is good, in my book. I zoomed in on her picture so I could figure out the pattern. My thinking was somewhere along the lines of "Hey, I could use a simple, basic pattern that's not too hard. I need to learn something besides really specific stuff, so...here we go?" The pattern was actually easier than I expected. At first I thought I might make it into a wrist cuff or something, but I ended up making another choker. Just a basic, long, rectangle-shaped bit of lace that would fit around my neck.

I thought I would look through the bead box and see what I could find to decorate it with. There wasn't much in the bead box (the bead box is communal property, so most of the good stuff has already been used up). I pawed through my personal craft drawer and found a packet of little silver jewels and glued some of the square ones onto the choker, similar to what agasunet did with pyramid nailheads. My choker looks a bit more sparkly than hers, but it ended up pretty much being the same.

The Many Personas of *I*

I've always loved masks, but I've never really done any research on them or looked into their history. Today I decided to do some. Here's what I found.

There are different types of masks, apparently. I did not know this, but here are all the types of masquerade masks (which are really Venetian masks, because is there really any other kind of masquerade mask?). As far as I can tell from what I read, they're all made out of papier mache and then painted and decorated to look exotic and exciting:

Bauta: a whole face mask which was originally used for concealment. It has a sharp chin line, no mouth, and is typically very gilded. It's also usually white. Picture here.

Moretta: a black, usually velvet, oval-shaped face mask that used to come with a veil (I don't know if it still does). It was held onto the face by a button held in the teeth so that the wearer did not have to talk, but these days it come with a ribbon for tying it on. It was worn by women, and later by men, to hide their identity. Picture here.

Mattacino: a clown type mask which was worn by Italian jesters. Picture here.

Medico Della Peste (The Plague Doctor): masks with long noses that look like beaks. They were developed during the plague for doctors. The nose held a filter of herbs and salts, and there were crystal discs over the eyes. Now the herbs and discs are gone, and the masks are more decorative, sometimes resembling birds or beaked creatures. Picture here.

Columbina: a half mask that is held up by a baton or ribbon. Supposedly it was inspired by an actress who did not want to cover her entire face for a play. I think these are the most common and decorative types of masks. Picture here.

Volto (Larva): similar to the Bauta, this mask is a full-face mask which is typically white. Unlike the Bauta, however, this mask has a rounded chin line and a mouth so that the wearer could talk and eat while still concealing who they were. Larva means ghost. Picture here.

So there you have it: the various types of Venetian masquerade masks and their names. The reason this came up was because I was planning to post pictures of a mask I made and I didn't what to call it. I wasn't even sure it could be called a Venetian mask. Now I can call it a harlequin columbina mask (harlequin just means that it has a pattern of different colored diamonds). It's hard to tell from the pictures, but the white diamonds have piano music on them.

And here's a link to the history of Venetian masks, if you care to read it. 

Note: I do not own any of the pictures, except for the pictures of my mask (the green and white harlequin mask with the feathers).

No Rites of Passage?

The main topic in my english class this summer is Rites of Passage, ceremonies meant to mark one's passage from one stage of life to the next. The author of one of our textbooks, bemoaned the state of youth today because they have no rites of passage. After I read that, I sat there wondering if that's what my problem - I have no connection to past and future generations. Now that I've thought about it, I think that's not my problem. My problem is myself, but that's a whole other issue.

Now that I've thought about it some more, I think the reason I feel more connected to my dad (beside psychological similarities) is because he has passed on more of his legacy to me; it's his fault thanks to him that I'm a fan of Star Wars, Star Trek, Stargate, and other various kinds of nerdy science fiction. My mother has nothing to pass on to me. I inhereited little of her artistic talent, and she has hardly any connections with the rest of her family, so she can't pass on anything from them.

If I am ever a parent, maybe I'll start a tradition to act as a rite of passage; when my children turn eigh , they can get a tattoo to represent themselves. A small tattoo. In a place where it can be hidden. And nothing inappropriate (aaaah, I sound like a parent already). Archaic tribes had rituals of scarification; wouldn't a tattoo at eigh be similar? Or perhaps I could similar drop my children off in the middle of a very large forest and tell them to find their spirit guide.

Finished First Attempt

Remember that mask I mentioned? The one I was tatting? I finished it last week. Today I finally spread it out and took some pictures. There's a piece of wire in the middle for fitting around the nose that I had to flatten out for the pictures.

It didn't come out quite like I had anticipated. I think that all three medallions (those are the round pieces on either side and in the middle) are too large, because they keep getting folded up. And the mask isn't stiff enough. In one of the pictures of me wearing it, you can see that the top piece with the beads keeps flopping over. Also, I wanted it a bit more tightly woven. For example, it keeps bunching up over the nose because the tatting isn't all quite attached.

I'm going to try tatting another mask, this time without instructions. I'll figure it out as I go. I found a simple pattern that I think can be manipulated to go around the eyes.

Blogs/Forums > Facebook

On Sunday or Monday last week - I believe it was Monday - I deactivated my facebook account. I think facebook is a regressive way to network.

When I joined facebook (probably about a year ago), I had the same good intentions all facebook addicts start out with. I was going to keep in touch with all my old friends who were moving away. I was going to keep all my distant relatives up-to-date on what was going on in my life. I was going to coordinate with other students on school work. None of this stuff happened.

Have you ever looked at facebook? It's like a window revealing the same sheep-like idiot to you a thousand times over. It's horrifying. Monstrous. The decay of society in action.

Facebook is built around status updates, which allow for users to let the world know when they are visiting their nieces and nephews, doing their homework, getting their teeth pulled, or going to the bathroom. The updates are meant to be short and simple; they allow no room for thought development (probably because most facebook users don't have any thoughts - no offense to you if you use facebook, I'm sure you're different.) If someone wanted to post something thoughtful and intelligent, say, on the meaning of life, their message would be cut off after three or so lines.

But! If you need space for thought development, you can write a note and post that. Of course, your note is also cut off after a few lines, so people can't read it unless they care enough to follow the link. A few people actually do care enough. However, there's no room for them to respond - they can leave a comment, but it has to be short. Again, no room for thought development.

In truth, though, if you really want to talk about intellectual things on facebook, the formatting won't stop you. There's not an actual word limit on the length of your status updates or comments (although it will be abbreviated by the "read more" button). The real problem is the other people on facebook. Generally, facebook users are not people who think deep thoughts; they are people who would rather feed their virtual pet sea turtle than have a discussion on physics.

This is why I prefer the world of blogs and forums. Blogs are made for thought development; forums are made for discussions. I find that the people in these places (at least the ones that I know) are the types of people I like: independent thinkers with original opinions. They're people who know how to write correctly. They know how to convey an important idea.

So far, I haven't missed facebook a bit.

I'm Back

I have been in Illinois for the last week, which is why I haven't been posting. I am exhausted. I like Illinois - or at least, I like my relatives in Illinois - but the time difference can be harsh, and my teachers loaded me up with the biggest pile of homework you have ever seen before I left. I was working on it all week while on vacation and I still have not caught up. Also, the plane was delayed yesterday, so we ended up getting back at 2am yesterday, instead of the expected midnight. I didn't got to english or math support this morning. I slept in. But I did go to history.
After two weeks of sharing a hotel room with three other people (one of whom - the one I shared a bed with - acts like a two year old all the time), it'll probably take me a couple days to pull myself back together. It's also that time of the year when I have large presentations and finals. I expect this to be a very stressful week.

Why do I want to be a Freak?

Society today is full of sheeple (sheep + people); granted it has probably always been that way, but it hasn't always been so...regressively connected. The average person today (at least in my generation), doesn't give a care about their health, their future, their education, or their mental well-being. They facebook, and tweet, and text, and chat. They're emotional and unstable. They don't craft or write or learn or create. They don't value quality.

I call myself a freak because I do.

I've never been called a freak directly by anyone else, but I've been called a lot of different things. Nerd. Robot. Goody-goody. Weird. Up-tight. Stuck up. That's what my "friends" have called me. They call me a lot of things for a lot of reasons. Nerd and goody-goody, becuase I do my homework, study instead of goof off, and consider my grades important. Robot, because I don't let my emotions control me. Stuck up, because I don't want to hang out with people who drink, do drugs, etc. Weird and up-tight, because I don't follow common fads. I got so tired of trying to ward off all these negative comments; now I just accept them as positive ones, regardless of what the speaker intends.

I value quality. I care about my health, my future, my education, and my mental well-being. I have a facebook, but I only use it to keep in touch with people who won't keep in touch any other way. I don't tweet, text, or chat with random strangers online (a current fad). I'm not emotional or unstable. I love to craft and write and learn and create. Oh, and I blog, something kids in my generation don't have to patience to do.

That's why I'm a freak. It's by society's definitions. I admit, I'm not the only one like this; there are other people who are intelligent and innovative, but they're definitely in the minority. I call myself a freak in acceptance of the fact that I am part of this minority. I am proud to be a freak.

To Freak Obsessions

As part of my societal stick-outedness (I'll think of a better word for that later, I'm sure), I pick up some unusal hobbies. Unusual for my generation, I mean. My generation doesn't seem to be very artistic, but hey, that's part of what makes me such a freak (hoorah). My newest fascination/obsession/hobby is tatting, an old-fashioned way of making lace. It can be used to make some awesome things. Like black lace accessories.

tat-ting
–noun
1. the act or process of making a kind of knotted lace of cotton or linen thread with a shuttle.
2. such lace.

I became interested in tatting when I went onto instructables.com and saw a featured article for how to make a tatted mask. I love masks, and this mask was quite lovely. It was made of a kind of heavy lace with wide spaces and was intricately designed. It swirled around the face and even reminded me a bit of a spiderweb, if a spiderweb could be built with swirls and glittering beads around the edges. I was enticed. I looked at the article. It was complicated, and the listed skill level was "advanced". 
 
I was very interested. If such a beautiful mask could be made out of thread, what other possibilities could this combination of thread and secret skill have? The artist had several other intructables listed - one was Learn Needle Tatting With My Flower Pendant! I checked it out, it didn't look too hard, and the best part was I already owned a big needle. So I gave it a shot. The flower didn't come out too well, but it didn't come out too badly either, so I tried the next instructable - Needle Tatting A Necklace. This one came out much better; in fact, it actually looked like it was supposed to look, with everything in the right place and the right length.
 
I then became ambitious and acquired some black thread for myself. I had previously been using purple and white thread that I didn't think was very appealing. Anyway, I love black. I'm now attempting the mask, with black thread and red beads, and I must say it's coming along very nicely. I'll post a picture of it when it's done.

The completely amazing woman who posted the original instructable has her own blog, and she's awesome. Go check it out: Needle Tatting and other Nonsense: The Musings of a Tattooed Needle Tatter

Morbidity Married with a Strange Beauty

I would say that phrase could almost sum up the entire Gothic subculture. Though, any subculture which is thriving and possessed of life in itself the way the Gothic subculture is cannot be so easily defined. It is a rich, complicated subculture, painted over with its own brand of dark . It has its own brands of music, literature, architecture, art, and fashion, and the subculture the way it is in its present has been around for almost forty years.

"What exactly is goth?" is a difficult question to answer. You may as well ask "What is society?" I'll do my best to answer. The goth question, I mean (though I might tackled that society question later, who knows?).

It started as an artistic movement nearly 400 years ago, and then later grew out of a music movement in the late 1970's, early 1980's (which the punk group claims they started). Goth is a group of people who are different. Goth is about being yourself, being open-minded, and not being afraid to shun normal cultural practices. Goth people are usually intelligent (not that there aren't a whole heck of a lot of exceptions), and have a dark or cynical sense of humor. They're quirky; they're creative; they're crafty. DIY crafts are a cornerstone of goth, and many goths make their own clothes (or at least alter them).

What Gothic is not: It's not a cult, it's not about being violent or depressed, and it's not about getting attention. Okay, maybe it is about that for some people, but those are usually the people who grow out of it. There a lot of people who grow into it. There are no requirements for being a goth; there's no secret Gothic cabinet which makes decisions and stamps goth points of your secret goth card. It's not always flamboyant, either. Some people just wear black t-shirts with their jeans.

Suggested sites for further reading:
Gothic Charm School
A Brief Guide to Goth
Various Wikipedic Definition of Goth

Even further reading (books):
What is goth? by Voltaire
Gothic Charm School: A guide for goths and those who love them, by Jillian Venters

The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator

The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) is a way of indicating how someone's brain works. The four letters each stand for a type of function. It started with a guy names Carl Jung, a Swiss psychologist who developed a theory on the differences between people. His work was later picked up by Katherine Cook Briggs and her daughter, Isabella Briggs Myers. They further developed into the indicator which is used today.

The first letter tells whether the person in introverted or extroverted, thus it is either "I" or "E".

The second letter is a bit more vauge, but it generally indicates whether the person is more focused-on-the-moment and down-to-earth, or relies more on gut instinct and thinks about possibilities. The second letter is always either an "S" for sensing, or an "N" for intuition (yes, I realize intuition doesn't start with "N", but if both the first and second letters were "I"'s, it would get confusing). This letter has the most impact on whether or not you will be able to jive well with another person. Intuiters get along well with other intuiters. Sensors get along well with other sensors. Although there won't necessarily be conflict between an S-type person and an N-type person, they won't be able to "click".

The third letter tells whether the person is emotional or not. It can be either an "F" (feeling) or a "T" (thinking) - that's pretty clear cut and simple.

The fourth letter has to do with how the person handles life. If they handle it spontaneously and take things as they come, they get a "P" (for percieving, I don't know why). If the person prefers schedules and like to plan and organize, they get a "J" (for judging, again, I don't know why it's called that).

So, four slots, two possible letters for each slot, equals a total of 16 different possible combinations, the "types". Each type is different. The four functions don't act independently of each other. Combination is important. The combinations are responsible for the fact that there are six different types of people. But, not all people of the same type are the same. Some have their auxilary more developed than others. That's where things start to get (more) complicated, so I'll leave off on the explanation here. I hope I was able to provide an understandable explanation.

If anyone is interested in this and wants to do some further reading, here are helpful links.

Know Your Type
The Myers and Briggs Foundation
Type Logic
Human Metrics Type Test (Jung)
The MBTI Instrument Overview
There's also a forum based on personality types: Personality Cafe

Hello, Hello, Stranger

Hello. I'm Autumn. I am the presence in the corner, the mysterious dark stranger, the lonely genius, the misunderstood rebel. I am, by my very nature, the freak.

Perhaps you wonder what it is that makes me a freak. Perhaps you have already deemed me to be one of those angsty, woe-is-me types, with the alone-in-a-crowded-room syndrome, pitifully and stubbornly insisting, "No! I really am so unique and misunderstood!"

If this is what you thought, let me hasten to correct your mistaken assumption. I have no angst. I am not woeful. I may have issues, but this is not one of them. I am perfectly happy with where, and who, I am.

The primary reason I am a freak is: psychologically, my Myers-Briggs type preference is for INTJ. I will delve more deeply into the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator in a later post, but for now, this means that I am highly independent, intellectual, systematic, cynical, driven, and reserved. These are all traits people don't expect to find in a female ager. INTJ's are rare, INTJ females even more so, and they're massively misunderstood.

The second reason I'm a freak is: I am gothically inclined. Again, more about goth in a later post, but for now, goths are also massively misunderstood, practically on principle.

If you were to see me on the street, you wouldn't assume I was a freak. I blend in. Mostly, this is because a) I can't afford gothic clothing (although I'm working on making my own), and b) I live with my very conventional, Christian conservative family. My father doesn't care much that I'm all "weird" (he's kind of weird, too), but my mother can be cruel. So I have to act normal, especially around her.

Anyway...just try not to be too surprised if some of my posts are rather strange. I can be a little odd sometimes.