nothing worth dreaming over
I am of the opinion that the following post is a long rant, which you'd do best to ignore.

I am of the opinion that someone's going to end up making fun of me for this...

I am of the opinion that no matter how beautiful the memory, it will sting. Regrets, memories of pain and torture and angst will all hurt. But memories of joy, of beloveds and the crystalline beauty of the moment will hurt more - in that they refuse to be captured, and they can never be held again. Not the loved ones lost, not the sparkling laughter of the time, not the pure, unstrained joy.

I am of the opinion that I have reached a degree in my acting life where I can go through the motions, no matter how deadpan, and still come across as cheerful, no matter how troubled. The exclamation mark is just two keys too far away, and appears like such a lie. There's a mask I want to wear until it falls apart at the seams. But by then, my face will have melded into it - and the lie will never have been there at all.

I am of the opinion that when the sieve sorts me out, all good and bad, I am less than the sum of my parts - a whiny, pretentious little brat who should really bite off her own tongue and fingers to stop the jagged, bitter flow, but can't raise the energy.
Pathetic, isn't it?

I am of the opinion that no matter how optimistic the air I breathe, no matter what others say, what I believe in, my prospective future is bleak. As a word of regretful advice to any year 10 or 11 reading this, it is very much a good idea to study either chemistry or physics in VCE. That opens up so many more possible degrees, particularly if science or engineering holds interest for you. Double-degrees seem to be the way to go, and at this rate, I'll either have to go to a second-class university or do a single degree+diploma to get what I first hoped for. (Also note: it is a GOOD idea to get VTAC guides)

I am of the opinion that life was never meant to be fair. I bitch about it here, where the choice of reading is optional. While I wish only to help those closest to me with their pains, I never signed up to be a counsellor. Please, to those who probably do not have the address of this blog anyway, do not bitch to me about problems, faulty love life, or - god forbid - a late art request CONSTANTLY. I have better things to do with my RAM than read whiny IMs. I never signed up to be a regular Dev-commentator, either. Do not expect me to be one. I like to think I'm more than that.

I am of the opinion more people should read descriptions on artposts at Dev. They're there for a reason.

I am of the opinion that I'm a spineless little twerp who doesn't believe in the block list as "insulting people is more fun!", but all my spears are snidely sugar-coated.

I am of the opinion that life after next month for me is a sequence of events not really worth looking forward to, and the fae of the past enjoy tormenting the future of the present with dangerous hopes and threats.

I am of the opinion that if you don't want to talk to me, don't. Don't pretend, because that just deepens the cut. Unless, like, iunno, you want to pretend because you hate me, or you're trying to be nice. Don't try to be nice, it's annoying. But I tend to taunt those who hate me, so 'sokay. All wounds should heal, eventually.

I am of the opinion that people should be less whiny in general. Or more easy-going. Exploding occasionally is fine, sulking continually is a pain. Yeesh.

I was raised in a country of competition, where failed grades and a low income mean a slow death, a painful death, gnawed by flies and lizards. Or a quick death, like flying, but flying through the air, toward the ground, and shattering, breaking then. But a death, a sure death, more painful than the luxurious sleep on a four-poster bed.

I would like to dream that I am something more than a toy put here for your usage...but if need be, I'm happy to be nothing more.

I know I'm not a pure child, and I can't understand why some people like to think so. Yes, I know what the word orgasm means, and I know several homonyms for it. I'm not a pure child, but we can pretend I'm a toy, we can pretend I'm a vixen, and so we can pretend I'm the cottonwool princess, too.

There are people I can always smile for, no matter what ails at the time. But there are people who always bring a dark cloud with their silvery smirks.

I want to thank the people who can hurt, for making me grow faster.

I know I should be nice to people and help them out with a big yellow smile - because, if karmic backlash serves me as good as it has bad - people will help me out in future, no matter how fragile the strings of friendship.
But sometimes, I don't want to.

And I know that if I don't be nice, people won't be nice in future, and another jewel of make-believe friendship will evaporate. But at times though I can barely raise the energy to scream, the jewel persuades, begs, simpers, to be picked up in the cool palm of hand, and smashed against the wall into a million irridescent fragments.
And a not-so-foreign wish is harbored, that I should be taunted, that I should be provoked, that I should be insulted, so that for a minute I can scream, I can cry, I can shout.
But I don't think I can do that anymore. It feels like everything should be blunted, this year, and breathed in through a thick white curtain.

Is no one an island?

I'm not bitter, just tired.

I am of the opinion...

The White King's Memorandum: Tuesday, July 22, 2003, 923 p.m.