Of life, books, and other stories...

Good morning, though I should probably say good night, given that I, once again, have not yet gone to sleep.

Insomnia has turned out to be a daily aspect of my life, this time I did go out, so it could simply be the rush of seeing friends and having drinks that just needs to wear off and let me slowly drain my brain of ideas and let it doze off to its rest.

We all know that is not going to happen.

It probably happens with everyone though, I think, in general, we all spend most of our "awake time" thinking about something. The question is: is there a limit? is there a point in thinking where we should draw the line? cut back? give ourselves a break? When do we stop thinking and start overthinking? can all this questioning be considered overthinking or is it just an annoying form of curiosity?

It's easy to write "the question is" and then turn it into a "the questions are", simply because life, human nature, and reaction can't all be put together into one question. There is no Question that sums life up, or thought, or personalities, or anything, for that matter.

There is no snooze button or "sleep" option in our minds, we simply function at different speeds and intensities according to the different circumstances, days, situations and relationships we go through.

There is no "definition of life" in the same way that there is no upbringing that determines behaviour, personality pattern that defines every person in depth, social influence that makes us act in this or that way, chromosome that determines our sexual preferences, or healthcare that keeps us healthy.

Everything is so complex and mazey (new word) that we simply can't put things into labeled boxes according to things in common.

This is not a "shape, size and colour" classification, this is people, this is life, this is circumstance, this is influence, it is everything that does not fall into a group or status, it is personal, rich, complicated and beautiful.

Beautiful.

Difference is beautiful.

The mind is beautiful.

The mind is different in everyone.

Everyone makes a difference, just because they are, in fact, different.

And their mere existence makes a new mark on the pages of the book of life.

Which cannot be arranged by time, age, numbers, alphabetically, or categorized in any way.

I'm sorry if I blow some bubbles, but noone gets and index or a manual when they're pulled out of the womb crying for hell's air, and anyone who says they've got the key to a full life is full of shit. (which at least proves they're life is full of something).

So get over yourselves, and just scream to get the air in your lungs, like you did that first time when all that life was, was an extended period of possibilities, and a whole lot to discover.

Love.

LMH

Fuzzy

Dwelling in a balloon-air filled-fuzzy filling, I mean feeling...or do I?

Random thinking, random laughing, random cheering for noone. I am filled with hot air, condensing and repeatedly biting misery to the bone, choking on chewtoys and mindfucks, breaking melting, supersensing, hyperfeeling, expanding contractions.

Today's feeling is - - - floaty - - - I'm not even sure if it is a word, and no, I will not search for it on Google because I just don't think my writing over, so if floaty is not a word, at least get the picture...

I am wondering what all of this means...am I...over it? under it? avoiding it? distorting it?

I turn purple as I keep the air in, same as when I choke the tears back, but there are no tears...there is no pain...I just feel...stable.

Or maybe it is the plummeting sensation towards inminent mental destruction and half my brain really isn't functioning anymore.

I can't control the muscles on my face...I'm just blank.

Weird enough...I feel better when I'm blank...there is something about emptiness that makes me feel extremely light and pure, and filled with joy.

Perhaps I'm overcrowded, and my cells are just pouring out of my eyes, indulging my very desperation to flee, fly, flow, flum.... (??)

Perhaps I've had enough of what I say I want and now want what I never say.

Or maybe I'm just fucked up like I've been for the past year because of the same darn thing.

Loveys...today I'm feeling funny, and I don't know how to handle it.

Locate Me

Let's see now.

I wonder why it is that I always end up as an "upon request" commodity.

I don't call anyone

I rarely ask for advice

I don't bug (a lot)

I don't ask anyone to do anything for me at all

I am available

I care about other people's feelings in general.

What I wanna know is why

why I practically never call

why noone ever answers when I do.

I guess the answer to the first is hidden in the second.

I will never call, trust or depend on anyone because: noone is available.-

Sorry.

I tried.

I'm back to being me, so use me when u like people, I'll be here, and then I'll be gone.

Cause I've come to notice that everytime I need something, the only person who really gives it to me...is myself.

Cause that's the way things work out for the best for everyone.

Bang Bang.

Sorry kittehs, there's no love from me tonite.

LMH

I am entitled to an attorney.

Lady Mynna Lotte Belle
Lotte Lady Mynna Belle
Belle Lady Mynna Lotte
Belle Lotte Lady Mynna
Lotte Belle Lady Mynna

There are so many aspects to a person that I cannot fully comprehend their functioning. Not even mine, for that matter.

These "Alter Egos" we create are actually not a simple figment of our imaginations, but a precise dissociation of who we are in whole. Every name you've seen me call myself so far, is merely a reflection of my mood, state of mind, emotional situation, or general existence.

Lady Mynna is the strongest, the hardcore, or hard core of my soul. The rational de-constructive, instructional, Lady Mynna, originally known as Lady Mynna Hawk, for the acuteness of her eye and perception. She hangs out in my creative writing blogs mostly to provide an analytical perception of my emotionally bridged reality. I like her, she's sort of a filter.

Lotte is a melancholic, slightly romantic and childlike feature, first taken from the name of a girl that happened to die on the day that I was born, found in one of those weird websites one of my weird friends posted on facebook that lets you look up graves all over the world by date, name, location, etc. I liked her description, she died when I bloomed into life...what other explanation can I give? I'm a helpless romantic...

Belle... is me
I am Belle

It is one of the possible nicknames you can bring out of my name. It is the preference for most of the people who know me, though some are either more creative, or more generic. In the basics, Belle is who I am...which would actually mean..


BELLE

includes

Lady Mynna Hawk

and

Lotte

Which seems to me to be the right decision to make when attempting to define my functioning.

YES

I am a fully functional person.

In conclusion, I assume I am the Belle that everybody sees, with creative and emotional outbursts and meltdowns, writer's and artist's blocks, inability to sleep, to put words into speech, attempting to break the next personal limit or barrier as soon as the previous one has been broken. Impatient, with a slightly distorted image of what life should and shouldn't consist in. And a need...no, hunger for change and improvisation. I am the Lady Mynna Hawk who positively gathers all of my jumbled thoughts and feelings and makes them into an apple pie. Or a text, or mere words, but simply deconstructs, remakes, and puts the puzzle pieces together (making my life definitely easier, though clashing with the improvisation field above)Tends to speak sarcastically, sometimes treating everyone, even the rest of myself as if she knew better, has a tendency to be cold, though perceived as cool and makes acute observations of general human behaviour...And I'm also Lotte, the inner child, the blossoming human being (being human I'm still not sure blossoming into one can be truly called blossoming), the one that feels, craves, loves, amazes and dances to a different beat than the one that's playing.


So, now that I've spilled my own analytical version of me.

I shall go splashing thought and concepts around, twirling on the sidewalk like a child, and concentrating on the positioning of tiles in order not to fall.


G'Day and see you soon.

Sunshine*

...

Nah, just kidding

Kiss kiss bang bang (I think I'd rather leave with a kiss than with a bang)...right?

Belle-Lady Mynna Hawk-Lotte

Basically

Pounding headache

Blood pumping through the veins in my head

Heart pumping blood through the veins in my head

Heart that feels slightly compressed, slightly distorted and heavy tonight.

Memories affect

Memories affect feelings

Having memories affects feelings

Not having memories...

Is not even a sane possibility.

Perhaps forgetting is the clue.

Perhaps letting bygones be bygones is the only way of making the headache-heartache go away.

But bygones have made me who I am.

Because of my past, I am my present, and imagine my future.

Because of bygones I'm stronger, more experienced, and attempt to be better.

Because of bygones I still cry in memories, wake up screaming, and stop breathing.

But they're a part of me.

Every smile, every tear, every wound, every kiss.


And I like the person I've become.

New, but kinda used

So, I guess it's about time we change the look.

And this is what changing it did to your screen:

Ba - Ba - Ba - Boom!

Some sort of vintage 50's or so porn!!!! woo-hoo

Well, lately, so as not to change so much all of a sudden, I've found myself not understanding anything or anyone at all.

Not understanding anyone at all makes me wonder if maybe I am wrong about everyone...

I've got this crazy ass idea about having an ability to see through people, not as if they were see-through or plastic, but simply to see beyond what they show, closer to what they are.

And sometimes I prove myself to be right, and see through people, and predict reactions, circumstancial or not, according to what I refer to as: pattern behaviour.

Say, if you've got commitment issues, and are confronted in relation to those issues, you will act truly offended, knowing that he who has confronted you is totally right, but not wanting to admit to that particular personality flaw.

If you decline every single outing, party, coffee gettogether, or other things, but are prone to ask people to go with, see, help, or be their company at some other kind of scenario, unrelated to what you were offered, say: nah, I don't really wanna go out for coffee, but I have to go buy clothes, care to join me? - Nah, I don't really like that bar, maybe we could go to another? (when other 30 people are coming to the one u don't wanna go to)---sounds to me like you're in it for the benefits but won't give in or put any chips in.

anywho, those are standards, maybe I'll keep on on my next blog, maybe not.


I guess I write about people because I'm tired of people in general and would rather analyze them than relate to them.

Though I do miss phone calls, and other non tech shit.


Bang Bang yet again kitties.

Public Privacy

It seems hard to believe that I still write anything at all in my blogs.

Everything seems to be posted, notified, commented on, edited and shared with everyone.

I am really glad texts and general creative writing are not within the interests of the common folk.

I settle for a couple annonymous comments, and I prefer none, unless you have something to say.

Everything private has become public.

Thoughts

Hate messages

Anger

Opinions

Hurtful comments

Things that should be private, and personal.

Things that you shouldn't share.

But let's leave the should and shouldn't out of the question, because I don't think I'm the right person to say something like that.

Just...

Have some respect for others...and some self respect.

Because putting your life out in the open, even if you do it to get back at someone.
Someone else, somewhere, might judge you.

And you won't like it.

Because it doesn't make you special, open minded, or direct.

It just makes you plain mean.

And this is just a thought.

Even though I don't always follow my own advice.

One

I remember.
I remember you.
I remember me.

It was just me, you, and nothingness.
It was simpler than it seemed.
It was appealing.

It was mine.
It was yours.
It belonged to everyone.

It was meant to be given.
It was meant to be taken.

It wasn’t given.
It wasn’t taken.

Cause it was not mine in the end.
Cause it was not yours either.
Cause it did not belong to everyone.

Cause it never really existed.

You got caught up in a mental drama.
I got caught up in a mental drama.

It should’ve been easier...

You saw more to it.
I did not want to see.

I saw more to it.
You didn’t see anymore.

You know they say things happen for a reason…

I know this happened for no reason at all.

It was just…what it was…and what it wasn’t.

It was just me.

It was just you.

And now it hit me…

I was only caring for myself.
And you were only caring for yourself.

Individuality is something you can never share. And I’m sorry I misjudged. Both of us.

I'll just let the music play...and see where it takes me this time.

Love, always