Showing posts with label auguste. Show all posts
Showing posts with label auguste. Show all posts

July 15, 2010

I'm Alive and Alive

Oh yes! First of all, I'd like to mention that I will not be posting anymore survey questions... I know I haven't written much at all lately but... let's face it, filling space with survey questions was sorta lame on my part.

Second of all, I'd like to mention as well that I'm finally a student of Holly Lisle's and her course How to Think Sideways is a beautiful gem! My peers are just the most wonderful people! I'm learning a lot, some theory, some inside of me.

I'll be writing a novel with some intriguing magical food and some gruelling villains (I've put my fanfiction on the back burner though I'm still quite looking forward to getting it done). I'm on and off in enthousiasm about it, still struggling to find my voice. As always, it's a question of perspectives though, and ever since the summer started, I've lost many things and people that tied me to a sticky image I had of myself, and now I'm almost free to discover who I really am and that's been freeing.

I was planning a great big trip in my life for Autumn, but I've postponed it as a creative writing and life teacher has offered me to attend her courses in college for the Fall semester. My great big trip will be for after Christmas then... More on that later hehe!

April 7, 2010

Mocking Smile


Weird faces, weird sounds, strange conversations, I look good in this light, I look bad with my face down, can I make myself cry? Nope. I start to laugh instead. This is my face.

This is my face? How could this be me? People look at me and they see this? What’s so special about this face? Nothing really, I’m sure it would blend skillfully into the crowd. That’s good to know, now I can stop worrying about people judging me and putting me down, how could they if they can’t even single me out. This is not a child’s face. I do not appear younger than everyone my own age…

Good. Now that I know my body doesn’t give off the wrong image, it gives off no image; I know that people don’t know what my soul is like. Good good, that means they aren’t wrong about me yet. Good. Now all I need is for my body to give off the image of my soul.

Soul is disembodied. Soul doesn’t figure to the body at all. Identity does. Identity is the image the body gives off. My body will never be as my soul and vice versa, but at least I can be happy in it. If my body becomes what my soul dreams of in this « tangible’ world, wouldn’t that make me happy in recapitulation? How do I make that happen? Be myself?

So I found that looking in a mirror and talking to yourself can be hours of fun. I honestly feel for the past few days that I am talking to someone else. It feels good to see yourself as someone else. It’s easy to interact with others when you don’t realize you’re there. You don’t worry about the image your body is making your soul look like. But when you do, you start to justify in circles and move in circles instead of forward. So? Why not talk to yourself without realizing you’re there? Magnificent process that works wonders. I will know what my soul says when I’m not thinking about it and will be able to know myself? I’ve been a happy dreamer for the past week. I want a mirror in my room now.


1. Jean Carriès (1855-1894)
Grotesque mask, element for the Monumental Door, 1891/1894
Photo : Philippe Ladet/Petit Palais/R. Viollet



March 24, 2010

2. Poetry?


Send me some poetry! Something you like, something you love, something I might like. I would love to discover this side of literature.

I like poetry. Some poems sound nice or look nice to me but tend to go over my head even though I try hard to dissect them. Other poems move me tremendously (I haven't got any examples though... I'm not a big poetry geek at all). I think I rather be read to or shared a poem orally though. I like to write them but usually look back at them in disgust because I find myself too choppy and pointless or way too obvious.

Here, I found a piece of poetry that I quite enjoy. It's music lyrics, the poetry I am exposed to the most. Somewhere only We Know by Keane (The first song in my playlist to the left) is full of dream, of wist, of nostalgia, all things I am very fond of:

I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete

Oh simple thing where have you gone
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

I came across a fallen tree
I felt the branches of it looking at me
Is this the place we used to love?
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?


I myself have little snippets of prose in a bunch of scattered post-its that I find are going somewhere yet which I can't bring myself to complete.

"But I'm lying here, half asleep
And the alarm is ringing so it's hard to keep
My eyes closed...

I'm barely sleeping.
My dreams are seeping
Out of my grasp.
It's a slow eye movement."
"And the golden birds fly over the mountain
Where the royal heart bleeds,
And the quest to the river of blood
Is held by tiny blind green men..."

"The soul in me; the ghost in me.
The ghost in you; the soul in you.
The concrete shoes, they're pulling us down.
It's a sorry potential."

March 21, 2010

1. What’s the last thing you wrote? What’s the first thing you wrote that you still have?


I. The last thing I wrote is a short story called Succesion (Title may undergo change). I've been practicing short stories for a while now. Though I don't find my voice is really clear in these they are good for my storytelling skills (them that need working on). It was the story of a man writing a letter to his newborn daughter about the dreams he must sacrifice for her to grow up with dreams of her own.

"My dear May,

Do not find me hasty for writing you this letter so soon. I know very well you’ve never set eyes on written words yet. I am aware if I was to give you this letter now you would merely snatch the paper out of my hands, drool on the ink, and giggle at the running words. Do not think me arrogant either. I do not claim to being anything grandiose, but this sacrifice, it is bigger than life. I will not accept to forget it, not completely at least, or I may come to believe I was not a good father and that’s all I have now. I do hope one day you will choose to recognize what I have given you.

I was once a king, and once the leader of a utopic anarchy. (...)"



II. The first thing I ever wrote (that I still have) is a snippety piece of writing inspired by the tale of Jack and the Beanstalk. It was a first person fragment and in it I was the giant. I would clean myself in the rain, dry myself with cloud and give Jack everything that he wanted because I was not the evil giant people rumoured about but in fact Jack's best friend. I wrote it at 6 years old and won a cute literary award for it.


"Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman."
Illustration by Arthur Rackham from
a 1918 English Fairy Tales, by Flora Annie Steel"
It's interesting that I realize now why I have this subconscious connection to this tale. In a screenplay I'm currently writing, parts of the story are quoted as a parallel to the main plot. The giant in my case are two immortal twins who look evil by their actions though they merely want to survive while the protagonist, by abusing her magical powers, is sending them into inexistence.





I fell upon this writing survey originating from an unknown chain. I decided to post each question on seperate posts every few days or so.

March 19, 2010

I have Two Cavities to get Fixed on Monday



Yesterday I slept through my radio alarm and instead I woke up to the phone ringing. The call was to inform me that I was late for my Dentist’s appointment and that I would have to reschedule. I felt quite dreadful. I don’t know why this happens to me, but whatever I do, no matter how subtle or honest I am I always end up looking like I’m out of it, clumsy, and indolent. I am no slacker believe me. I am usually earlier than on time, but for some reason these mishaps curiously always happen at the worst times.

I usually have trouble telling others what I do with my days because to them reading and writing and all the small things I do to keep on learning is not anything that helps me forward, so I’ve got nothing to answer and I look so worthless. And I am trying to get a job even though it feels oh so awful, but really it only looks like I’m slacking, doing my best to avoid employment and continue to leech off of others. I absolutely despise leeching! I probably look like I’m justifying my sluggishness with pathetic excuses right now… Well this is complicated!

Needless to get into a spiral of justifying justifications, because, though I had missed my appointment, I ran to the dentist
anyways and was able to get an appointment one hour later. This took me up a spiral of relief actually. In the dentist’s chair my dentist kept asking me questions: Did you miss class to come here? Are you in college? Why aren’t you in college anymore? Do you work? It’s funny the way dentists ask you a bunch of questions even though you clearly can’t talk with their hands in your mouth. When I could slip a word in the conversation I did my best not to sound idle. I was honest with her, told her I was not sure what to do yet but that school was not the place for me. I told her I had no room to be creative in the literature program. I was amazed. Instead of judging me like I thought a dentist might she admitted to have been the queen of indecisiveness after high school. She had ambitions and she never followed through with them, yet there she was, quite a content dentist. She asked me, and not in a pejorative manner, “So your like an artist at heart?” It made me smile and attempt to nod as she flossed my teeth.

I found I could work around her questions, with genuine honesty, and manage to express myself and be understood. Although I was at the dentist’s, a place that is so esthetically far away from who I truly am, I felt like myself (I still don’t know what that is though), I felt comfortable.


(Pictures from Public Record Office Victoria and Ontario Archives)

March 14, 2010

Something to Follow through Fog and Slimy Things


So I realize now, more than ever, that life is ups and downs. I mean, you always know this; you feel it. One day everything goes well and you know what you’re doing and you’re motivated to the max, and the next there’s a foggy wall in front of you and you feel terrifyingly blue and stagnant.

I haven’t been writing on my blog for a while now, ‘cause I hadn’t the ambition. That is my worst enemy really. Lack of ambition and low self-confidence, they’re deadly. They are the reason I long to dream, make my dreams tangible realities, to enjoy every chunk of life like the pulp of a grapefruit, to shout out my name, my stories, my essence to the world, and yet do nothing… absolutely nothing! I’m a slimy thing, I think sometimes. I feel as though I would be an outsider looking onto myself and being ashamed of what I see. I felt recently I should take life more positively, set positive goals such as: write in my blog. And precise goals such as: write updates on your new journey.


While the absurdity of life whips into me every time I raise my spirits enough to move slightly forward I’ve taken a few decent steps yet into the me, the personification of my beautiful mind (as opposed to my repulsive mind), the who who may not be me in actions but in the things I say. What I say doesn’t make me who I am, not to others at least, but I have a goal. I learnt though that blurry goals aren’t good goals and gosh am I ever so hazy to my own self. I do seem quite pretentious and condescending, I feel and know I know extensive human knowledge, but I’ve become proud in spite of my humility. It may be self-defense for some strange feeling of uselessness but that’s beyond the point. I have come to terms and admitted to myself outright that I do not know whom I am and I do not know what I want, AND these things scare me a lot. It was hard to admit it because I’m very cynical, and cynical people know what they’re up to… obviously.

So, like I said earlier, I’ve taken my first steps to finding answers to these questions: First, I dropped out of school. School is frankly very easy, just do what you have to do, so it was hard for me to leave to something muddled like myself on my own. I’d been in school from Illusion through to Disillusion and my face was crammed into the academic state of mind and I could take no distance from it all to find myself. The only thing I knew was that I was unhappy, that I was surrounded by unprofessional peers, that I wasn’t creating from myself at all, and that I did not have any opportunity to live the symbiotic existence everyone should have with their own soul.

I have left school with a vague goal in mind. I thought this vague goal was quite enough and hated my parents and former teachers and psychologists and orientors for being skeptical and always asking questions like “What are you planning to do now?” I despised them like this was some sort of condescendingly stupid question. I’d answer: get a job, read, write, I’m just gonna wing it… And I was too fearful to answer: I don’t know! I haven’t got a clue! I don’t know what I truly want at all. My wants are all so diverse and contradicting, so what is my ideal life’s goal? Well, these questions, and more, are my journey.

I need to experience life and let things hit me before I rationalize them. I need life to prove me wrong on so many levels. I plan to get a job (not a career), go on a humanitarian trip and break down all my stubborn ideals, to explore the world and myself, to learn arts through mentors and personal practice and who knows what epiphanies I will come to? Maybe I will want to go back to school; maybe I will desire to keep living like a bohemian. Whatever it is, it’s now or never that I must hunt for happiness and fulfillment in life ‘cause we only have one life and we’ll have to give it back some day. Wanting to live my soul is a hazy goal but it feels slightly like this and that is something I don't want to pass me by.

February 9, 2009

If you happen to exist...




I don't believe perhaps many have wandered off into the land of Auguste. Probability has it that I am most likely talking to myself. In any case, if ever there is someone out there, someone who has taken a glance at my blog, if there is anyone who has felt something glowing from between the lines do not be mistaken with my absence. There won't be many posts until a while, but one day, and I am certain, I will blog like a real blogger does and you will see, you will see the ghost in me...

until then just sit on the bench there, grab a magazine, chew on your fingernails, the docotr is out for a moment...