Plant Wars! (Shrubberies in Disguise!)

I was listening to Bloc party, and I heard/read these lyrics:

~
There is a wall that runs right through me
Just like this city I will never be joined
What is this love? Why can I never hold it?
Did it really run out? In those strangers' bedrooms

I have decided at 25
That something must change

Saturday night, in East Berlin
We took the U-Bahn to the East Side Gallery
I was sure I'd found love
With this one lying with me
Crying again in the Hauptbanhof

I have decided at 25
That something must change

After sex the bitter taste
Been fooled again, the search continues
Concerned mothers of the west
Teach your sons how to truly love
~

I'm in love with with the last two lines. Anyhow, it hit me, it did. And I liked it. Though it made me sad.

And I'm only 20 ^_^

But yeah, I've been searching lately. For someone(s) who is... searching for something in life. Like Andrew! Like... Marlene, maybe. Like Skot (though maybe in a less negative way). It's hard to describe.

And on the more love oriented side of things, I'm kind of worried it has run out. My love, that is. A loss of innocence, perhaps. It's appropriate, at least, what with my name being Eden and all.

Or maybe it's just that I've run out of people to love. Heh. Or the world's run out of lovable people.

Anyhow, that's where I am with that. Regardless of it all, I am probably the happiest I have ever been in my life ^_^

I am also stewing on a thousand possible futures. And I think this summer I may decide to eat the whole fig tree. Ideas are:

-conducting focus (with Gerry?)
-elementary ed courses
-composition
-finishing up my English second teaching area
-UVSMEA president?
-directed study about:
-composition
-soundscape
-curriculum development
-all three together? such as "sound environment awareness via composition curriculum development?" maybe that's more something someone should pursue for their masters... I'm not sure.

Something else entirely different, again:

http://www.ecclectica.ca/issues/2006/2/ElliottVeblen.ecc.asp

I don't really agree with this article in full, but I thought it was interesting. It's funny, because I came across it rather accidentally and I had been thinking about the issue, sort of, after listening to another Bloc Party song. (Pop songs won't change the government). I don't think this article fully grasps the issue, nor do I think it has a realistic view of what music can achieve. Also, I think a lot of music students/faculty would find it insulting. Most of their reasons for being insulted would be their love of tradition, etc., which is silly to an extent.

I dislike the emphasis on art purely as a medium for political/social change. There is something to be said for art for art's sake. Although I understand the immense feeling of despair one can get when thinking of all of the problems in the world and how no one is doing anything to fix anything, I also feel that if everyone did something, no one would have to do everything: not all music needs to be political for political music to be effective. Plus, life can be about so much more than survival. I realize I'm saying this from a privileged Caucasian university student's point of view, I really do. But some of the most beautiful insight and art can come out of some of the most depraved situations.

Anyhow, with that all said, I need to go practice my flute. Practice my scales and jury pieces in the western tradition. That's right. ^_^

Love

Hussy

Hey you! I've been super busy, sorry I haven't called.

It was my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary this weekend. It was pretty awesome, but the stress of over-perfecting things (it's my family's thing, but maybe other families do it to) was kindof harsh. I particularly didn't like the "Happy 50th! Wishing you many years to come!" emphasis. It's like, everyone is forcing them to live (well, specifically my grandmother). I don't know. I have a huge issue with people not letting people go. Does that make sense? Not that I want anyone to die, no no, it's just that there's so much pressure on my grandma, I think, to live up to what everyone wants her to be. On mine and my sister's card I wrote: Happy 50th wedding anniversary! Thank you for all of the love you've shared with us. Lot's of love: eden and diandra. I don't know... it just seemed less forceful and more focused on honestly thanking and celebrating them.

On the plus side there was duck (duck!), beer (my grandma drinks beer. That's right.), good music, and family. Plus I'm listening to Venus right now on my computer-thing.

I'm... wiggling my toes. And speaking in codes. Not letting on to what everyone knows. It's exciting. And apparently it makes me a hussy (so says my sister). What's a hussy?

Dictionary.com has varying opinions (that's why I love dictionary.com):

1. a brazen or immoral woman.

2. a mischievous, impudent, or ill-behaved girl.

1. A woman considered brazen or immoral.

2. A saucy or impudent girl.

1530, "mistress of a household, housewife," alt. of M.E. husewif, from huse "house" + wif "wife." Gradually broadened to mean "any woman or girl," and by 1650 was being applied to "a woman or girl who shows casual or improper behavior," and a general derogatory sense had overtaken the word by 19c. "It is common to use housewife in a good, and huswife or hussy in a bad sense." [Johnson]

a woman adulterer [syn: adultress]

and...

hussy: in CancerWEB's On-line Medical Dictionary

I love how cancerweb is always included... Anyways. I'm not a hussy ^_^ (unless you want to call me a saucy and impudent girl). I like the "a general derogatory sense."

Alas, I need to go rehearse soon, but I must mention, I saw another portion of Harold and Kumar go to Whitecastle (a different portion than I saw before), which was awesome. My favourite quote thus far (other than: "Yeah, it was a dick move, that's why I'm buying you lunch.") is:

Look at me. I'm fat, black, can't dance, and I have two gay fathers. People have been messing with me my whole life. I learned a long time ago that there's no sense in getting all riled up every time a bunch of idiots give you a hard time. In the end, the universe tends to unfold as it should. Plus I have a really large penis. That keeps me happy.

Yeah, it rocks. Okay, off to rehearse now. BUH-bye!

Where it had grown translucent in places...

Me! Lots of me! With my hair a very interesting colour.




Sometimes I forget how big of a gap there is between my front teeth, though you can't really tell in these pictures. Anyways, the hair was supposed to be dark grey, but it turned out more silvery, goldy, whitey. The hair stylist person who did it is going to a convention this weekend, so she's going to ask around for advice and she said when she came back she would make it darker for me for free, so I may take her up on the offer. It is quite beautiful though.

Last night I went to a concert by Oliver Schroer. It was beautiful, heart-breaking, and full of grace. He plays violin, and he talked about his pilgrimage to Santiago, of which there were pictures showing on a screen in the background. It's hard to describe, but it's the sort of memory I will cherish. I thank Jaron very much for inviting me out.

I need to remember this feeling that I have had for the last day or two. The feeling like I have a thousand things about myself to discover, then a thousand things more. I don't feel like I really have time right now as school rages on (though perhaps I could make more time) but this summer I will make time to delve into it.

Love,
Eden

Free!

Free free free.

I've been such a silly girl, so my apologies all around.

Love

Shameless.

Pissed off.

That's right. Pissed off.

I'm not pissed off for any reason, really. Just revelling in it, because I feel it rarely. Normally I am more annoyed than pissed off. More frustrated.

I feel, sometimes, a huge weight on me. The weight is my gender. Bizarre, isn't it? Normally I walk about blissfully unawares of the patriarchy the bellows alongside me. Sometimes I even question the extent of its existence (or perhaps ponder the presence of the matriarchy alongside it). But right now its growling and smoking and I can smell it.

I have a urinary tract infection. When stuff goes in my vagina, bacteria goes with it. I am not dirty. I am not unhygienic. I have a urethra, and it is short. And because of this I have to pay for any little lovely act I might like to commit (or that others might like me to commit).

I know this has nothing to do with patriarchy. Not in a learned/nurture sense. My urethra is not short and susceptible to infection because our society is male dominated. In fact, our society is probably male dominated in part because women's urethrae are shorter.

I hate that I'm expected to be on the pill. I hate that my friend's boyfriend is allowed to slap her ass. I hate that so many of my friends have been raped. I hate how men make the products that I use to sop up my menses. And write "Have a happy period" on them.

And I hate that when people read this they will think "Stupid over-exaggerating feminist."

Religious Text

I realized recently that I've been spending a lot of time talking about boys, crushes, etc., with my flatmates (mostly Andrew and Alia... Al has yet to get to "girl talk" stage with me). I told this to Andrew after a long conversation about my frustrations and he mentioned that most people *do* think about/talk about these sorts of issues a lot, it's just that I haven't been single for quite a while. I guess it is true, and as long as I am causing no harm or annoyance I suppose it's allowed.

I was reading over my recent blog entry and noticed the comment about not liking the connotations of the label "single." I realized this in full this weekend. My primary group of friends (other than my flatmates and my school-going acquaintances) is a group of guys, most of whom live together. Although all of the boys in the house right now are single, I feel safe with every one of them. It feels as if everyone (excepting of course my ex-person) has a dual way of thinking of me; I am at once "one of the guys" whilst also being a girl and ultimately available.

Then a friend from Toronto moved in to live with them, and suddenly I realized what it is like to not be considered "one of the guys" (side note, if said boy is reading this blog, please do come and talk to me instead of only gleaning what you can from this). It's odd, and there are very few ways in which I can prove or explain how I feel his perception of me is different from everyone else's, but it borders on me feeling objectified.

Which is a pity, really, because he seems like an awesome person. He's just an awesome person I've only known for three days who has come in and confused a social situation in which I was momentarily taking solace after the end of a long-term relationship.

You can see how I would be conflicted about the idea. And how it would make me sad that I am possibly pushing away a good opportunity because I am still unsure of my conception of self and my emotions.

And now for some lyrics I wrote recently that have nothing to do with the above situation (honestly):

And the pale light of the morning morning
offers no conception of what's perceived.
So I set aside the paper, touched, tainted with your love.
And it lets me breath.

I like it... but it's more effective in context.

~Eden