Sitting here thinking endlessly about my exorcism paper (again) with my little mind tramping around in circles, trying to figure out whether I should perhaps attempt to summon a little demon and ask it some questions, I listlessly started flipping through a hymnbook for inspiration…well, actually for something to sing that might help me focus. It was then that I realized I had, in fact, absconded with the Catholic Book of Worship II that I had been using when I was still singing in the choir.
Of course, I meant to photocopy the songs I wanted and arrange them in liturgically-appropriate packages, at which point I’d return the little blue book. I even have lists of all the song numbers I need as well as where they should go. There are a lot of songs on the list (several legal sheets long) but it’s still manageable. I should probably also return the CBW III (the big green book), the black folder of songs from the pews, and possibly also that box stuffed full of sheet music. Hmmm…perhaps my room would be a bit less cluttered?
I admit, actually knowing the music we’re singing is one of the things I miss most about Roman Catholic church; now I’m more like an out-of-tune piano than ever before – not that I was ever particularly in key.
Other Classics…oh, I was obsessively watching the news (as usual) the other day when I thought I saw a clip of this guy who, like, attacked me a few years ago. You know, the one I’ve been ranting about? Well, maybe not ranting…more like subtly hinting about I guess. Actually, have I been doing even that? Well, I’ve written about pstd and a seven-year marker and they’re all related in a fairly straightforward manner. So, after a moment of total freezing-in-place while hearing a creepy familiar-sounding voice, I felt somehow horribly violated again. What a moment to wish I had TiVo though: then I could have replayed it and maybe been more certain. It’s really the combination of the face and the voice and the annoying smugness of what he said. If it was him, which I'm sure it was, he looked older. But still basically the same, glasses and all. I had been hoping that, through some miracle, I would be able to come face to face with him and not recognize him, not feel that same fear and paralysis, not…remember. Not remember what he looked like, what he sounded like, what he did. Not feel that I was helpless and that I couldn’t run away. I’d also been hoping he’d not be coming back after he, like, proactively fled the country to one with no extradition.
Classic me, that’s what it is.
Other Classics: ‘Wafergate.’ I mean, wasn’t there some real news last week like, oh I don’t know, an important summit or persecution in China or stolen money or something? Wafergate???? I should be talking about Wafergate (and perhaps other silly news as well) on the radio at about 7:30 because my awesome friend is going to let me blab on his show. Which means I have to get up at 5:30 to get there. Which means I should probably be planning bedtime right now instead of writing this. Or maybe finishing that waaaaaay overdue paper on exorcism…
Tune in later for more of my inspired speech about life, God, the universe and everything. Yes I know it’s irrelevant. But really, has that stopped you before?
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Why Yes, I DID Write All Over Myself
As I’ve said before, I have tattoos. One of the pitfalls of being fascinated with symbols is that I sometimes incorporate them into my identity – oh wait, did I say ‘pitfall?’ I meant ‘upshot.’ My tattoos are not just pretty designs: they are complex bundles of meaning saturated with things I wanted to express. Plus they’re pretty.
I got my first tattoo when I was 19, essentially on a whim when I’d gone to get my belly button pierced. I told my piercer that I thought a mouse tattoo would be really cool, and she hooked me up with an appointment on the same day (which I think is actually pretty rare). I picked a mouse out of the mice he’d drawn for me, and away I went. I have to admit, I got it mostly because it was funny and not so much for its deep philosophical meaning. The mouse, of course, is my antithesis (hahaha), but also a thing that is desired. Etched into my skin...it’s funny how the things we desire and the things we think are so different from ourselves are really a part of us. At the same time, if we caught and possessed them, consumed them, they would not becomes us, and we would not become them; if we separated ourselves from them, they would not leave us alone. Hence the tension remains, and so we are what we are. Also, the mouse is really cute. Awwww!
My next body art project was the summer I was 20, when my amazing tattoo artist tattooed a phoenix flying around a crescent moon. The image of the bird is pretty obvious: the flaming bird is born from its own ashes in an unending cycle. This death-rebirth process can be experienced as something violent, sudden and jarring, an unmistakable burning flame. A kind of cycle of sudden stops and turns, beginnings and endings. Fire is evocative of the sun, a masculine energy whose importance is easily visible and whose presence is impossible to ignore. It is passion, burning desire. The image of the moon represents smooth and flowing change; an also unending cycle, but one without breaks, sudden departure. The moon is stable, predictable, gentle. It evokes water, oceans whose motions it directs. While it may reflect the light of the sun, it pulls the oceans by its own power – strength and importance less noticeable perhaps, but no less crucial. Though it may borrow its light from the sun, it is the moon that stabilizes the orbit of the earth, necessary for life. The moon is a female energy, recalling the goddesses. The two energies are only potent when they come together. Kind of like how both kinds of change, gentle and violent, are parts of life. So the phoenix and the moon are my sort of construction of a yin-yang symbol. Basically.
I fell asleep during this tattoo. They nicknamed me sleeping beauty. I’m pretty sure the name has worn off.
My third tattoo is a tiger jumping over a box, and was done by the same artist. I took the symbol of the tiger primarily from the novel Life of Pi. In the novel, the question as to whether the tiger is real drives the ending, since it might in fact be a mnemonic creation covering up the protagonist’s horrific experience wherein he kills or consumes his boatmate. They choose tiger. It is the flexibility of memory that interests me, the mind’s ability to create a new reality. To bring beauty out of chaos. The tiger is dynamic. Also I just really like tigers. The box is actually a Necker cube, an optical illusion that can pop out two ways; basically, it’s two cubes at the same time. Of course, you can’t see both at once, but intellectually you know they’re both there. The mind can reason that which it cannot see, and the imagination can see what is not there. The cube is static, though the experience of it can be dynamic. I also like the cube because it took me forever to figure out how the freaking thing worked. The tiger (imagination / memory) is jumping over the cube (intellect / knowledge) because it is triumphant: it surmounts the cube. This is because I have made a choice. Notice, however, that the tiger is not stomping the cube into little pieces. The tiger, after all, needs something to jump over.
Well, there are others, but if you want to know about them you’ll just have to ask!
I hope the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob doesn’t strike me down if I tattoo a bible verse, ‘cause the Book is awesome!
I got my first tattoo when I was 19, essentially on a whim when I’d gone to get my belly button pierced. I told my piercer that I thought a mouse tattoo would be really cool, and she hooked me up with an appointment on the same day (which I think is actually pretty rare). I picked a mouse out of the mice he’d drawn for me, and away I went. I have to admit, I got it mostly because it was funny and not so much for its deep philosophical meaning. The mouse, of course, is my antithesis (hahaha), but also a thing that is desired. Etched into my skin...it’s funny how the things we desire and the things we think are so different from ourselves are really a part of us. At the same time, if we caught and possessed them, consumed them, they would not becomes us, and we would not become them; if we separated ourselves from them, they would not leave us alone. Hence the tension remains, and so we are what we are. Also, the mouse is really cute. Awwww!
My next body art project was the summer I was 20, when my amazing tattoo artist tattooed a phoenix flying around a crescent moon. The image of the bird is pretty obvious: the flaming bird is born from its own ashes in an unending cycle. This death-rebirth process can be experienced as something violent, sudden and jarring, an unmistakable burning flame. A kind of cycle of sudden stops and turns, beginnings and endings. Fire is evocative of the sun, a masculine energy whose importance is easily visible and whose presence is impossible to ignore. It is passion, burning desire. The image of the moon represents smooth and flowing change; an also unending cycle, but one without breaks, sudden departure. The moon is stable, predictable, gentle. It evokes water, oceans whose motions it directs. While it may reflect the light of the sun, it pulls the oceans by its own power – strength and importance less noticeable perhaps, but no less crucial. Though it may borrow its light from the sun, it is the moon that stabilizes the orbit of the earth, necessary for life. The moon is a female energy, recalling the goddesses. The two energies are only potent when they come together. Kind of like how both kinds of change, gentle and violent, are parts of life. So the phoenix and the moon are my sort of construction of a yin-yang symbol. Basically.
I fell asleep during this tattoo. They nicknamed me sleeping beauty. I’m pretty sure the name has worn off.
My third tattoo is a tiger jumping over a box, and was done by the same artist. I took the symbol of the tiger primarily from the novel Life of Pi. In the novel, the question as to whether the tiger is real drives the ending, since it might in fact be a mnemonic creation covering up the protagonist’s horrific experience wherein he kills or consumes his boatmate. They choose tiger. It is the flexibility of memory that interests me, the mind’s ability to create a new reality. To bring beauty out of chaos. The tiger is dynamic. Also I just really like tigers. The box is actually a Necker cube, an optical illusion that can pop out two ways; basically, it’s two cubes at the same time. Of course, you can’t see both at once, but intellectually you know they’re both there. The mind can reason that which it cannot see, and the imagination can see what is not there. The cube is static, though the experience of it can be dynamic. I also like the cube because it took me forever to figure out how the freaking thing worked. The tiger (imagination / memory) is jumping over the cube (intellect / knowledge) because it is triumphant: it surmounts the cube. This is because I have made a choice. Notice, however, that the tiger is not stomping the cube into little pieces. The tiger, after all, needs something to jump over.
Well, there are others, but if you want to know about them you’ll just have to ask!
I hope the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob doesn’t strike me down if I tattoo a bible verse, ‘cause the Book is awesome!
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