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An idea got planted in my head the other day, about stories, and how they create a person’s identity. There’s this theory that because our cells regenerate every seven years, and we’re left with a completely new body, the only thing that ties us together is our stories or our memories. It’s all we have that makes us human, the theory seems to say.
When I explicitly think about my own stories, I think of afternoons with my friends. Particularly the phrase, “good story!” and it’s connotations. It basically means, wow, please don’t tell another story because that one was really boring. And it’s true–a lot of times my stories are hard to follow when I relate them to my friends. They’re nonlinear. They make so much sense in my head but seem to become like iron and rust when exposed to the outside atmosphere.
If I could tell a story to a group of people, which one would I tell?
That’s probably one of the hardest questions for me to answer, because I feel like my whole life (my history, present, and future) is wrapped into one thing. Non-linear. Time and I are acquaintances that forget each other’s faces as soon as we look the other way. I am just one continuous story.
I really don’t know what to tell people to amuse them and to leave them pleasantly introspective. A complete story (beginning, middle, ending, usually a bit witty) will often do that to people. I feel like the only story I could tell would be more of a fleeting glimpse into my life; a moment. It would be without plot and without direction. It would just be; a photograph of a moving object, just barely discernible and rough and speckled with dust.
If those are the types of stories that I am made of, what does that say about me? I have no plot, no ending, no beginning. Almost like a Beckett play but longer, much longer. “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead!” you tell me. In return I say, “I am just another pirate on the ship to your execution! Let him forge the documents and be done with it already!”
This none linear concept of which I’m jabbering about comes from a book that I just started reading, called “Dark Prophets of Hope: Dostoevsky, Sartre, Camus, Faulkner.” I started with the Faulkner section, because I am in love with his words. It talks about the American linear consciousness: “the logical, rational, sequential, progress-oriented, and technological mode.” It’s a concept/theme that comes up in many of Faulkner’s stories. Jean Kellogg (the author of Dark Prophets of Hope) goes on to say that Faulkner certainly in his own mind didn’t impose linear succession upon human experience as if time were space and could be laid out along a measuring tape, but experienced time both as permeated by the past and as holding in embryo what is to be. To give an example, there is the mentally stunted childlike man, Benjy Compson. He’s seen as “grotesque,” an idiot. Like most grotesque figures in literature, it’s an exaggerated reflection of ourselves. For Benjy, past was completely undifferentiated from present. Any sensory signal could set off emotions like love rejected, longing unfulfilled, happiness inexplicably removed.
Benjy’s brother, Quentin (under the obligations of a linear time perception), is given a watch in his childhood. His father says, “Quentin, I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you might remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it.”
I try to conquer time, and I fail constantly. This morning I came late to my first class, because I slept in. It was rainy and voggy outside my window, and it felt like 5:00 am when it was actually 7:30. I stumbled out of bed, tugged some jeans and a t-shirt on, and ran out the door. I am always late. Sometimes I can bend with time, and I almost feel it drip slower through the hour glass. But it snaps back at me in retribution when I least expect it. It’s my perception of linear time that ties me down to the inconsequential nonsense that I can’t seem to escape no matter what I do. I said earlier that I perceive time nonlinearly–that’s true. But society doesn’t. My school doesn’t. The bus schedule doesn’t. The world as I know it is built upon linear perception.
It reminds me of Proust. You eat a cookie, you remember your past.
I am my past, even in my present. How can that be expressed in a story?
Edit: So I wrote this at 1:00 am this morning after drinking one too many cups of coffee post noon, and I just realized the stupidity of my last question. How can that be expressed in a story?? Well, um, correct me if I’m right, 1:00 am-writing-self, but isn’t that exactly what Faulkner did? *Sigh* Maybe I have yet to achieve the perfect story, not because it’s impossible, but because I am not a Nobel Prize Winning writer (yet).
Photo by Matthew McVickar
Meme Rules:
- Select and briefly review one teen novel, classic or modern, which is a sure antidote to the daze of high school.
-Title your post Meme: High School Daze to Praise
-Include an image with your post.
-Tag four blogger colleagues.
I’ve read a lot of books in my life, some painfully bad, some life changing. Bad or good, they’ve all taught me something about who I am and what the meaning of my life is. The perfectly organized printed words have always spoken to me deeply, of life, of love, of hope. The one book that has taught me the most about myself and the world, however, would have to be Gossip Girl.
Gossip Girl has given me so many insights into who I am as a person, and it’s educated me about how society works and what I need to do to be popular, which is the most important thing a person can be. It’s taken me on a journey of discovery, and now I know that what you wear really does define who you are. How could you forget the main lesson? No publicity is bad publicity, and you are no one unless you are talked about.
Of course, there is always the relationship advice that I’ve gleaned from its wondrous pages. Now I know that it’s ok to sleep with your best friends boyfriend, as long as she doesn’t find out. And it’s also ok if your boyfriend cares more about his pot stash than you, as long is he is hot and rich.
Since all of my friends have read it, it provides the valuable opportunity to have in depth book discussions on the subtext of this book. We ask essential questions like, is it moral to wear a Marc Jacobs bag from last season, even if you really like it? and what are the consequences of buying underwear from La Perla, even if no one is going to see them?
Gossip Girl gets you through those high school daze, because, first of all, it teaches you about the important things in life (cliques, gossip, important things to buy, your real place in life if you weren’t born into the right families), and second of all, because it is a book for the masses. It shows us that the rules society places on us are very important to our happiness. It is not good to be alone in doing something. It is not good to not have lots of friends. This book has taught me that it’s ok to be like everyone else. In fact, it’s better than ok.
You know you love me.
Xoxo,
Gossip Girl
Tagged:
I have no idea why the title is funny to me, but here I am cracking up and drooling all over myself.
Last year around this time, I wrote a blog entry about my spring break. I was going through my self education phase where I felt like I had to watch all the cult classics/wackiest films I could find. I needed to broaden my mind and give myself a bit of culture. I was also thinking of working in film at that time, which I’ve since revised. I’m not sure what I’m going to do in the future, because I all care about is right now. But I digress.
Historically, my spring breaks have sucked. Some sort of evil vortex lies over this time of year.
The first really horrible spring break that I remember was four years ago, when all I did was lay around my room reading. This in itself doesn’t sound too bad, but it actually was a nightmare. It gave me plenty of time to self critize and ask myself what the hell I was doing with my life. And I also learned about time management, which ended up being good. But all in all, it was a very depressing time.
Then we have Freshman year. We were having a holy flood of sorts in Hawaii. Forty days of non stop rain and no sunshine. So spring break starts and I already have a seasonal disorder type thing, due to the lack of sun. My face is also an oil well because of all the moisture. On the fun side, my friend Kim came to visit me. We had some crazy times but there were definitely a couple of low points that I won’t get into now, because it is the past and over with. Let me assure you they were not fun or happy. Looking back, it really wasn’t that bad, but I distinctly remember feeling very gross and sad, mainly due to the fact that the weather was horrible, there was complicated drama, and I was just starting to grow up.
Sophomore year spring break was not exactly an all time low, but let me tell you that it wasn’t an all time high either. My favorite teacher had just drowned to death, leaving his wife and two young children. It’s something that I’m still struggling with. The event threw me into a depression that I didn’t see coming, and I had to work my way out of it on my own, because, first of all, I had no idea that it actually was depression, and second of all, I didn’t tell anybody at the time how I was truly feeling. I kept it inside and had to go through it on my own. I was sad and confused and hurting and slightly unbalanced, but I was able to learn and eventually grow from it in a positive way.
This spring break contained neither dead teachers nor teen drama. It wasn’t a waste, either. It was just there. I had a whole bunch of plans for this break, lots of dreams and hopes for a certain romance, many adventures that were to be had. It turned out that the dreams were more fun to think about than to live. I think I got too caught up in the fantasy of spring break–something that I had so truly convinced myself was reality. I tried to live my dreams, but they just fell flat. I realized that sometimes you want to experience adventures with another person; you can’t always explore by yourself. Here comes the venting: The tall concrete buildings mocked. The streets laughed with their hands covering their mouth. My neighbor died. My finger got slammed in a car door. I went to the doctor for the first time in two years (alone, by choice). They drilled my finger open. I walked out of the emotionally sterile hospital and around town by myself, clouded by the stress of pain and release. I didn’t cry. I read a book about death, and realized that I was still enormously sad about Mr. Johnson. I thought I had figured out death and pain, at least for now. I realized that I was wrong.
Ahh, that’s better.
Books that I read over spring break:
The Brothers Karamazov
Waiting for Godot
Essays in Existentialism
White Noise
End Game
Donorboy
Dry
Possible Side Effects
Sellevision
Moves that I watched over spring break:
If…
Closer
Breakfast at Tiffanys
My Fair Lady
Funny Face
I HEART Huckabees
Easy Rider
Garden State
Wow, that’s not a very good list. Half of those on the list I already saw a million times. I think I should watch more movies again. My old list was way better.
Just letting everyone know that I’m not looking for sympathy or whatever. This is just something that I need to write and let out. Usually my life is wonderful and exciting. Like all things it has it’s lower moments, and I accept that happily (haha, ironic). I love my life. I look forward to getting back to into a momentum and out of this quicksand.
I NEED NEW EXPERIENCES! I NEED SURPRISE! I need to be jarred awake again because somehow I fell asleep!
This is my first time ever doing something like this, so I’m really excited. I hope this turns out ok!
Since Valentines Day is coming up, I got inspired to do something related to V-day (Eve Ensler Vagina Monologue style).
This is what I want: On an 8.5 X 11 in piece of paper (any thickness), I want you to express how you feel about love, Valentines day, vaginas, women, relationships, no relationships, ex-boyfriends/girlfriends, etc in the most creative and cathartic way possible. Illustrated poetry is great too. You can send as many as you want.
Then I’m going to get them professionally scanned, lay the pages out on indesign, and send them over to Lulu to have it printed. I’ll send you a copy of the book if you send your address and a bit of a monetary contribution along with the piece of art.
THE DEADLINE IS BY THE END OF THE MONTH (FEB 29).
Please give me feedback on my idea. There might be a better way to have it all organized. I am open to suggestions.
Send your art to my address:
Lindsea
280 N. Kainalu Dr
Kailua, Hawaii 96734
United State
280 N. Kainalu Dr
Kailua, Hawaii 96734
United State
I also posted this on http://nervousness.org (a forum for mail-art lovers)
this weekend. But I got through it, and these things helped me survive:
Much love and good vibes to all.
Grateful list (short version):
aliveness
living in Hawaii
mom and dad and step-dad are cool
extended family are insane and therefore provide good entertainment
found library book
school
books in general
four day weekend
friends that are insane and therefore provide good entertainment
my own pending insanity
lovely films
ludwig van
lovely soundwaves
certain people breaking up with certain girlfriends
cousins who are like siblings
pleasure seekers
chance
certain people who live upstairs
dead people
marilyn monroe
the world
On another note, I remembered the name of the book that I’ve been thinking of for about two months. Z for Zachariah! I read it in sixth grade and it’s been scratching at my brain for a while now.
How I found it:
“I’m trying to compile a list of dystopian books. I hardly ever read sci-fi; it seems like there must be quite a few in that genre. Anybody got something to add, along with a little sentence about the main idea? This is all I can think of:
1984: obviously.
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley: It’s the future and everybody’s segregated according to their foreordained intelligence level.
Anthem by Ayn Rand: It’s the future and there’s no first-person singular case because there’s no individual identity (I actually laughed out loud when I finally got to the punch line of this book, when the hilarious “one word” is revealed. I guess it would be a SpOiLeR if I wrote it here. But god, it’s ridiculous!)
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood: It’s the future and bitches ain’t shit.
Also, these two for kids:
The Giver by Lois Lowry: It’s the future and nobody realizes how grim it is because they’re not allowed to remember the past.
Z for Zachariah by Robert C O’Brien: It’s the future and everyone’s dead and everything’s poisonous except for one little valley. I used to check this one out from the Georgia O’Keeffe Elementary School Library so frequently that I can still remember exactly where it was shelved.”
Thank you Elyse Sewell, past ANTM contestant and girlfriend of the keyboardist from the Shins. This is her Live Journal
Hello my imaginary readers!
Just giving you a recommendation for a very silly read…
So, as it is, I’m not actually going to New Zealand so my whole work out plan was wasted! No, it actually wasn’t wasted, to be honest, but what was wasted was my dear conscience. So no harm there, but it is really sad because I’ve been looking forward to traveling there for a really long time, and I haven’t seen snow since the new millinium. And I really wanted to see those famous LOTR hills, and eat tamtams and such.
Instead of going to New Zealand, I’m going to visit my Sane Family, as I call them. It’s my step-dad’s huge Italian family. I still haven’t met some of my cousins and one set of aunt/uncle. The thing that I’m most excited for is the huge family dinners with tons and tons of incredible home made food. I can imagine my self sitting at a twenty foot long table that’s totally filled up, and I can almost hear the exhuberent conversations and the knives and forks hitting the mismatched plates. A couple of my uncles have a beach house, so we’ll probably go down to the beach for a while and do the whole board walk rides thing, which is new for me. I know that I won’t be too impressed with the beach (obviously, because I live in Hawaii), but it sounds like a cool experience.
On other topics, possibly more important, is HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS (!!!) which I finished in about 25 hours (sorry, I’m weak, I slept). It was amazing. I’ve been reading about Harry since I was 9, and our 7 year relationship is now over (sort of). It’s so sad!!! I’m not gonna go into my analysis of the book yet, because I don’t want to be a spoiler. But thankfully, I have the Pottermania’s Wizard Rock to cheer me up. Check out this site: http://www.wizardrockumentary.com/music.html
My favorites are Harry and the Potters, Draco and the Malfoys, The Moaning Myrtles, and The Whompig Willows. Ooh and also the Hermionie Crookshanks Experience.
Now I’m going back and reading all the books again. I’m about half way through the first book, and it’s so cute! I love Harry, Ron, and Hermione, they really are my younger siblings. I feel like when I read these old books, it’s sort of time traveling back to when I was younger. It makes me feel warm inside. I’m going to miss the Midnight Magic parties, and the whole experience of thinking up Theories and Ships, and writing Fan Fiction.
The Moaning Myrtles
Snape. Snape. Severus Snape. Snape. Snape. Severus Snape. DUMBLEDORE!!!!!
(potterpuppetpals.com)
Hey! I just won a $10 amazon credit from Fuel My Blog!
There are so many books that I want to buy. I think I’ll buy that collection of stories by bloggers….
Edit: GDI and JFC!!! It’s not on Amazon. Guess I’ll have to buy Girl With A One Track Mind, instead. Go bloggers!!!!
It all began in third grade, during a book swap on the last day of school. I swapped Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimb for this funny looking purple book. It was the third in a series, apparently, but I didn’t care. That weekend when I was jet setting off to somewhere exotic, my mom started reading it to me. I soon became entranced by it, and couldn’t stop reading.
This book was Harry Potter, obviously. Now a Junior and I’ve read every single Harry Potter book maybe about seven or eight times (possible more). Most recently, in preparation for the last book, I read the series in order, writing notes in the margins attempting to create some new conspiracy theory that will tell us that Dumbledore lives. I have written “Fred” (my one, true love–other than Donnie Darko) on my lucky panties for Midnight Magic party, and I have my costume all tweaked. I’m going as [dirty] Hermione. I bought a wand, to do spells with, and was on the news for it.
Harry Potter is one of those books that you will love for your entire life and never get tired of it. This is an end to an era, I suppose. An end to a part of my idyllic childhood.
Last night I had Harry dreams. I dreamed Ginny at the end of the Sixth book. I did magic. Then my dream sort of transformed into this freaky thing where I was seeing death eaters dressed up as power rangers and Steven King was telling me how scared he was of them. He was a nice old man. Then I was back at Hogwarts and when a truck woke me up, my dream speak said that they were jealous of me for being a witch.
I’m excited, and nervous. and excited, too. no really. BIG TIME.
