tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-323281962024-03-07T08:09:37.976+00:00Johazelwoods' Journal"When I look around, I think this, this is good enough, and I try to laugh at whatever life brings; 'cause when I look down, I just miss all the good stuff, and when I look up, I just trip over things."-Ani DiFrancog.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-73508074317950827872012-07-12T22:22:00.001+01:002012-07-12T22:22:22.704+01:00baked bean, Tomboy, gay, femme, lesbian, butch, genderqueer, boy?Alrighty, so there's this post here that I started writing apparently in September 2009, which now from the point of being out and living as male and about to start testosterone I think it might be fun/interesting to actually finally post. All I managed of it at the time is as follows:
So I've been sitting around for the last while basically "...getting kinda bored of sitting here refreshing Twitter and Facebook repeatedly," -to quote my recent tweet haha, and you know what the always cure for boredom is, right? Writing, silly :) so, while sitting here bored, I realised that I hadn't yet subscribed to one of my favorite Beaver Bunch host's independent (from the Bunch) channel, and so off I popped to http://www.youtube.com/user/kadeclark to have a browse, but not before watching Kade's most recent B.B. post, on coming out age etc., which was what ended up inspiring the possibility of a new J.J. topic which, frankly, I can't believe I haven't actually talked about at all yet in any detail, considering it's something I've given more thought to probably than religion, and definitely than Tony Blair haha.<div><br /></div><div>I have this memory that just emerged from the very misty mists of my mostly quiet memory bank a few months or maybe a year or so ago, of hanging around in the backyard at Babington (my paternal Grandparents' place in London) with a few of the usual gang of cousins my sister and I spent most of our childhood wreaking havoc with, and having what now seems to me to have been a very interesting conversation indeed. In this itchy-sweater-fuzzy recollection, my (evidently fairly insightful) older cousin, Christopher, seems to be questioning me on my gender identity, although (of course) in a manner less articulate, due to a lack of vocabulary and knowledge characteristic of our ages and contexts. I'll reiterate that I am not blessed with Augusten Burroughs' exceptional power of memory (just one of many talents I & Mr.Burroughs do not share); the majority of my memories before age six or seven are not available within my present consciousness, and most of those even from then onwards are very scratchy and intangible, this particular recently surfaced clip being no exception. But I pencil-sketch in that he was most likely referencing my dungarees, scruffy t-shirt, short, grubby nails, the worn, boyish boat shoes I refused to part with (no matter how difficult they became to put on or decipher the original color of-a cause of stress which my poor mother is yet to be relieved of, although they're now the original black Converse I bought when I was fourteen and refuse to let her throw out), my extreme distaste for anything pink or flowery or glittery, and my remarkably "unfeminine" ability and will to meet my male peers' tree climbing abilities, and asking... why? Or what, maybe? All I can see is a bunch of us hanging off of trees and precarious fence-edges, talking about why I wasn't a real girl, and him asking if I wanted to be a boy. I can see my scruffy, complex, intense little self giving this a few moments' thought before responding naturally that I would. I clearly then placed the mental footage of this conversation in the same room where I put the plethora of memories and feelings from a similar age which abruptly resurfaced only a few years ago as blindingly clear evidence of my inherent attraction to women; very early crushes, childhood behavior; relationships with other children, etc. which, until my first real love interest turned up, had lay unhelpfully dormant in my puzzlement at my lack of any real physical interest in any of my boyfriends. But here it is again, surfacing as a relevant little episode in my internal (well, now partly external) discussion regarding gender identity.</div><div><br /></div><div>The story of my questionable gender identity seems to have started before I even got my own nutrients, back when I was still hijacking them from the umbilical chord-I had been under the impression for some time that the doctors actually told my parents at the whatever-week scan that I was a boy because of a strong heartbeat or something, but I just got off the phone with my dear Mother, and it turns out that actually it was just her that thought I was a boy, hence them looking at the name Alexander (which became Alexandra when I was born, and Joanna when Grandma didn't like Alexandra haha). But either way, my parental research concludes that I was just always boyish. I socialized predominantly with boys, only venturing reluctantly over to hang out with the girls, I recall, when I had a fight with my best friend Dom, & finding them painfully uninteresting and dumb. I've been refusing to wear the impractical, nauseatingly frilly "girls'" underpants intended for me since I was probably around six or seven. Although aware that I look my most conventionally attractive when "dolled/femmed up"; in make up, dress, heels, etc., I've never felt at all comfortable or myself in such attire, and when I look at myself in make-up, I genuinely feel more like I'm looking at a man in drag, as I've probably been heard saying on a few occasions in the past.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm coming back to this now a good couple of weeks after I first started writing it, and I'm gonna keep on the slightly hard to follow path that it seems to have been taking so far by adding another anecdote from the disorganized banks of my memory. Going back to around maybe age nine or ten, I can remember laying in bed on my back and putting my hands onto my then perfectly flat chest, and thinking of how it wasn't going to stay that way. And I think I was mostly cogitating the practical implications of this imminent change which mattered to me at the time, like how I would no longer be able to beat my chest like Tarzan haha. It was only a couple of minutes of thought, and not something which you would've thought so prominent that it managed above so many others to remain in my consciousness, but maybe this in itself is telling of its importance. Then we cut to maybe seven of eight years later, and I'm entering sixth form (which is the last two years of schooling before college-age, for any unlikely U.S. readers), where the dress code is different from the rest of the school; the sixth form uniform is "black and white smart dress" for girls and "a black suit with white shirt and the sixth form tie" for boys. And while it wouldn't have been particularly difficult for me to have just worn black pants and a white shirt like most of the girls did (it's not like the girls uniform specifically required a skirt), I decided I wanted to wear the suit and tie, and so I did. At the time I remember getting slightly negative or at least hesitant comments from my head of year, and a little from my mom, but they mostly conceded that I would wear what I wanted to anyhow, and eventually I think a couple of other girls followed my lead. Now the next memory that I have that seems pretty relevant is of standing in the kitchen and my mother suddenly and very unexpectedly letting me know that if I wanted to get a sex-change, I could tell her and it would be ok. At the time I appreciated her support and openness (as always) but went on only to reference it as an amusing anecdote. </div>
... And that's all there is in the draft. Here I sit now two and a half years later finally having addressed and accepted my identity a little over six months ago, and I just can't believe it took me so long, despite having had inklings there was something that needed addressing as long ago as when I drafted this post. It had to get to the stage where I was so underweight my wifecicle recoiled from seeing my topless back and ribs, where I was wearing a sports bra three sizes too small for me and slouching and tugging at my shirt constantly, where I was randomly falling to pieces and sobbing hysterically without being able to explain why. But here I am around a year after that point, and my wifecicle is still here, and my chesticles are still here but a little more under control, and I am so much better. So far not much has happened in measurable terms I suppose; I've changed my name, I've come out to family and friends, I've started binding properly and whatnot, I've got a haircut I like better, I've been in general therapy, been assessed by the local psychiatric people, and finally I've been assessed by a gender specialist who subsequently referred me to his consultant endocrinologist for secondary assessment and testosterone prescription. But even though I'm really just getting started, I feel so. much. better. I'm not really sure where this post is going to be honest, I really just wanted to publish this draft from days of yore and comment on how crazy it is that I waited so long, and how much more happy and comfortable I am now that I have finally figured out and come to terms with my male identity. There y'have it. I'm a boy. And my blogging tends to go on over here these days gijohazelwoods.tumblr.com but I'm gonna be leaving this at times very embarrassing time capsule of my (first, I suppose) adolescence here for fun. Bless my silly but so earnest baby self.g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-11260498778930817462010-07-01T11:25:00.010+01:002010-07-11T14:49:33.453+01:00The Lunar ChaliceIf you live in the capital, or have had the smoggy joy of visiting in recent months, you may have involuntarily averted your naturally-drawn eyes from something which looked a little like this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs421.snc3/24352_363353058730_115713518730_3668416_863972_n.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 360px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs421.snc3/24352_363353058730_115713518730_3668416_863972_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Well, that's how it went down when I first tried to look like I wasn't reading one of these well thought out posters, anyhow. This happened a couple of times on my recently regular commutes to the other side of the country to maintain my bi-coastal love story, and, wince-worthy as it was typing "loveyourvagina.com" into my browser, eventually my curious feminist queer mind got the better of me. I mean, I sure do love vaginas. Greeted by a fancy flash site intro and the kind of decorative borders and fonts typical of female-targeted ads which I find eternally depressing and patronizing, I skipped my way past this mild disappointment to something far more interesting and genuine in its femininity- a really good idea.<br /><br />The actual main Mooncup website is far more welcoming to women who don't resemble those in Boots advertisements, and made the process of reading up on this relatively alarming prospect...well, less alarming. The image you're faced with on the mooncup.com homepage is undoubtedly even more wince-inducing than having the word vagina now spewed all over one's browser history, but then you start to read. "Safer, Greener, Cheaper", and the incontestable reasoning behind each. Dozens of reviews, all gushing woman-power and life-changing and never-go-backs. And the assurance that these reviews are not selectively posted. This shit sounds good. But...<br /><br />...a "cup"? Right up there in my "breakfast of champions"? I should establish that before I became a Mooncup evangelist, my compulsive openness of character was not something that extended into my pants; this was one area of my life left for open discussion with only my sister and almost wife. But having read and researched and discussed the matter so extensively over the past few months, I would now probably happily tell a bank clerk how much lighter my flow is than I thought, or how my cramps have eased up with this magical little silicone sculpture. So here we are, my Mooncup experience over the past two cycles, in stunning technicolor (disclaimer: visual thinkers may wish to avert their minds):<br /><br />Reading up on the Mooncup, anyone can see that it is a fucking brilliant idea, practically Nobel-prize worthy in its stark ingenuity, and it's difficult not to get eco-shame about not having used it for your entire life when you read the statistics on landfills and waste and tampon-choked sealife (overactive imagination=symptom of eco-shame). But no matter how fantastic an idea it may be, the Mooncup still asks something of you. You have to get your head around the idea of plonking a sizeable silicone receptacle into your vagina. Like, your actual vagina. And, especially for someone, like myself, who doesn't even use tampons because they weird me out, this is not a comfortable prospect. So, I struggled with the idea for a few days. I read a lot. I searched suspiciously for negative reviews and found just enough of a proportion of people who couldn't get their heads around it in practice. And in the end, I just bit the bullet and bought one. Two, actually. It might've been a bit of a weird thought, but it came down to the fact that I am unhappy with my periods. They are a regular pain in my ass, sometimes literally. I get cramps so bad that I sometimes find myself gagging. There is also backpain. And general body weakness. And leakage fear, and night leakage fear. And crying at Sally Jessy Raphael. And all of this descends upon me with near enough complete lack of schedule, turning up pretty much whenever it wants, with utter disregard for any regular cycle. I love being a woman. I view it as a great stroke of luck and a privilege that I was born female, and the only time at which I ever feel even slightly otherwise is when I find myself writhing around in agony, reluctantly wearing underwear intended for females, whining like a bitch. I once found myself telling a chemist that "if I didn't want kids so bad, I would want a hysterectomy." and I didn't like feeling like this about my body, at all. So I bought two.<br /><br />I was immediately reassured by the handwritten address on the package when it arrived, and also weirdly excited and proud of myself, the latter of which is I think a common, chronic symptom of Mooncup-usage. And from then on the process kind of went amusingly similarly to that of when I first bought my MacBook. I know. But that same anxiety at spending money on something so unfamiliar, having to get used to how to use it, and then feeling like you're a member of some exclusive club or family, and eventually developing a remarkable relationship with the inanimate product in question, and naming it. (I haven't actually named my Mooncup yet, but as I sit here typing away on Clodia, I feel it may be inevitable). So, the day I received my new pal, I tried it out even though I wasn't on yet, as kind of a dress rehearsal (one of the benefits of the Mooncup is that, unlike tampons, it's perfectly safe and comfortable to wear even if you're not on at all, because it isn't absorbent, and thus doesn't screw with your "natural balance" or leave you, to quote 'Buck' from Kill Bill Vol. I, "drier 'n a bucket o' sand"), and this was a scary process. I kind of actually wish I had footage of myself trying to talk myself down, positioning myself experimentally about the bathroom, squirming, laughing at myself, getting freaked out, and then finally pep-talking myself into insertion. And, once I'd adopted a determined attitude and reminded myself of all the reasons why I really had to give this a chance and how worthwhile it would be, it was pretty easy. It just took a little resolve. And once it was in place, I could hardly feel it. Seriously cool stuff.<br /><br />But then there was removal. I immediately wanted to practice removing it, so I flicked to the removal section of the manual and set to attempting. This part, a little trickier, and a little less comfortable. But I managed, and then reinserted (this part quickly becoming totally comfortable and easy to do) and went about my day for a few hours before removing again, which was this time a little easier. So, a couple of weeks later, I came on and was actually kind of excited to try it out properly. I was lucky in that I wasn't doing anything much other than lazing about at my mother's for the first time I used it, and this made the process of getting acquainted with removal and such pretty stress-free, so I'd recommend trying it out under home-type circumstances for the first cycle if possible, but either way, the changing process got easier, more comfortable, and quicker pretty soon, and by then end of the period, I was also getting used to how often changing is necessary, which is one of the best aspects of the Mooncup as an alternative to tampons or pads. The website and literature generally suggests "8 or so hours", and that it is safe for overnight use, and I'd report this to be accurate, even a little conservative in some cases, as I've found that even with these long periods between changing, my Mooncup is rarely even half full.<br /><br />This month I was genuinely impatient for my period to show up again, and when it did I was even happier than I was last cycle; I'm now completely comfortable with the removal process, and don't even think twice about the insertion. I'm still wearing panty-liners from time to time just in case, but this is mostly I think residual paranoia from the days of pad use, as the teeny leakage that I've occasionally had with the Mooncup wasn't even enough to have to worry about. Around a week ago I decided I'd sneak over to Norfolk a day earlier than planned as a surprise for the gal, which involved the usual exhausting four hours; car ride, four trains, one bus, and in some of the serious heat we've been sent in recent weeks here in England. Pre-cup, this trip while on would have been unbearable and stressful and possibly even teary; think a shaky, sweaty wee ladygay fumbling desperately with foily sheets of ibuprofen and downing reluctantly the stated dose with a bottle of Highland Spring before draining the remainder of the bottle over her head (this scene hasn't actually happened, by the way, theorizing in unnecessary detail is just a habit of mine). But this wasn't so bad. At all. I haven't really cramped any more than a little twinge on my first couple of days for either of the past two cycles, and the changing process has become swift and simple. I was a little unsure about changing on the train, but this actually worked out fine; with the little steel sink and I sharing such cramped quarters, it was really kind of ideal, and far tidier, more pleasant, and more discreet than changing pads would've been. And so, I arrived intact, having had to change only once, and all was well. Miraculous. Certainly worth the awkward first date.<br /><br />Of course, the Mooncup does not eradicate my period-related lack of rationale and emotional stability altogether. And there's also the trial and error process of getting the stem just the right length, so that it sits in and doesn't bother you, but isn't too short to grip for removal. And the process of getting good at and comfortable with changing and wearing the Mooncup takes a couple of days or weeks (I'm sure it's different to some extent for everyone), and can be nerve-wracking and require some determination. But my conclusion is that your determination and will is easily and rationally motivated by all that makes the switch to silicone so incredibly worthwhile: it is cheaper, it is greener, and it is more comfortable and convenient and clean than disposable products. It has made me, and I believe that I am one of many, feel so much more at home in my body and at peace with my cycle. And finally, one look into the hard-working, innovative, creative, inspiring family of women that created and run this small but healthy company, and you want to be a part of supporting and growing the Mooncup brand, which really feels more like a project because of its ethics and grassroots base. And I think that this is a great part of what makes so many women who discover the Mooncup become so eager to share this holy grail with any friend, colleague, sister, mother, spouse, aunt, or daughter who will listen; women want this company to grow because they believe in it. And women want to zealously share the secret with their sisters because every woman deserves this relief and freedom and command. Plus, of course, the innumerable benefits of your sister or lover or boss being less grouchy and uncomfortable when Aunt Flo's in town.<br /><br />My advice to anyone considering switching to the lunar chalice is to read up, buck up, and bite the bullet. Because it is so worth every "eek".<br /><br /><br />Merry menstruating,<br /><br />jo<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />(Any specific questions, queries, or queeries that I haven't addressed here are more than welcome in the comments section, at g.i.johazelwoods@hotmail.com, or anywhere else you can find me).g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-37274852086299740652010-02-23T23:44:00.003+00:002010-02-23T23:45:43.286+00:00on "Landslide""Landslide I wrote on the guitar, and it's another one that I wrote in about five minutes. But see, when I'm really thinking about something ~ I mean when something's really bothering me ~ again, the best thing that I can do is go to the music room, or to the office, where I can write. Because once I put it down and I can read it back, and I can think about what I'm saying, then it makes sense to me. When I'm just thinking it in my head, it's going around and around, and I feel like a little child unable to make a real, substantial decision. And we were talking about our lives... the rest of our lives."<br /><br />Stevie Nicks<br /><br /><br />(I'm gonna add to this later; Landslide is my unequivocally favorite song of all time, and is thus a remarkably expansive subject for me haha-watch this space, folks).g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-20453595959543992712009-12-13T21:44:00.002+00:002009-12-13T22:35:29.562+00:00Adirondack"Down there they are dubious and askance; there nobody thinks as I,<br />But mind-chains do not clank where ones next neighbour is the sky."<br />-from "Wessex Heights" (1896), Thomas Hardy.<br /><br />I've always thought that the sky is so much bigger here; wider.<br /><br />"Welcome to New York<br /> The Empire State."<br /><br />I've been theorizing about what my Amelie character introduction would sound like, having watched it through last night for the first time, and so far a definite inclusion in the 'dislikes' would be "the wave of nausea and discomfort that reaches you on remembering that you have to wake up early to catch a train or bus or plane"; that's really awful.<br /><br />I really need to keep my camera on me at all times; we just drove past a random, living tree by the side of the tracks that some festive soul has adorned with impromptu winter decorations; "little signs of human goodness that make my soul smile" I think can go into the 'likes' category, this being a beautiful example.<br /><br />To paint the backdrop, I was up at around 2:20 this morning to catch a taxi to Kingston bus station, where I caught the 3:45 bus to Montreal. I then picked up a taxi from Montreal bus depot to Montreal train station, where I picked up my ticket for the 9:30am Amtrak from Montreal to Penn Station, New York, on which I am now sat. Having watched the miles of Canada drift past in a blizzard of whiteness, we're now just across the border and into New York state; it's just started sporadically to rain white here too, and, once customs have given us the go, the landscapes of upstate will be printing across my window as I chug down the country towards the city I am once again calling home.<br /><br />(pause while customs & border protection make their rounds)<br /><br />...you wouldn't believe the difference in reception going into these United States with an American passport; the only time I've used my British one (on a school trip), I wasn't even quite sixteen yet, and I remember being treated with enough hostility to leave me genuinely hurt as I left the airport, although, this was probably exacerbated by how accustomed I had been to the usual friendly smiles and "welcome home". The latter wasn't the precise phrase used by the customs officer when I flew into JFK at the end of last month, but "welcome back, hun" was sufficient still to bring that smile and sigh of being home. This officer that's just finished checking our carriage was particularly kind also, and a reminder (as if I needed any more) of why I feel so deeply that I belong here, despite having been born and almost entirely raised in England. I generally put this down to the combination of countless Christmases and Summers in New York, and having been raised by an entirely American mother, but really the origin of my sense of belonging and patriotism isn't all that relevant to me; I just love this big crazy country and feel so blessed to be able to call myself a citizen when so many would give so much for the privilege which I was born with.<br /><br />Ok, we're moving again and I'm falling into America The Beautiful goo again, so I'm gonna go back to listening to mixed tapes and consuming Pfeffernusse and Twinning's gunpowder green tea and write again when something interests or inspires (of course, as usual).<br /><br />"Well, Penny, like anything worth writing, it came inexplicably and without method."-Karen Eiffel, Stranger Than Fiction :)<br /><br />"Like a little spider, I'm climbing the insurmountable, but I never hold myself accountable."-from KT Tunstall's 'Drastic Fantastic'<br /><br />I know and love so many people who would just adore this ride, these views. It really is so unbearably beautiful, I can't put the Flip down, even though I know it won't do justice to the colors and vastness of life here...(watch this space for a most likely long and dull video of passing upstate landscapes out of a train window haha).<br /><br />Sign by the railway crossing: "Please drive safely, we <3 our children."<br /><br />No more lakes now, but there's a big strong river running alongside us whose rocks look like big marshmallows because of the snow.<br /><br />Ooh, more lakes :) (just outside Port Henry)<br /><br />I'm getting increasingly curious about these orange "POSTED" signs that I keep seeing stuck to trees.<br /><br />Slightly concerned that the live No Doubt performance I'm watching may look, to the glance of a passerby, like porn. Hahah...oh my. If I could ever achieve even ten percent of Gwen's stage presence as a frontman, even for one song of one gig, I will be beyond content.<br /><br />Shoot, I just wanted something to watch, but it's set me onto the ND now. "do it right now, do it right now," maaaan I love Beacon St.; nothing more keeps you hovering longer when you're on a high than old skanky No Doubt. Not that it's their best work; it actually kind of frustrates me when "hardcore", purist fans go on about how they like their earliest work better than the newest just for the sake of letting everyone know that they're such a devoted listener blah blah. Isn't it kind of a little insulting to an artist to be asserting that they haven't made any decent music in years? Ok, rant over haha. My favorite album so far is Return Of Saturn, but I have high hopes for the stuff that's in the writing as we speak/I type. I mean, I would consider myself a pretty hardcore fan, except for the fact that I haven't seen them live yet, but I really haven't had the opportunity. One of many travesties I can blame on my year of birth (just missing the eighties, never seeing Queen live, never seeing Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl on broadway, missing the Mac's "glory days", as t'were, being a little too young to marry Stevie Nicks...)<br /><br />Another like: "when telegraph poles (/other objects) pass the window in time with the music I'm listening to".<br /><br />Ok, I was just semi in a daze and moved my head to look away from the window, and because the glass is warped it makes it look like your view's gone like wavy...and for a split second I swear to god I thought I was going into a flashback or a dream sequence or something...hahah signs you're overtired?<br /><br />Wow, phonecall frenzy. Ma and Shell :) all of which is good except that I can never tell how loudly I'm talking, so I always worry that I'm being really inconsiderately loud when I get a call on public transport. I'll just have to gauge it by how scornful my fellow travelers' glances are.<br /><br />We are now stopped at Albany-Rensselaer for like a half hour 'cause we're ahead of schedule, and some oldish lady just walked past the window wearing what I can only describe as some kind of little white bonnet thing. Also I'm pretty sure I can hear Christmas music playing on the platform (Y).<br /><br />Dislikes: "when arm or foot rests aren't at a comfortable height".<br /><br />Wow, beard alert.<br /><br />Ohh no I keep drifting asleep, no no no. If I fall asleep now I'll never wake up again. <br /><br />Ok I'm managing to stay awake, and I'm gonna go get something from the cafe cart thing once we start moving again to keep me alive for the last leg. Due into Penn station in just under two and a half hours, then subway to the ferry dock, hopefully catch the nine o'clock ferry, then train from St. George back to Beth's. THEN tomorrow *morning* we are driving down to Grandma's in May's Landing. And all of this following the drive, ferry, subway into Manhattan and then two buses (13 hours & 3 hours) to get up to Kingston four or five days ago...a journey which I managed to drag myself through only five days after flying to New York from London. I should get some kind of medal or award or something for this. Oh no wait, I did. I'm living in New York, I got to spend four days with Shell, and I'm gonna get to see Grandma.<br /><br />While I hope I remember to exclude this from whatever I actually post of this rambling stream of consciousness, it has just occurred to me that by the time we get into the city, I will have spent more time with the people in this carriage with me today than I have ever spent with the person that I may well be falling in love with. How crazy :)<br /><br />It's now 7:03pm, and I'm going to let Clodia rest for the last little while. So, we shall end as we began:<br /><br />"The steps are a blanched slope,<br />Up which, with feeble hope,<br />A black cat comes, wide-eyed and thin;<br /> And we take him in."<br />-from "Snow In The Suburbs", Thomas Hardy.<br /><br />It's been a joy :)g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-91177696700880711702009-12-06T22:51:00.000+00:002009-12-06T22:52:06.851+00:0035777ftIt can be difficult to write in public. Especially when you're somewhere like on a plane, where you know people have nothing much to do or look at and so will be more likely than usual to look over your shoulder at your book or film or, in my case, impromptu blog post/general writing being typed in an unfamiliar and kind of cool-looking word processing application... oh, and once again iTunes shuffle manages to tap into the universe and give me a song of such relevance and humor that I can't help but wonder if perhaps its magical powers are increased by the altitude. Yes, altitude. This is almost definitely the highest post I have ever written, as I am currently... (excuse me while I attempt to navigate the oddly counter-intuitive functioning of the entertainment screen to find the in-flight info) ...ooh, we're almost over Newfoundland :) and...wow, why would I want to look at the air map thing in this many different formats, tell me the altitude please... really? A whole planet view?...Planet view including weird blob of darkness thing indicating the geographical placement of nightfall? Really?... ah, here we go- 35777ft. This information no longer really feels all that worthwhile, having sat through two and a half rounds of the amusingly elaborate/useless informational graphic reel...ok, screen off. And down to business. Why am I currently over thirty-five thousand feet over that unimaginably vast, sometimes lethal, often beautiful body of water we like to call the Atlantic Ocean, Clodia cramped awkwardly between my seat-belt buckle and quaintly designed tray-top, falling into a writing style so convoluted and hyper-descriptive as to be painful to garner any meaning from? (d'ya like what I did there?...haha). Well, I'm here because I did it.<br /><br /> I have this memory that recently decided to show itself suddenly and for no apparent reason (as is consistent with how my memories often make their entrance) of a time when my mother, my sister and I were living in London in a little apartment above a Chinese take-away place on the Watford Way. Mom was studying sports therapy at Hendon College down the road, Jess was in maybe her first or second year of secondary school at Loreto College in St.Albans, and I must have been in year four or five of primary school at St.Joseph's, just around the corner. Despite the occasional rats and cockroaches, and the (not entirely unconnected, I'm sure) constant and eventually chronically nauseating smell from the restaurant downstairs, we were three girls, a family, just getting along, learning and living and laughing together, and it was a good time. And the particular memory that recently drifted back to me of this time was during what would've started out as one of the more difficult days; our nearest supermarket was a good twenty minute walk down the noise and dirt of the motorway, and, although this isn't really much of a journey alone or with only fully-grown companions, with two young daughters and (on the return trek) a week's groceries, I consider my mother (not uncharacteristically) brave to undertake such a task on a regular basis. Anyhow, so on some nights, when Jess & I were particularly cranky from the errand, or it was dark enough to worry about the dangers of London at night, we would be spared the daunting walk and treated to a cab ride home by our merciful mother. On this particular night, not only was it dark when we got outside, but it was one of the first really bitingly cold nights that are a sure-fire sign Winter has truly elbowed Fall out of its way (a night not unlike, incidentally, tonight), and it might've been raining, although I can't say for sure. The three of us were standing shivering outside the neon warmth of the supermarket waiting for the then smoky comfort of a cab's dustiness and new familiarity, when our mother decided to let us in on the surprise she'd been teasing us with for the past few weeks. We were going to New York for Christmas. Now, for most young girls, this surprise would perhaps have meant a big, famous, shiny new city in the fabled country of Hollywood and perpetually flattering lighting, but for us, this meant a trip of unequivocally insufficient length, this meant a Christmas that counted because it was white, this meant Grandma, and cousins, and Jolly Ranchers; this was the promised land. Home.<br /><br />This is the first memory I have of crying from pure joy. These days it isn't all that rare an occasion, but at the time it was completely unexpected and, frankly, quite alarming. And that overwhelming joy that I, age seven or eight, felt at the prospect of the journey to a place where, for some as of yet unexplained reason, I felt so comfortable and content, as though the entire country were my own bed, that I pined for it like a relative, never faded, never waned. Every trip was as revitalizing as it was saddening, because, whether it was ten days, two weeks, or twenty-one whole, correct days later, I always had to leave. And so, when it came to my attention, as my last year of school came speeding towards and through me, that I couldn't go any longer studying when my mind pulled my focus so fiercely towards writing and playing music, there seemed little question as to the inherent interconnectivity of these two ideals; I wanted to go to America, and I wanted to play music. I wanted to play music, and America was the place to do it. But I had to get there myself. I was a grown up now, and if I was going to take the reigns of my life and build it how I'd always felt I could and would, I had to do this right. So I moved out of my Mom's home, and away from the small town we'd landed in for the past five years, and back to London to work my way to New York to sing. Six jobs, three changes of address, a drastic haircut, a new best friend, and hours of sleep deprivation later, and I was walking to the bank with enough wages saved to get me across that sky of water and give it a try. And so here I am. I have packed up as little as I could bear of my belongings (not very little, in fact, at all), I have kissed my mother and father and brother and sister goodbye, and I am breathing. I'm on this plane, for the first time in my many flights without family or Shell or school, and I'm sitting next to a woman with a kind soul and my Grandmother's eyes, and the the head-rush fumes of her nail-polish are assuaging my nerves, and I am alive. And I am tired from this past year, and I am anxious, and I am sad at the lack of my recently so warm and present family, and I am older, as always, than I should be, and I am on my way.g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-53170681012905324082009-08-07T15:25:00.000+01:002009-08-07T15:27:17.520+01:00one of my favorite customers on tax:"Tax is a way of taking honest money off honest people and giving it to jews."g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-73169768822985880112009-07-29T19:27:00.008+01:002009-09-15T14:03:05.352+01:00on music...<span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">...and being an artist. But in the place of my own rant here, I'm gonna leave it to some of the people I admire most on Earth to put into words what I can't yet get past a deep emotional state.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I found this </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Melissa Etheridge </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">quote a while back; I can't remember where, but it really spoke to me and to where I feel music or any art should be coming from:</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"</span></span></span></span><span><span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And this sort of whole dream of success and this dream of “I’ve got to have a hit song”, “I’ve got to do this” – it wasn’t mine – I don’t wish to dream that anymore. I wish to create - I believe that there’s a world out there, who wants to hear music like this, who wants to put music on to be fed, to be nourished, to be held up and enlightened and excitened. And I believe that artists do that for people, and that I can do that for people."<br /><br />A couple of years back, </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">KT Tunstall</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> (an artist I have a great deal of respect and affection for) recorded a beautiful acoustic album over a few days around Christmas on the Isle Of Skye, and during a little clip from the adjacent DVD, she says something which I had to rewind and listen to twice or three times because of how much it was my exact way of thinking. It really stuck, to the extent that I paraphrased it as the title of my music blog, "Chasing Songs":<br /></span></span></span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"My experience of writing music is that I don't really have a choice, it just..I kind of follow it. I'm sort of chasing songs, and I catch up with them."<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Alanis Morissette</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> is, as far as I'm concerned, one of the most talented and characteristically beautiful artists on the planet right now or for a long time. Her generosity of wisdom and of her gift, her peaceful spirituality, and her humble earthliness and warmth all make her, for me, a truly phenomenal artist. These words speak so directly to me, I can't imagine explaining the basis on which my mind, ambition, & heart work better than she has:<br /></span></span></span><span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I live to heal ruptures and bridge the human and the divine aspects of life, and I hope that by sharing my own experiences through speaking, writing and art, I can support people in their personal journeys, wherever they may be at," she explains. "The initial writing is for me, and the sharing of it is my offering to others to make these songs and writings their own. For people to derive comfort, inspiration, validation or self-definition in accordance to what I write or how I live...this is my service."</span></span></span></span>g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-24831352883008697972009-07-13T13:21:00.007+01:002009-07-13T16:36:03.227+01:00Regina Spektor's "Far", & gig at the Serpentine Sessions, Hyde Park (06/29/09).Good afternoon all :) <div>I realized recently that I kind of mentally/verbally write hundreds of reviews, and so I'm thinking it might be fun to actually get some down somewhere. And seeing as this is the place for getting things down, here goes.<div><br /></div><div><b><i>The Record:</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>It's been almost ten days since I bought Regina Spektor's latest album "Far", and I'm thinking now is the optimum reviewing moment. Ok, so we should probably get one thing straight before I start writing this: I love Regina Spektor. In my iTunes there resides five hours' worth of Regina (all five available albums, and whatever else I can find without the use of things like LimeWire, which I dislike intensely). Of eighty-three songs, sixteen are rated four stars and the rest are five-and I take my iTunes ratings very seriously and am very conservative in my starring. For the purposes of perspective, No Doubt (who are my favorite band of all time, and whose entire discography I also own) have only twelve five-star songs, out of ninety-one. And I arguably love every No Doubt song that has ever been recorded. So, yeah, Regina Spektor is an utter genius and I cannot fault her. I adore her originality, the strength and beauty of her voice, her command of instruments/random objects as instruments (including her evident life long bond with her main instrument, piano). And I love her character. When she sings, it's as though she becomes the music-she's so alive and big and strong and animated; and then as soon as the last note rings, this sweet, shy, modest, even child-like persona emerges-usually expressing profuse gratitude to her audience. I love her love and her oddness and bravery and talent, and I love her spirit and...I'm gonna stop now because I may be worrying my girlfriend slightly haha. But nevertheless, it does happen that artists I adore release albums that disappoint me (Alanis' "So Called Chaos", zum beispiel, made me almost resent her being in a stable relationship hah), and I'm always part nail-biting when waiting for a release from someone important in case it fails to enamor me.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I first start listening to a new album, I always resist shuffling to start with so that I hear it in the intended order and don't neglect songs that I haven't heard yet or don't immediately click with. During the first few runs of "Far", it immediately struck me as having a very different atmosphere from previous albums, especially the most recent, "Begin To Hope", in that the first few songs almost seemed to flow into one another; rare for Regina, as her tracklists are usually so eclectically varying in style and subject matter they read like titles off the "other" shelf in Odd Library, Randomsville, Tennessee haha. For want of a less ridiculous analogy. So this album has that new element for me for a start; it flows, and so listening to it in its entirety feels like a journey, which I really love in any record. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another development is the unexpected presence of far more "personal" lyrics than usual; a defining quality of Regina's music, and one of the first things one would most likely notice when listening to especially her earlier work, is that much of her writing is in dramatic monologue, which adds to her unique quality and gives her subject matter a warming universal feel, but means that we don't see much actual Regina directly. What I mean is that, when listening to an artist, one of the most prominent aspects of appreciation for me is feeling as though I'm getting to know the writer through his or her lyrics-which is more of a challenge when the artist is often writing from others' perspectives or telling stories, however enthralling the stories may be. So, much as I love this aspect of Regina's writing, I appreciate the more personal lyrics occasionally-this was something I liked about B.T.H. and am glad to see in Far as well :)</div><div><br /></div><div>I have to say I'm also shamelessly overjoyed to see the return of a lack of accessibility/increase in oddness in songs like "Genius Next Door" and "Dance Anthem Of The 80's", and also of that kind of uplifting, wise characteristic found in "Laughing With" which is reminiscent of "Ghost Of Corporate Future", the first Regina song I ever heard and fell in love with all those years (three or four haha) ago when I stumbled across Queen Spektor by chance on MySpace, back in the day when you could search by genre and location (genre: folk/alternative, location: New York). MySpace has done some good to the world after all haha. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am super happy to see the inclusion of songs such as "Blue Lips", & "Human Of The Year", which I'd heard live and loved and hoped would make it onto the next album. I am feeling the lack of "Bobbing For Apples" slightly, but can see its place as a live number and its potential to have rifted the flow of the album slightly with its... volume? Haha. Also very very glad at the joy and positive energy that the presence of "Wallet" and "Folding Chair" brings; again, having heard live versions of these I hoped they'd make the cut, so :)</div><div><br /></div><div>My overall? "Far" is a beautiful, full, perfectly Spektor album, with lines like "what if the sword kills the pen?" living strongly alongside "...we're all laughing with God.", and old school stories like "Riot Gear" and "Genius Next Door" flowing seamlessly into the bravely immediate "Eet", "The Calculation", and "One More Time With Feeling", both species of song speaking with that universal quality that Spektor so often carries, but for different reasons. I love that for me it seems to show an evolution in Regina, but that she hasn't succumbed to the very easy trap of yielding to commercial success and grown accordingly into something not herself (not that we ever dreamt she would). I love that I can sit and listen to it and fall into its feel or atmosphere and be in a state of joy illimited but still very awake. I love Regina and I love "Far".</div><div><br /></div><div>Rating: Immaculate Collection</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>The Gig:</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>The first time I saw Regina Spektor live was at Festival Hall a couple of winters ago, and that was one hell of a concert. Mesmerizing, beautiful, and unique. The audience was respectfully silent during every song; you could hear every perfect note and line resonate through the apt venue throughout every song, broken only by the wild release of applause between songs which continued into a roaring, full standing ovation for the entire five or ten minute pause before the encore and pretty positively identified the during-song silence as out of pure respect. And it was a phenomenal gig, which fit perfectly with its surroundings in what is very much a concert hall. It was concert perfection, almost classical, and it left me in awe.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, in her own words, "good is better than perfect", and I'll take a gig over a concert if pushed-and Hyde Park was a <i>gig</i>. A reviewer in the Guardian (in a review of Bon Iver's set the following day) described the tented stage at the Serpentine Sessions as "in the shadow" of Blur's big loud stage, also up in Hyde Park, and I'll allow that it was a little intrusive on first walking into the area, but the gig that took place in that comparatively little stage in the tent outshone any gig that I can imagine on the hulking industrial monster beside it. The very smallness of the venue actually gave the gig a real intimacy and feeling of connection not only with Regina herself but with the crowd as well. I spent the couple of hours with my shoes off, singing along with the lack of inhibition of being in the shower (as I always do at gigs :) ), loving her presence and the whole spirit of the time & place, and appreciating the perfection of this gig in its imperfection and individuality, and Regina's evident ability to bring this sense of moment and fitting unique character to each live performance. Not particularly long, not in some arrogant big-stuff venue, and not with comfy seats or a perfect view, but this was easily the most awesome gig I've ever been to.</div><div><br /></div><div>Moment of the night: just before "Bobbing For Apples" Regina, apparently overcome by the uncontrolled applause and general reception- "Man...I wish I could fit all of New York City in here; everyone would be so happy to see you guys. You're fucking awesome."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre; font-family:Arial, sans-serif;font-size:10px;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/79kGKainCUE&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/79kGKainCUE&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></div></div>g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-21533007643563251732009-05-04T13:43:00.002+01:002009-05-04T13:47:17.401+01:00My Grandfather On National Defense:"They say we're out defending the country in Afghanistan and Iraq, how can we be defending our country there? If there's a group of people fighting out in the street you don't jump in to help; get your head knocked off. If you're wise you don't anyway, if you're drunk you might. Either way you get your head knocked off."g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-66246840123986442562009-01-22T18:02:00.001+00:002010-02-27T00:33:26.166+00:00on religion and moralsBeing both a philosophy student and a person who, for some probably logical but as of yet unknown reason, has a weird amount of Christians in her inner circle of friends, this is an area of great interest and importance to me. As a result, I’ve spent a lot of time in thought and conversation regarding the place of religion in my life and in the world, and have a painful abundance of material to share regarding my relation to religion and its development.<br /><br />My start in the world (not accounting for the possibility of past lives and such) was dictated to a relatively significant extent by religion; I refer to myself occasionally as a “cradle Catholic”, a term which, for those unfamiliar, describes a person who, like myself, was born into a Catholic family and consequently Christened under and raised within the Catholic church. And so, every Sunday until my parents’ divorce (and thus our alienation as a family from the church) we went to mass, my sister and I attended Catholic school, and I can say pretty confidently that I was a perfect little Catholic girl, due to the solid faith which was programmed into my impressionable little mind that there was an all powerful and relatively fickle deity up there watching my every move.<br /><br />And so, fairly predictably, the volatile combination of my own deeply inquisitive, thoughtful nature, and the pressure any child is under when involved so inevitably in what I would describe as essentially a cult, when met with the catalyst of my wonderfully liberal maternal Grandmother introducing me to genuine, thrillingly new alternatives to Christianity, led to my rebellion from the Catholic church, which had been becoming increasingly unsatisfactory to me as I approached my pre-teen years as it was. From this new awareness I had gained of this idea of freedom of religion, I went out and proceeded, naturally, to subscribe to yet another organized religion, but this time it was a) one that made a lot of sense to me logically and morally, and b) about the coolest one I could find: Paganism, or, Wicca. And so off I went into teendom, with my Grandmother’s graceful, seemingly eternal ‘Mother Nature’-esque example in front of me, as a very green, but also remarkably revering, witch. I was Pagan because I loved that I could be a part of a religion which worshipped not something ethereal and male; both “omnipresent” and yet seemingly omni-absent, but instead something which I could see all around me, and see as worthy of worship in its undeniable beauty and power, something which was both male and female, like the World itself, and capable of both good and evil, like Humanity itself: Nature. At last I could channel my prefab faith and appreciation into something which I had decided for myself with my own mind was worthy of worship. I remained involved in Wicca for a few years, until eventually my involvement waned to interest, and finally simply an objective appreciation and affection, which it remains to this day.<br /><br />Again I had given my all to a religion, my energy and interest and faith, and this time entirely voluntarily, and yet still, with time, that faith which I tried so stubbornly to truly feel and live had diminished, fading eventually into nonexistence. I was sure there were some things I believed in, but what I did believe was not only considerably vague in my own mind, but unsettlingly contrary any of the mainstream, or even the less mainstream, religious groups which I was aware of. And so, after a brief period of fashionably cocky staunch Atheism, I at last found my true Savior: Philosophy. Or, to be more specific, you could say that I found my true Holy Trinity: Philosophy of Religion, Mrs. Evry, and Bertrand Russell. I took Philosophy at A-level because for some reason I was just drawn to it. And, unintelligently “wishy-washy” (as Evry would, I suspect, observe) as that sounds, I cannot give you any more reason than that because there really isn’t any. But thank the heavens I did (and yes, for someone who doesn’t believe in the Judeo-Christian concept of God, I do vocally invoke him rather often; if you are offended by this, don’t worry, I’ll get mine).<br /><br />Through my two years’ study of Philosophy, I learned how to essentially do some much needed clearing out and organizing of my thoughts and beliefs, and to begin to think in a different, more coherent and logical way, which vastly improved my state of mind, capability as a student, and proficiency as a person, and which to this day impacts greatly how I think and live. On my Facebook (or Bacefook as I prefer to call it) profile, my religion is listed as simply “:Bertrand Russell”, as I have him, along with my wonderful, witty, inspiring teacher Catherine Evry, to thank for my current comfortable, crafted almost, religious outlook. And although I am yet of only the tender age of eighteen years, the perspective which I hold now I feel intrinsically allows for any future alterations in my views. So what are my religious beliefs now? Some might describe me as having no religion. Were the whim to take me to subscribe to an organized religion of some form it would probably be Hinduism, as this fits most comfortably with my moral and spiritual life, but as of yet this particular whim has not taken me. I could describe myself fairly accurately, I would say, as a ‘fideist agnostic’; I believe very fundamentally that any belief must be understood and treated as just what it is, (as is evidenced even in the dual definition of its synonym)- faith. Not knowledge, not a self-evident, indisputable truth which others must be informed or convinced of or else, but belief.<br /><br />I have a hard time imagining that a person is no more than their physical composition, and this, along with my own obscure ‘sense’ or ‘feeling’ that I have a soul, leads me to believe that human beings have souls or spirits. It also makes quite a lot of sense to me that perhaps these souls could be in a kind of recycling process, moving into new bodies and experiencing new lives once our current bodies cease to be handy vehicles via which we can live. My moral structure is a simple but logical one; I live by the incontestable principle that joy is good, and hurt is bad (to utilize some simple but effective nursery-style vocab.), and so my moral objective is to create as much happiness and as little harm as possible. Obviously this is a large-scale theory, and must be understood as such-so anyone who is about to interject with some example of the joy one man may find in bashing another’s head against a wall is asked to think more broadly in order to understand that this is not justified within the theory, because the hurt caused by this man’s theoretical Neanderthal actions would negate overwhelmingly any superficial happiness that he may gain from the attack; the idea is for the most overall positivity in the world, and so takes into account collateral ramifications of every action. And so I try, day to day as well as on the long-term, bigger scale of my intentions for my life, to live and work for the avoidance and healing of pain, and the creation of joy. My specific ethical beliefs can hopefully be inferred from their derivation in this principle, but any questions as to my views on particular moral issues are welcome and will be met with, yes, you guessed it, yet more rambling transcript from my overactive mind.<br /><br />I believe that the Judeo-Christian concept of God is logically incoherent to the extent that, although it cannot be strictly disproven via reason, I personally am incapable of having any genuine conviction of the possibility of his existence. I also believe, while we’re in the vicinity of gendered pronouns, that the gender imbalance in the World, caused greatly by religion since the hostile replacement of earlier, more gender-balanced faiths with Christianity (and Islam, et cetera), is the root of many if not all of the major issues which we as a species have faced for centuries and continue to face. My views on this coincide fairly accurately with my views on partisanship U.S. politics; there’s a reason the flag involves both red and blue- elements of both are required to create a balanced state, just as a balance of gender is required for society to function to its fullest. Religion’s part in this gender crisis (no, not hyperbolic in the least) somewhat shakes my appreciation of the positive societal role it plays in giving people hope and direction, although this appreciation does fundamentally endure, and is one reason why I find it very difficult to condemn organized religion outright.<br /><br />Another intrinsic problem I have with organized religion is the tradition of its involuntary enforcement onto entirely defenseless children by parents and other adults in positions of authority. I am a very strong advocate, as a citizen of the United States of America, of freedom in all senses of the word, including of course religious freedom (incidentally, when I turned sixteen I was ordained as a minister of the Universal Life Church, the simplicity and wit of which I respect greatly to this day), and raising a child into a religion without elucidating to him or her that this religion is not fact and is not the only option, seems to me to be a flagrant disregard of that child’s freedom of thought and of lifestyle. I appreciate how this may be a tough one, especially for the very devout among parents and guardians, as even I will attest to the disciplinary and developmental positives of religion in a child’s life, and can of course understand the desire of a parent to want their child to share in their faith, but I truly believe that children, as human beings, respect not only honesty but the opportunity to think for themselves, and are likely to, in turn, respect greatly any adult which offers them these things. Try to imagine yourself, as a child, having a grown-up explain to you what religion is, and that there are a myriad of religions out there which you are free to explore and understand and become a part of if you wish, and then explain, as an example, his or her own religious views. All I can say is that I believe I would have had a great deal of respect for that person, most likely which would’ve led to me joining them voluntarily in their beliefs. Then, if, when I hit my teens, I decided to explore other faiths, it wouldn’t need to be a rebellion, and there would be no possible necessary resentment towards the parent or guardian for having forcibly confined my belief system. But this, of course, as always, is only my view.<br /><br />And these are only my views on religion and morals, not some kind of alleged higher truth I’m trying to spread or even some idea I’m trying to sell. Of course, I am in the human habit of hoping for people to share in my beliefs, or to read some of this stuff and think ‘hey, y’know, that makes sense’, but I wouldn’t wish for anyone to just buy something I’ve said because it’s interesting or new (she said, with disturbing arrogance), because much as I’d revel in people finding logic in my long and winding prose, the most valuable message I would hope for anyone to take from this post, would be to explore your own mind and beliefs without that fear of being proven wrong hanging over you. This is not by any means an easy task, and it’s something which I’m still learning to remember to do as often as possible, but the level of clarity and understanding which is gained from changing a winner-loser, debate type discussion into a mutual search for truth via the amalgamation of others’ experience and intellect with your own is unparalleled, and indescribably worthwhile.<br /><br />Edit: Feb. 26th '10<br /><br />So, I found myself scribbling these random little notes into my notebook a little while back in the dark, and I figure this is the place to plonk them; what I didn't include so much of in the original post here was actual disclosure/description of my personal views, and what follows is kind of a rough outline of that.<br /><br />"I worship the World, Nature, Existence itself, as opposed to some presumed creator, and without the capacity or will even to imagine a beginning or an end.<br /><br />I look up and I am in awe at the sheer, blinding beauty of even a grey sky, and this is what I worship.<br /><br />I look around a subway car, and I am reduced quietly to laughter or tears by the phenomenon of human nature, and this is what I worship.<br /><br />Does this sound like not being able to see the forest for the trees? Well, I'd rather see the people than the crowd."g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-20397478452282195212009-01-12T21:15:00.002+00:002009-01-12T21:29:24.681+00:00The LatestSo, here's the latest.<br /><br />Back in London, saving for a ticket back to New York.<br />Considering a tattoo once I have some money.<br />Incredibly over-excited about the Fleetwood Mac tour.<br />Looking forward to the release of 'Lesbian Vampire Killers', which looks hilarious.<br />Feeling complete once more with the new E.R. and B.&S. seasons started.<br /><br />frustrated with trying to find a job, but otherwise happy to be back in the city, and to be heading in the right direction. I'm gonna try to start writing here more often also.<br /><br />Amor, cognitio, ars.<br /><br />xxg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-7628220485017598632008-06-14T11:44:00.004+01:002008-06-30T21:35:48.858+01:00NObama?Ok, so I think it's about time for an election post. As you may know, I was born an American citizen due to my mother being American, and despite having grown up overseas, the U.S. is where my heart is, and the country where I feel most at home. I'm also turning eighteen in October, so, come the November general elections, I will be proudly utilizing my first vote. Now, I have been, probably predictably, a devoted Clinton supporter since day one; I got up at six in the morning after Super Tuesday to get the results (cross-Atlantic time-difference), and cried with joy when I saw how well she'd done; I watched every speech; tried and failed to donate (because some campaigns, unlike Obama's, won't accept donations from under eighteens); watched every day as the delegates rose and fell; and finally cried with anger and sadness when Hillary was left no option but to drop out.<div><br /></div><div>The dilemma I'm left with now, other than the terrifying prospect of either a bloodthirsty Republican or an inept, puerile "orator " as the next President of one of the most powerful countries in the World, is what to do with my precious first vote. Do I actively vote in a candidate who I don't have faith in? Or do I withhold my treasured suffrage?</div><div><br /></div><div>My thoughts at the moment are currently with the conglomeration of organizations and petitions which are still fighting either for the DNC to count the wrongly attributed votes and fix this mess, or for Hillary Clinton to run independently of the Democratic Party. Let's hope that democracy can hold, and we can remedy this dire situation.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Mz8AuAAyRY8&hl=en"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Mz8AuAAyRY8&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-26488853584503188352008-04-18T17:13:00.005+01:002008-04-18T17:26:23.406+01:00isn't life hilarious?Well well well!<br /><br />Methinks it's time for a quick update seeing as things have changed *again* quite significantly, and before exam season. However, it's gonna have to be super-fast because I have an essay to write which I want to get done today and it's already a quarter past five! Right, so the main change is in uni plans-guess who, after all the drama, got accepted into Warwick University? ...that's right, Shell. Haha not really, she had no drama before she got her offer :D so yes, hurrah, I now have a place at an awesome uni on an awesome course, with the added bonus of my soul mate going to the same place. In short, it's so entirely like :O fate! that I'm ashamed at how convinced I now am of fate despite having given it not nearly enough thought. But I'm severely happy anyhow, and all I need now is to actually work and get my required grades haha, so I'm thinking it's essay time. Oh, and it's official, I adore Ani DiFranco. And Belgium is really very pretty, and the people speak embarrassingly perfect English. That's all! Essay time.g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-27391057184103864272008-03-29T19:02:00.002+00:002008-03-29T19:06:14.703+00:00new lookSo, as you can (hopefully) see, I have tried changing the look of the journal. Due to my immeasurably far from even competent knowledge of HTML, it's not exactly how I want it, but it works pretty well and is almost legible if you adjust the window size to the size of the background image.<br /><br />:) I'll try to get it all nice at some stage, perhaps with the help of a kindly computer genius. <br /><br />vivamus atque amemus<br /><br /><br />xxg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-36386943752893179542008-02-27T15:45:00.002+00:002008-04-02T21:58:46.228+01:00I would be proud.<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KKY8J_FYlbM&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KKY8J_FYlbM&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-7350555932580137672008-01-26T00:12:00.000+00:002008-02-05T20:36:48.094+00:00so, you know that sign I was looking for?I think on Thursday, in the form of being rejected from the final uni I was interested in and had the required grades for, it arrived.<br /><br />Arrived is far too passive a verb.<br /><br /><br />Anyhow, I got my sign, so now I guess it's time to stop being what most people would call "careful" or "realistic" (so, cowardly), and start being brave and fierce.<br /><br />You can't be careful about ambition.<br /><br />So here's the plan: I somehow find the motivation to finish my A2's over the next five months, then I go back to London, find myself some place to stay, get myself a waitressing job or something, & start gigging.<br /><br />Exciting isn't it?<br /><br />Finally; I've been feeling a lot of things over the past few days, dealing with this abrupt change of plan, above all I've been more scared than I've ever been, I've also been frustrated that my original plan of getting a degree first isn't possible anymore; basically I've been just trying to think through it all and catch up, place myself. Then last night some things occurred to me; first of all, as I said, I've been waiting for a push in either direction for a while now; if this isn't a sign I don't know what is, and secondly, maybe this whole "clever plan" I had in place was just a way of avoiding a decision which needs to be made, and which I clearly wasn't brave enough to think about yet.<br /><br />But thankfully, I've been pretty much handed the courage to make the decision I wanted to. I'm not gonna continue to put life off.<br /><br />I've finally got the freedom I've been craving, and now, finally and after much thought, it feels awesome.<br /><br />Wish me luck :)<br /><br /><br />xxg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-91343883197169476862008-01-25T17:36:00.000+00:002008-01-25T18:58:48.569+00:00pinEverything is in my heels.<br />Like someone came in the night<br />and slid all of the things that are usually<br />"on my shoulders",<br />the weight of the world,<br />into my shoes.<br />The weight of my world is in my heels,<br />meaning I can't walk at my usual speed..<br />then again,<br />how fast can you really walk<br />when you don't know where you're headed?<br /><br /><br />Sorry, that's all I've got.<br /><br />Not much for a pro is it? Never mind,<br />'cause failure clearly is an option,<br />or hobby.<br />Which this can't be anymore,<br />'cause I may not want to nourish myself right now,<br />but at some point I'll need to.<br /><br />I can do this<br />I am strong<br />I am big<br />I just need to<br />get it out of my heels and<br /><br />onto a page<br />or a line<br />onto a stage.<br /><br />Just a stage<br /><br />of transition<br /><br />I'm just in shock,<br /><br />I'm sure fruition<br />is around the corner,<br />I just need more time.<br /><br /><br />I'm just so fragile,<br /><br />the spaces between my own lines shake me,<br />the lines that used to make me<br />now feel bad, feel out to break me,<br /><br />my lines are woven, strung up,<br />waiting for my neck,<br />my life,<br />dead or alive?<br /><br />Line of my life, or noose?<br />Fight, or flight?<br /><br /><br />Here I begin.<br /><br />Find a brave face for a stranger,<br />& a dropped pin.g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-62533582703810333722008-01-23T14:13:00.000+00:002008-01-23T14:15:49.459+00:00something to keep you warm...<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DsP2TheK0iQ&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DsP2TheK0iQ&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>g.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-80956387414012587392008-01-19T11:53:00.000+00:002008-01-19T16:07:21.644+00:00it's t-junction time.....or at least it will be pretty soon. Problem is, I'm having real trouble with what to do with my life. It's not that I lack in ambition, in fact, it's the exact opposite that's causing me trouble; there is so much I want to achieve and be, one person couldn't possibly be all of the things that I would die disappointed having not been. And of course, true to my contradictory nature, while I have this uncontrollable longing to do so much, I also have the sort of character which means I have to give myself entirely to something or I won't be happy.</br><br />So I was born with this inherent pull in me to react to high intensity by writing, singing, etc.; generally harnessing everything into creativity, mostly music. And if I could never listen to music again, I am almost certain that I would spend the first hour of every day of the rest of my life crying until I ran out of breath.</br><br />But can I really dedicate myself to something <span style="font-style:italic;">so</span> down to chance? I don't do well without routine, & my confidence in my apparent talent gets knocked relatively easily.. could I really cope living from one sleazy bar and one room apartment to the next?</br><br />My other option is serving my country in a job which I think I'd be very good at and which would give me more security in most ways. I'm incredibly patriotic, & a job requiring the sort of dedication as this does suits me really quite well.. it would also be extremely interesting and challenging.</br><br />But <span style="font-style:italic;">that</span> option leaves me no choice but to back burner music, which I'm doing right now for my studies and which just.. makes me feel like I'm not functioning fully or something..</br><br />So. There's my problem- I know I would love both lives, & I think I'd thrive in both, but it all depends on chance & what ifs, & it's driving me out of my mind. I guess I'm gonna have to just keep looking out for signs, & have faith that what is meant to be will happen...<br /><br /><br />vivamus atque amemus,<br /><br />jo<br /><br /><br />xxg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-26042382597648724832007-11-18T13:19:00.001+00:002007-11-18T14:13:12.705+00:00in honor of Alanis' upcoming album:<a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://i9.photobucket.com/albums/a51/johazelwoods/alanis_morissette_02.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"></a><br /><br />some of my favorite Alanis material:<br /><br /><br />"You from New York<br />you are so relevant<br />you reduce me to<br />cosmic tears.<br />Luminous more so<br />than most anyone,<br />unapologetically alive.."<br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tz3ql-0_DzM&rel=1&border=0"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tz3ql-0_DzM&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />"You'll rescue me, right? In the exact same way they never did?"<br /><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tukqRdtYDoU&rel=1&border=0"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tukqRdtYDoU&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br /> "Front Row"<br /><br />do you go to the dungeon to find out how to make peace with your days in the dungeon writing a letter to you didn't make me feel any more peaceful then how I felt when we weren't speaking because I didn't cop to what I did. I can't love you because we're supposed to have professional boundaries. i'd like you to be schooled and in awe as though you were kissed by god full on the lips . i'm in the front row the front row with popcorn I get to see you see you close up i'm too tired to recount the unpleasantries one by one one minute I want to banish you the next I want to be on a deserted island with you along with my three favorite cd's ambivalent yet in your bed we've yet to acknowledge what really happened slid into the ditch I have this overwhelming loss of ambition we said let's name thirty good reasons why we shouldn't be together I started by saying things like "you smoke" "you live in new jersey (too far)" you started saying things like "you belong to the world" all of which could have been easily refuted but the conversation was hypothetical I am totally short of breath for you why can't you shut your stuff off..... i'm in the front row the front row with popcorn I get to see you see you close up and I laughed until my lungs hurt I love how you bust my chops you don't always feel seen sometimes you feel erasable unfortunately I cannot reciprocate in my current state I think we should be careful of how much time we spend together.....for a while i'm speaking you know how much you hate to be interrupted maybe spend some time alone to fill up your proverbial cup so that it doesn't always have to be about you i've been wanting your undivided attention I like the fact that you're nothing like me are you not burdened by the lack of perspective people have of your charmed life i'm in the front row the front row with popcorn I get to see you see you close up you never meant to be ungrateful nor held up to be whipped or wept for certainly not analysed prodded at more ways than one apparently you've been misrepresented dealing with the concept of arrows being slung towards your outrageous fortune hey i'm not mad at you guardian i'm mad at myself for spending so much time with you and your jekyl and hydeness i'm glad i figuratively slapped you on the wrist you laughed a wicked laugh and said "come here let me clip your wings!"(i know he's blood but you can still turn him away you don't owe him anything) "raise the roof" he yelled "yeah raise the roof!" I yelled back. (unfortunately you needed a health scare to reprioritize.) no thanks to the soap box. having me rile against them won't make an ounce of difference...... i'm in the front row the front row with popcorn. I get to see you see you close up oh the things i've done for you many a sitch a friend a man's been left for you oh the books i've read for you the tongues i've bitten for you many a new city for you many a risk taken for you (not a single regret). <br /><br /><br /><br />Her lyrics are pure honesty and genius, her voice is beauty, her music is real. I am so beyond excited about this new album... it's bordering on unhealthy :]<br /><br /><br /><br />vivamus atque amemus,<br /><br /><br /><br />jo<br /><br /><br /><br />xg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-48009844310149719472007-11-17T14:45:00.000+00:002007-11-17T14:49:38.833+00:00Isn't it curious...how now that it's publicly viewable online, my sister no longer has any interest in reading my journal?<br /><br />Haha..<br /><br />Also, I dislike Facebook. I'm not sure why people prefer it to Myspace.<br /><br />These are my reasons to be happy today:<br /><br />conditional offer for ABB from Royal Holloway<br />interview at Cambridge<br />amazing people in my life<br />beautiful guitar<br />No Doubt getting back together :O :D<br />and, most importantly,<br /><br />It's almost Christmas!<br /><br />Love and such to you all :)<br /><br /><br />xxg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-879214176008698392007-09-29T17:59:00.001+01:002007-09-29T18:44:23.347+01:00"going away to college"..there are two things that I should establish before I start here. <br /><br />Firstly, I’m not the sort of person that cries at the sorts of things that most people cry at, but as I write this I am “unabashedly bawling” my eyes out, as I have been for the last twenty minutes. And secondly, due to various defense mechanisms, I rarely get attached to people; since age seven I’ve been able to like people a lot but be fine about leaving without a trace. <br /><br />Yet here I am, weeping like a child over someone who I’ve only known for a year.<br /><br />It is not very often that you meet a truly good, honest, beautiful person, especially one who will put up with someone like me. But that’s exactly what Sandy is. When I first met him, I didn’t even think we’d be able to be civil to eachother considering how hugely we differ in views and beliefs. He’s now one of my favorite people in the world, and I’m not even sure how it happened. I realize that I probably sound slightly ridiculous.. posting this might not be smart haha.. but I’ve never had anyone in my life before who made everything seem ok just by being there, who you knew you could rely on any time, who could make you feel like you were worthwhile and loved even when you doubted you could love yourself, who was so perfect, but somehow never made you feel lower than him even really though you were. He walked into our group of friends, and he made everything glow with his warmth and light and love.<br /><br />I hope that, however far apart we are, he will always be one of my closest friends. And I am going to miss having him there every day like I miss being young enough to fall asleep in the car at night without fear of a crash.<br /><br /><br />I love you sweetheart, speak soon!<br /><br />xx<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />p.s. HAVE FUN! ..but don't make any cool new friends =P<br /><br />p.p.s. THQUIRREL!!! :{Dg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-3169745320316498552007-09-12T16:01:00.000+01:002007-09-12T16:06:06.176+01:00"Assess the view that justified true belief is not the same as knowledge."The view that knowledge is ‘justified true belief’ is Plato’s Tripartite Theory of Knowledge. Having accepted that knowledge is more than just true belief, Plato goes on to realise that the condition which separates the two is justification. For example, if you have the belief that ‘the cat is on the mat’, and you are justified in this belief because you can see the cat on the mat, if it turns out that your belief is true; if factors from the external world correspond with your belief; then you have knowledge. The problem with this theory, as outlined by Gettier, is that there are exceptions to this rule. To have knowledge, you must have both the necessary & the sufficient conditions fulfilled; just as if you intended to make a pie, you would require the necessary conditions (your ingredients, oven, etc.) as well as the sufficient condition of actually having the pie in front of you, made & ready to enjoy. We can easily say that the conditions which Plato includes are individually necessary, but issues arise when we attempt to show that the conditions are jointly sufficient. Gettier recognised this flaw in Plato’s theory, & illustrated it in his ‘Is Justified, True Belief Knowledge?’ paper through examples in which all the conditions are fulfilled, but the person cannot be said to have true knowledge. ‘Gettier-Type Counter Examples’ show that the condition which causes trouble is the ‘justification’ condition. For example, say a university student comes in one day looking for a professor he desperately needs to talk to regarding some work. On walking towards the professor’s office, the student passes through the staff car park, and, on the knowledge that his professor drives a purple Porsche, sees such a vehicle parked in the professor’s spot and deduces from this that the professor is in, and his trip to visit her will not be in vain. Now, let’s say that the professor is in on the day in question, but she did not drive in with her car, she skated in. And it just so happens that some other fortunate owner of a purple Porsche drove in using their Porsche, and sneakily parked in our professor’s spot. The justification which the student used to gain the knowledge of the professor being in was in fact nothing to do with whether or not she was, there was no ‘causal connection’ between the two, so does the student have knowledge? According to Plato’s tripartite theory he does, but most people would disagree because the student’s justification was open to question. Although we must take into consideration that the Gettier counter examples rely heavily on coincidence, the issue which Gettier raises is very valid, and allows us to form a further, reviewed version of the tripartite theory. In this theory, the three conditions remain the same, but with the addition of a fourth condition, or ‘extra condition’, which includes an extra justification in order to authenticate the knowledge, for example a ‘causal connection’ condition, which states that there must be a relevant connection between the piece of potential knowledge and the justification. This type of ‘extra condition’ would be suitable in our Porsche example if, for instance, the student’s justification for his professor being in was that as he could see her working through her office window as he was walking towards the building. Having this extra condition, along with the other three conditions, would mean that the student has knowledge of the fact that his professor is in, however, without this last condition, he doesn’t, even though he has a justified, true belief. Therefore, it is clear that, although it is valid, and the revised version would have been impossible without it, Plato’s idea that justified, true belief is knowledge is not always reliable.<br /><br />(just thought I'd let you in on some of my Philosophy things, seeing as it's such a substantial part of my life these days).<br /><br />vivamus atque amemus! (my new motto =) look it up..)<br /><br />jo<br /><br /><br />xxg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-42617051320576358512007-08-16T11:22:00.000+01:002007-08-16T11:26:54.955+01:00a.s. results...I have but one thing to say...<br /><br />AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br />oh, and this...<br /><br />WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br />:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D<br /><br />guess who got:<br /><br />B in Latin<br /><br />B in Theatre Studies<br /><br />A (:O) in English Literature<br /><br />and...<br /><br />wait for it...<br /><br />A IN PHILOSOPHY!!!!!<br /><br />ME!!!<br /><br />THAT'S RIGHT!<br /><br /><br />Jesus, I don't think I've ever been so elated. Me and Shell both got A's in Philosophy; something we were told was virtually impossible. <br /><br />I LOVE YOU! <br /><br />jo<br /><br /><br />xxxxxxxg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32328196.post-24290931342311701242007-07-20T22:12:00.000+01:002007-08-13T19:42:15.458+01:00two things..in (rather schizophrenic) response, as t'were, to my last two blogs, there are a couple 'o things I would like to expline. (Yes, I did intend to write "expline", 'cause if you read it aloud you sound like Audrey Hepburn as Eliza Dolittle). Firstly, it has occured to me that I gave no explanation for Noah (haha) and probably should, as it looks rather out of place :P basically, by two biotches (Rell & Shosie) and I went on a prep. course for an English paper we might me taking next year, & after two days of talks etc. at this rainforest thingy nearby us we were asked to create some form of creative writing relating to said rainforest; Noah is the rather odd fairytale-esque result of my mind when set free to frolick in a humid atmosphere which made me look like some kind of wild bush woman as it does due to the lunacy of my hair. It was considerably amusing. You are permitted to laugh at my misfortune.. <br /><br />so there's your explanation for Noah (to an extent haha). Now for thing nombre two; on re-reading some of my writing, I have encountered the fact that I utilise some considerably superfluous sounding language which may appear superficially to point to some sort of arrogance or snobbery on my part which I must strongly refute, as there is most certainly no causal connection between the two. The reason I often write in a manner which even I will admit may justifiably be described as "like a knob" (quoting only my own paraniod psyche, by the by) is that I quite genuinely just like using words which sound interesting and fit better than others in the context.<br /><br />Why do I so often find myself explaining & excusing myself for things that I haven't been critcised about? Ah, the various complexes within this complex mind. I'll figure myself out someday I'm sure haha..<br /><br />have a loverly eventide! (tide being the operative word if you're anywhere near here!)<br /><br /><br />jo<br /><br /><br />xxxg.i.johazelwoodshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545028335045810805noreply@blogger.com1