The holiday so far... 9:13 AM

Sometimes I really am not quite sure how I get myself in certain situations. And often times when I am in them I don't quite care what the outcome of things are. I sound like Michael from The Reader, a book I recently finnished reading.

There's nothing quite like the depressing and anxious mixture of not knowing what to do, lying on a mattress, being annihilated by insects and reading an extremely somber, confusing and heart breaking book about holocaust memories and aftermaths. There's also no better distraction than copious amounts of sex. After all of that, it feels like my brain could explode and my heart could handle no more.

I once read in Women Who Run With the Wolves that you get women who are dancers, they're always on their toes and throwing their bodies...and eventually to exhaustion then they die. Pretty depressing eh? That's what people always tell me...

So right now, I have moved to a guest house. It is quite pretty, very relaxing and non-demanding. No strange colours that pull my eyes, no fancy smells to disturb me. The sheets are quiet, the walls...everything feels like it was designed for you to be the only soul in the room. Nothing else feels too alive - so you can be left in peace with your thoughts.

Subtlety 1:15 PM

I remember years back, subtlety was one of my most valued traits. In some ways life depended on it. I judged people mindlessly, if they were not subtle. I discarded them like junk mail. Now a few years later, for some unknown reason, I'm quite a stranger to the state of being subtle.  I no longer seem to be, or can be subtle. It worries me, like a cancer.

I do believe that memories are sometimes lost forever, it's difficult to recall exact situations or words that people said. But the feelings can be recalled quite easily. (being a woman n all, like they say, emotion emotion emotion...eh)

When I was a more subtle being, I felt...
Constrained...because everything was crafted according to certain ideals/rules...subtlety being fine, detailed and intricate...which created pressure
Frustrated...because alot of people did not catch onto subtletys

I also felt...
Powerful...on the plus side, things got done, with people mostly, and often needed alot of interacting
Sexy...subtlety is fine. Refined. So there's a certain sense of class.

So my question is, can subtlety be the art of a prisoner?
Someone who is restricted. Who does not express the magnitude of their feelings but only a lingering thought, hoping to trigger the expression of others so that they can complete and fulfill the speaker's need to express?

So basically, is subtlety a soft introduction, a murmur of an idea, or a flowing small, induced spin...

In chinese philosophy, the thing which has no strong bearings can not be defeated. It's not to say that it has no form, it's like a snowflake. Something small. Fine. Delicate.
Like Lao Tsu said, if something is tiny, no one will notice it. It doesn't attract triumph or defeat.
In a way that is the life I want to live.

In western thought, religion, God is subtle. Is there truth in that?
Why does western and eastern thought on subtlety overlap?

What is the meaning of subtlety?
How does one be subtle?
What if you are not subtle?
Why do people lean towards the subtle?

Is it because force tend to destroy?
Should life still be a balance of subtlety and ______?

Love is a boomerang. 12:17 PM

If you do it right, it'll come back to you.

I'm having a glass of cheap wine, as a friend reminded me, that there is nothing quite like a hobo-affair. I decided that the first entry of my blog should be about love. Not that everything is love, and love is all around.
But more so on the dynamics of love - whatever the word means, to certain people.

I once heard a friend say, that there's a fine line between love and hate; and to that, what a hard life you've placed on yourself.
Some also say that love is all that there is and ever will be. Again - pretty hard life.
(If you want to know why I say these statements just email me - i don't want to plaster this entry with countless examples based on my own perceptions which most people will judge as extremely self-absorbed and subjective)

I've also heard that if you give love, you'll get love. This I do believe. However, I am beginning to feel increasingly frustrated at people who don't know how to love. Not that I am a spokesperson on this matter - but I know that love doesn't hurt, love feels damn nice. It's often hidden behind layers of bullshit though. Sometimes so woven and caught inbetween multitudes of cowardice, pride, anger and deceit. I do realise those are heavy words to some - but fuck it. Honestly, get a grip.
When baby mama's got her way and ringed her angry fingers all over you - say this to yourself, damn it hurts. No love. Goodbye baby mama. No woman of my baby should ring it's father's neck. Not if I totally jackassed myself and wrecked her wellbeing - then anger is understandable, you 'd prolly feel better if someone ringed your neck after you've done wrong - pain is often the best remedy for guilt (if you're on a morbid high and want to fix things the hard way).

There's also other kinds of love in disguise. All inspiration chosen by you, created by others - that's sex right there. You can't get off it because it has no boobs, but you sure can taste it's sweetness.
There's nothing like the marriage of inspiration, and action. It's like making babies out of smurf doe. Highly fantastical.

Now coming back to my boomerang theory, personally, there's always that fear of failure when I throw the boomerang. Like love, I'm scared it won't come back to me. This makes me throw it with a nervous twitch, and then it doesn't return to me. I'd have to go fetch it. I get tired of fetching it, tired of not throwing it right, practice harder and hope for the best. Boomerang gets broken because I've thrown it spin-not-perfect-goes-into-a-tree.

I buy a better boomerang then.

Keep practicing. I get better. Most of my shots come back to me. Closer as I get better.

At some point, I relate my boomerang to my relationships, to life, to Moses and the sea, to Jesus and his passion. To design, to quality, to a way of living, zen-fest manifest cafe del mar playing tripping off to a spiritual kingdom come.

And then after all the internal drama, from a simple sport - I'd look at love - my love, and tell myself and everybody around me - Do it again. Do it one more time. Again and again. (in case by now you're thinking wtf, I'm talking about love, fool:P)
Do it till you're the boomerang king of love.

And then there are moments like these, when the hobo-affair kicks in. By hobo-affair I mean the times when you've lost all expections, they no longer excite you. You live through the cardboard box of comfort, and sublime intimacy with your box. Your wine. This keyboard, as all hobos' do wish, someday it's going to not be like this. I might not be here in my box. Let me enjoy it now. The warmth of paper, these huge logo letters. The self preserving truth that everything is alright.

When I have come out of making love to my box. I look at the love factor again. Live on, dream another, and hold onto my damn boomerang and if it knocks on a tree. I'll take a second look, at that tree. Blow a little kiss and say Oh my dear oak tree, you were just a nut that stood it's ground.

Things I did today:

A lady sprayed me while I was bent over.

I tucked my face in Tobi's belly. 

I had semi-set tofu.

Went to China Town and stuffed myself. 

7/10