Viva La Rivelatore!

Life is:
Unbelieveable, strange, stupendous, horrifying, frightening, maddening, lovely, disturbing, bracing, beautiful, testing, shocking, sweet, surprising, bitter, emotional, dreary, enlightening, sorrowful, joyful, unbearable, confusing, wondrous, spectacular, gorgeous, interesting.
Life is like:
Making a perfect hardboiled egg, cleaning off every piece of shell and only then realizing you didn't bring any salt or pepper.  And that you hate eggs.
Finally understanding the reason your mom taught you the song about monkeys jumping on a bed while you're rubbing a sore noggin.  And then getting up to jump again.
Drinking coffee thinking it's tea, spitting it out and making the same mistake six more times. 
Waiting at the deathbed of a friend and thinking 'hey, they owe me money.'
Being told that the reason the grass is greener on the other side is because you don't water your lawn.
Testing your mettle by jumping in front of a moving vehicle which happens to be a rogue shopping cart.
Waking up from a nightmare to be greeted with sunshine and the smell of coffee, the arms of a loved one and then you REALLY wake up to an emtpy room and freezing toes.
Expecting the worst and receiving the best.
Singing in a voice so cracked and worn that it actually sounds better than ever.
Writing a book called A Thousand Papercuts and making it out of orange Playdo.  And one hidden razorblade.
Being mocked for having a huge candle collection in a time of superior electricity...until "The Storm".
Kisses that taste like snowcones and petrol.
What God said it would be like.

" Once upon a dime..." >R<

Greetings from the Midlands!

Have you ever been in that place where you don't know if your preference is for things to stay the same, go back to the way they were or change completely?  Yeah, I'm in that place.  Let's call it The Midlands.  It's kind of like when you're switching radio stations and they're all on commercial break at the exact same time!  Except for country stations, but we don't count those.  Ever.  I realize that was not a very good analogy and I apologize for subjecting you to it.      I wish I could quit overthinking things.  But the seldom-occurring instance when I do something impulsively, I end up super-analyzing it afterwards.  Oh, hold on, Righteous Brothers is on the radio and I must take preak (pause/break).  And now I have You've Lost That Loving Feeling hangover, meaning I must immediately play Jet or something of the kind to balance the effect.  Aaaaah.  Now that's better. 
     What was I saying?  Hmmm, yes.  Maybe it's because I have an overactive imagination (if there is indeed such a creature) and can think of many, many outcomes for each action.  And dread all the awful ones.  So perhaps I am an overactive pessimist.  I'm not quite sure.  Because I can sometimes be a little naive, which you think would make me at least part optimist. Or it's really an insidious form of pessimism.  Like if I believe something could be so magically awesome, I am bound to be disappointed, therefore creating the outcome I really deep down expected.  And here we arrive at the overthinking stage again. 
      So where does that leave us?  Feeling shiftless, shapeless and in an emotional coma.  Syncing my new Zune, which beats iPod upside the head with a big nasty stick named The Annhilator.  Still really thirsty although the day has been rainy-cold.  About to go see if there's any tortillas left upstairs.  Trying to get rid of some weird chill-inducing headache I've been battling and yeah.
 .

"I loved the lies you told me and thought I was loving you." >R<

Chevalier, Anyone?

 My heart is light like a...hot air balloon?  Of course when I said that, I just pictured them getting caught in telephone wires and things.  But one shouldn't say dirigible, because, hello, Hindenburg?  A normal balloon?  That sounds boring.  Plus it's sad when they come untied and float out into the sky.  All alone.  *sniffle*  I am so emotional right now! 
   So I'm staring at Walden and realizing I haven't ever read past the second chapter.  Even though Thoreau's mummy did make him peanut butter sandwiches every day, I still feel as though it is my duty to read this book on affecting hermitage.  I am so behind in my reading and just added a stackload of other books.  What is wrong with me?  I am a bibliophile.  You heard it here first, folks.  Elizabeth is a bibliophile!  Gossip amongst yourselves.  Don't bother resisting, you know you'll just end up doing it with great fervor if you deny yourself now. 
    So I'm really pleased with how things are going, but really don't know where I'm supposed to take this or what to do with it.  Like, I thought things would suddenly get easier but some things just got harder!  Like now my feelings are intensified!  I entertain doubts that I'll ever be good enough, because for this situation I should be soooo much better than I am!  Help me, God!  How many times have I begged for one of you to shoot me in the head?  Great bunch of friends and anonymous blog stalkers you are!  I just need to be saved from myself sometimes, I guess.  But you make it harder when you're not willing to step up to the plate!

 
"Magnanimity has got to be the sexiest thing ever." >R<

The Story of The Duke

A story, I just dashed off for fun.  No, the punctuation is not perfect and I do not plan on perfecting it, nor do I plan separating it into paragraphs or any other such thing.  I wrote it for enjoyment and I hope you read it for enjoyment :)
   Once upon a time, in a land quite removed from this place there lived a lonely old Duke. He had been considered a handsome youth, all his affairs were managed for him and he was known far and wide for his excellent parties and great company. He was also known for a knack he had of whistling complicated music and bird songs. It was always popular with his guests. They would say, "Do a poppinjay next!" Or "Oh, please, give us Chopin's mad cadenza!" One day he was met with financial straits. His looser acquaintances promptly quit his company. Not longer after them followed those he thought to be his close friends. Then went the servants. Finally his most trusted advisor told him he had better quit his apartments and find a paying job. So he ventured forth with the wind at his back and a song in his heart, for of course everything would be set aright in due time and his friends would realize their error. He began work as a clerk at a bank that had once been controlled by his family, until the takeover. The other clerks knew this and so did the bank president. They made his life difficult and hoped it would be unbearable so that he would leave them a broken man. They failed. He came in every morning whistling and left every evening, whistling just the same. Someone asked him one day how he could keep such a light heart having come down so far in the world. He only replied, "Things are bound to be set aright, you'll see. My friends will come for me." After his fellow worker shared this with his manager, they grew only more determined to press him so that he would never dare to think he was above them. They set him to the most menial jobs for the meanest pay, even though the young man was very bright and a hard worker. They constantly ran him down in front of customers and gave him the hours no one else would work. Still, he whistled every morning and he whistled every evening. He continually called at the houses of his former friends, but in his tatty clothes he could not even make it past the doorman. Still, he whistled every morning and he whistled every evening. He passed one compatriot in the street and shouted his greeting with joy. "Hullo, friend!" The man turned, sniffed loudly and determinedly pressed forward. Still he whistled every morning and he whistled every evening. He developed bad eyesight from working so many nights by candlelight. Still, he whistled every morning and he whistled every evening. If anyone ever questioned him about his life, he would say, "Things will be set aright, they'll come." This went on for many, many years. Soon the young Duke became the middle aged Duke, but he did not look so different from his former self. He was beat up and run down but still whistling every morning and whistling every evening. One morning his previous advisor, whom he had not seen since the ruin of his fortune, approached him by the front door of the bank. "Sir, do you remember me?" he asked hesitantly as if not sure he had the right man. The Duke smiled a great smile and said, "Of course, dear fellow! You are my most trusted advisor; you have served my family since my birth! How could I forget you?" The advisor proceeded to inform him that oil futures had picked up, the farms that had been ruined by blight were recovered and the merchant ship he had thought lost had literally come in. He was rich again and if some slight modification was made to his finances, he need never worry about losing money again. The advisor beamed and went to shake the Duke's hand. But the Duke had turned ashen during the retelling of his reclaimed inheritance. He fell to the street and began to sob, clutching at his chest. With alarm, the other man grasped the Duke's shoulder and asked him what was wrong. He coughed weakly and wailed, "They never came! They never came and now it's too late!" After some bed rest and plenty of tea, the Duke seemed well enough to be reinstated in his family home. As poor as he had looked before, he now looked a hundred times worse. His friends came around to visit and could not believe how much he had changed in the time they had not seen him. Very soon everyone who left had come back and more, in fact, triple of those who had originally been with him. They were all very kind and very considerate and very caring. The parties of yesteryear were resumed and if anything, were more frolicsome and extravagant than before. Nobody seemed to notice that the Duke was never in attendance. In the one moment, with the advisor, in front of the bank, he had become old. His life had withered once he had lost his one last hope. Every morning he rose and every evening he went back to his chambers with a broken heart. There was never to be any more whistling.

"Yes, it's all very sad.  Now who wants ice cream?" >R<

The World...

World in Brown

I stumble through life wearing brown-tinted optics

Only a dying heart with which to scry, to scan

A gift bequeathed by an inscrutable giver

Who took away his loving hand

To experience a breath stealing decay

When every step falls in murky loam

My every which, my every way

All beginnings bleed into ends

Awakening careworn dusty trails

Beauty becomes funerary amber gray

So that even despair and sorrow fail

Lackluster what once was triumph

As if my world was blind

As if the earth's gone mad

And left me, sane, behind

The Hidden Meaning

Originally written for my friend with a Wizard of Oz/Over the Rainbow Theme for her birthday.  I was reading it again and laughing to myself.  A lot.  So, without further ado (except for this one) ado:
 
 Red is the color of the famous ruby slippers, which we all know were actually silver in the story.  Red is highly suggestive of two strong human experiences: Death and love/lust. One could say they are opposites of each other, but if viewed purely objectively, one should notice similarities. The first time we hear of the sparkling, magic shoes, we are met with the first death of the story. The tornado-blown house crushes the Wicked Witch of the East (the sun rises in the east, but sets in the west, so we first glimpse the witch-sister relationship...sunsets also representative of death). Dorothy’s lips are also unnaturally red throughout the movie, so red is not only at her base (feet/death) but at her head (mouth/love). The "hidden" affection of all three characters she meets along the way only point toward the significance of the ruby red lips. The shoes are full of some mysterious magic similar to the narrative of "The Red Shoes" just as most people around the world imbue death with sacred magic. It is also no coincidence that the fruit Dorothy feels so compelled to eat are red apples. The fruit of the doomed Eve, again garbed in red.
  Orange poppies cover the ground where our lovely girl succumbs to the sleeping spell. Rust is also orange. If you let yourself recall, The Tinman without a heart (again we see a representation of love, though a less obvious one) was rusted when Dorothy first met him. He obtained a heart long before The Wizard ever gave him one. He as much as says so. He obtained his love as Scarecrow obtained his brain (wisdom) and the Cowardly Lion his courage (energy), through the friendship as Dorothy. The fact that she falls asleep in a field of poppies means that she and the Tin Man are soul mates but are doomed to live in two different worlds. We can see this very easily when at the end of the movie, she wonders if it was all a dream. Orange therefore in this case means the connection of flesh and metal across time and space. Poppies and rust. Reality and dreams.
  Yellow or gold, we may call it, usually represents some form of fortune. Whether it is luck or money. It paves the way to the wonderful destination of all four of our main characters. Short characters are usually associated with the finding of money in fantasy stories. Goblins are the head of the wizard bank in Harry Potter, leprechauns gather pots of gold in Irish legends, dwarves are typically known as mining, rich communities especially in the Tolkien books. Here, Dorothy is told to follow ‘the yellow brick road’ by munchkins, a race of very little women and men. It is proven to us over and over again that short people are greedy and are born with a sixth sense for wealth or treasure, like a water divining stick. What may we learn from this portrayal of knowledge of the golden road and its itinerant munchkins? If we do not rein in our greed, we shall become stunted, deformed and short. New members of a chain gang of slavery affectionately termed ‘The Lollipop Guild’. 
  Green in this narrative obviously represents power and truth, even though the truth be built on lies. Green also is used frequently in depictions of life, though emeralds are inanimate objects for which people have been known to employ dishonest means to obtain. Thus we have the dichotomy of life and non-life, truth and non-truth. It is no accident that The Wizard lives in a city of green and not only of green, but the Emerald City. Even though the yellow brick road (mentioned previously) is obviously truly gold, nothing is assigned the value of jewels except the ruby slippers and the emerald stronghold of the bureaucracy for wish giving. This implies that love and death both depend on lies, though told with honeyed lips and good intentions. The Wicked Witch of the West is also green. This signifies nothing.
  Blue is the color of Dorothy’s bow and the only color on her dress, as the rest is white or "innocent of color". Bluish tints are most often used to reference home or homeliness, calm, peace. Even while on her strange journey, she carries home with her. If she would just look to herself, our heroine would find the peace and comfort of her family already resting in her.
  Indigo is a hue that is perhaps best represented by the horse of a different color. A horse that changes color in midstream is normally looked at as untrustworthy. But not so in this case! The stallion may vary colors during our encounter with him, but his true color is indigo, as he remains for most of the movie. Indigo comes from the Latin root of independence (indi) and the Greek word for leaving (go). The horse lets Dorothy know subconsciously that her journey is almost over and it is time to become independent of her friends and leave their world.
  Violet is, as we all know, just one letter away from ‘violent’. Purple has long been the color of royalty and magic items. Having violet as our Fortune Teller/Wizard/King’s main dress is entirely appropriate. He is not called the great and terrible Wizard of Oz without reason. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely powerfully. He is viole(n)t in his need to be supreme and fulfill his destiny of eternal wanderlust. As we all must perform extreme acts of violence to escape our own tragic existence if we are ever to break free from society and its standardized norms.
  Toto, though not a color in and of himself, deserves a special mention. A dog in a story may mean felicitations or greetings with joy, but since he is a terrier, more specifically he is the embodiment of happiness. For example, every time Dorothy sees him, she is happy and feels safer, connected with friends and family from home, though she is far away. For a period of time in the movie, Toto is confined to a basket that actually serves to protect him. Also commonly found in baskets are newborn babies. Usually, if they are left on doorsteps, they are in baskets, I think you shall find with a minimal amount of research. As this faithful companion pops in and out of the basket of new life, we might say he is constantly being reborn or having a day of birth. Therefore, we must come to the conclusion that a basket full of Toto really means: Happy Birthday.
Maybe I shall make more of these as time goes on.

"Bubblelicious gum is neither bubbly nor...licious anymore.." >R<