Not Alone

The other day I had a conversation with a close friend that disturbed me. I made a comment on my status as geek, and she replied offhandedly: “You’re not a geek”

Thinking back, it had the “Us and Them” feel. They’re geeks, we’re scene. And that comment hurt me.

Ever since I was a kid, I begged for a best friend who was like me. Not stereotyped, not a cookie cutter copy of the original prep or goth.

I tried goth as I grew older, but I couldn’t pull off the dark personality.

Eventually, I discovered heaven.

People like me. The internet had been hiding a whole race of people who were like me, yet weren’t.

Geeks, nerds, dorks. To them, nerd was a compliment. They flaunted their extensive knowledge of the TARDIS and Star Trek. They quoted memes with ease, they mocked themselves mercilessly.

For the first time, I belonged.

I was welcomed into the world of comics, anime, conventions, and video games. I felt the similarities, and the differences. We were bonded, and yet still more prone to bickering than any other group of people.

I was on air. It didn’t matter if my video game knowledge was limited, there were still the Whovians and otaku! (Doctor Who fans and anime fans)

Then that one little remark pierced my bubble. Its speaker may not have noticed, but it screamed of “You don’t belong there! You belong here! With the cooler people!”

Then I decided. I am a proud geek. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been one since birth, or was just converted yesterday.

I am geeky, I love anime and memes, old sic fi shows. You can’t tell me a geek is something else. Because to me, a geek is individual. A geek likes whatever the heck they want. Mostly anime and sic fi for me.

This may not make much sense, but this is a post for the geeks. The ones who never quite fit in. The people who know that they’re geeky.
The people who are one of us.

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Photographyz

So- remember my short lived photography career? It’s back, with a vengeance.

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Yes, I only uploaded three of the fifty+ I’ve done… *sigh*

Like ’em? I’m selling posters on Zazzle for ten bucks. *cheesy grin and shameless plug*

Anyways, I might post more pictures later…. ^_^

Eye See U

Lady Technicolor

Darkened Donna

She Who Is Nameless

Okay, so those of you that know me well all know that I’m an aspiring writer. You’ll probably also have heard about NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month; for those who haven’t, an explanation in the form of a link because I’m lazy.

NaNoWriMo

 

So- it’s the end of November- my book isn’t even halfway done. @#&$@#&%&#$$!!!!

But I’m okay with that.

So in short, this is my teaser trailer for She Who Is Nameless:

I am a bird, a slip of wild patterned blue and gold, eyes gleam an odd, indiscernible color, beak a slim hooked thing. My body is sleek and rippling, my feathers sharp as knives and glinting, the wind swirling like a child’s drawing, little lines rippling around me, parting easily before my slim body. Then I am a girl, blue robes and hypnotizing eyes, hair a pure gold that could not possibly exist in it’s simplicity, seeming a block of color like a drawing, then becoming molten gold at the next, flowing down my back spectacularly. A voice like the clang of a church bell calls my name, but the name comes out a piercing, unpleasant noise in my ear, sounding as if it’s on a higher level of hearing. I move to go to the voice, my gait unbelievably sinuous and graceful, but something grabs at me.

 

I am a demigod, the daughter of Athena, and my dream was a memory I barely remembered, a memory of the day I was banished from Olympus.

 

My name is Hero Jones. Well, not really, my true name is- well- hidden, sort of, when I unleashed the Evander, I had to be punished.

 

All I’ve remembered these past two years is that I am a demigod, my mother is Athena, and Hero is not my real name. My father filled me with stories of the gods, stories of my mother, etc. etc.

 

Why had I left? Why had I sacrificed my decent life for a mother who might not even want me anymore? I could die, and at this moment, it looked like I would.

 

In this place where dark things lurk,

Beware what oozes beneath the earth,

But to stay alive and well,

Heed the air, and hear the spell,

Do not expect you’ll ever see,

The light of day, the smell of sea,

If you choose to venture here,

The Court of Slyph, the Court of Fear,

But if you still desire to see,

Exactly what has killed me,

Come and speak the devil’s words,

Air, hear me.

Wind, receive me.

Breath, take me.

 

Bet that got you excited, right? I might post snippets, not enough to ruin the story, but tiny clips.

Wild Slip Of Curious Word

So, this post isn’t an essay about society, but I like it and I hope you lot do too.

Somewhere in the many branches leading to possible adult Riley Carlsons, there is a little lane leading to a future where Riley Carlson is a poet, equal to the likes of e.e. cummings and Shel Silverstein. She is famous for quirky, nonsensical poems that in a way, make sense.

Here is a poem, what do you think of this road?

Music is art, breath. The heart beat, the step, the word, music is like a flowing breath and beat of ecstasy, warmth flowing heart and love the sacred. Slips of patterned bliss and notes of swirl and gait, cry and delight in stemmed in horrors slitted afresh. Nerves of extended leaf touch, and exotic gradual slave. Jump to seize a rest, and let loose symbols of lost tongues attuned. Laugh, rest your head on soft bricks of steel, copper the hand that feeds and peppermint swirl of breeze. I am an elderly flower, rough to the touch and silk to the cheek, grin, florid, whimsy of the hearts three beat anew, lost to times of gear and horse.

The Rainbow Connection

These days, everyone is connected, from the president, to that one guy who only tweets about soap operas and how much he loves Angelina Jolie. Even people who never EVER use their Facebook or Myspace or Twitter get connected, or at least feign it, because if you’re not connected, you’re dead to the world- or the Internet, although for some people, the Internet IS the world.

One of the first questions one teenager asks another is “Are you on Facebook?” or some variation of this, why? Because they’ll be connected to that person. Most Facebook conversations between teens consist of ‘hey’ ‘what are you doing?’ ‘cool’ and other fairly short replies. Why? Because they want to feel connected, the bland questions and short messages are little ways that teens assure each other that they are there, that they’re connected.

Everyone wants replies when they post something, and when they don’t get them, it scares them, they might not feel it, just disappointment, but the sadness is born from a secret fear that you are not connected, and that everyone else is. Teens have thousands of friends on social networking sites, they might not even know a third of them personally, but that’s okay, because the more friends you have, the more connected you are, online friends are the threads drawing you into the circle, the communal blanket of comforting connection.

Everyone has a cell phone now, but the phone has evolved from a communication device to another way to keep connected. There are thousands of apps to keep you connected, from Twitter to Facebook to apps. You know that one person who’s updating their status every five minutes? They’re trying to stay connected, they’re trying to keep themselves in the blanket by using every trivial thing in their life to hook themselves in. Others draw themselves into the blanket using this person’s updates, ‘liking’ them keeps them in the current, commenting helps them cling desperately to the weave and it’s ever lengthening boundaries.

When I get comments on something, I feel fuzzy, sure, but when I’m reading through Failblog or LOLcats or the trending memes and videos, I get this sense of belonging, the shared joke or picture, the thing that everyone’s watching, the shared conscious.

The Internet is a good place for lonely people, because it’s virtually impossible to dive into this bottomless sea without interacting with other people, whether it’s a mini war in the comments on some YouTube video or simply a sense of belonging while absorbing the trending meme, you are never alone on the Internet.

These days, if you aren’t on the Internet, you’re out of the loop, a deaf bat in a room full of other bats echolocating, staying connected. Oddly enough, this can be turned around, a person absorbed in their phone, trying to stay connected while everyone else is firmly on the ground, connecting the old fashioned way. Being connected is a good thing, we just need to remember to boldly tear ourselves away from the blanket, to leap off a cliff by yourself, to free fall from the warm but blinding blanket and into the clear, cool world of reality. You can huddle in the connection blanket or embrace to clarity of reality, but I recommend a careful balance of the connection and reality.

Pretty

I never really thought about prettiness when I was younger, I guess it was due to being homeschooled. But as I grew, I became aware that people were always striving toward pretty. Pretty girls were more liked, pretty boys were always flocked by pretty girls and other pretty boys. Ugly girls were weird and geeky, ugly boys were kind of pervy and nerds. It all came down to your face, that odd thing called pretty. The way you smiled, or your hair, or your eyes. Perfectly normal genetic things. But for some reason, people think the way you look reflects your personality. It prejudices people, pretty against ugly, and pretty wins every time.

People make money off pretty, they say they can make you beautiful, they can make you slimmer, cuter, younger, prettier.

Girls have horrible self esteem, why? Because of pretty. From a young age, girls are told pretty will make you more likable, smarter, funnier, cooler, better. What they aren’t told is that pretty costs more than a couple thousand dollars. It costs part of you. It demands that you conform to it’s standards, play by it’s rules, mutilate yourself for it.

People tell you pretty is perfect, without pretty, you’re nothing, an outcast. But pretty is this unattainable thing that is overrated. The quest for pretty is meaningless, born of the greed and longing pretty gives it’s holders.

As I grew, I was told by my friends that pretty was desired above all else, they might not have said it straight out, but I learned. Movies and commercials taught me this too, and I hoped that I would turn out pretty. When I read a book called Uglies, pretty suddenly disturbed me. In the world of Uglies, you are normal, or ‘Ugly’ until sixteen, at sixteen, they turned you Pretty. They operated on you, destroying everything ugly and replacing it with dazzling pretty, you had the easy life, carefree and pretty for your whole life. When you were Ugly, you were told you’d never be perfect until you were Pretty, until you turned Pretty, you were inferior, worthless.

Then I reviled pretty, I shunned it, instead focusing on beauty. For me, there was pretty, but then there was beautiful. Beautiful was that comforting feeling on a lazy day, a nice meal, and normal people. By normal people, I mean beautiful people. My mother was beautiful, not from operations and cosmetics, but from her kindness and my own, deep rooted belief that still stands today: My mother is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

People are beautiful, beautiful because they express themselves, wear their hearts on their sleeves, beautiful because they themselves believe that THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL.

In a mixture of my own words and the words of Kate Makkai, a brilliant poet and the writer of the poem this post is named after: You will never be pretty, you will never be defined by that five letter word, you will be pretty intelligent, pretty funny, pretty interesting, pretty awesome. But you will never be merely pretty.

My most likely short lived photography career

Okay, so today I was really bored, so I started taking some pictures with my iPhone, and here is the result. My idea is that the photographer is the photographed, and the last three came when I saw a little statue facing the window and it’s reflection in the window.

I think it’s a little amateurish, but if you’d like to see more, tell me in the comments.

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