Lie #5

Two birds on a wire /
One tries to fly away.

..and the other....

je croirai tout.
il y a rien que je comprendrai pas.

Beenalittletoomuchtruthandnotenoughmonster.

Lie # 4

You said never pick sides; never choose between two.

But I just...




Con·tra
(kntr)

prep.

In contrast or opposition to; against.

adv.

In opposition to something stated or expected; to the contrary.

condontcallmeacontratillyouvetriedtra

Lie # 3

Oh the
Glory
that the Lord has made
and the
Complications
you could do without.


Sufjan Stevens: Casimir Pulaski Day. Decided if I'm going to hide behind song lyrics I should at least properly reference them.

Incidentally, the original post by this name includes another lyrics from 500 day of Summer soundtrack. Pretend to be surprised.

Randomly, I had never before this day known what Sufjan Stevens looked like. I love it when the people whose music I like end up being hot and knowing that that had no influence whatsoever on my liking their music beforehand but that now I can enjoy it all the more and make it an exclamatory point to see them in concert.

Lie # 2

Color my life with the chaos of trouble.

***********************************

Yes, that is another line from (500) Days of Summer. What can I say, I'm totally obsessed with the soundtrack, and the movie in general. I analyze it like it's my job, dead serious.

Further proof of this is the fact that I researched interviews and found some things that satisfied my curiosity about music cues and tone and other things you really don't need to know. I'm just putting this out there for any of you who liked the movie or weren't totally satisfied with it. This interview, for example, was telling.

Another article pretty much brought about an epiphany. Not the kind where you're like "Wow, that had never occurred to me"; but the kind where you think "Yeah, that sums up what I've known for a long time and chosen to ignore".

Here's the ephiphonic quote:

"If you bond over the Smiths, for example, that's not good," Neustadter said. "That's a recipe for disaster."

This principle pretty much describes my propensity for disaster. And yet....

Anyway, these ramblings have nothing to do with Lie #2. I just wanted to justify my title. And obsession. And, well, that's enough justification for one day.

Lie # 1

I'm the hero of this story. Don't need to be saved.

**********************************************************************************

I'm on a roll here. Two entries in one month. Boom bam, baby.

I'll explain the first line with these two: Last night I needed writing therapy . Today I had an epiphany.

(That is for the teachers and others who have commented on my inability to summarize. There, you go, I did it. Go along now and jump to your own conclusions. Happy? Did you learn anything useful? No. Of course not. Because summaries are useless. Why? Because people make the wrong conclusions even when the have all the facts. However, the percentage of wrong conclusions is increased when there is a decrease of facts. Summaries are mostly factless. Facts are useless without context. Context is impossible without details. I would cite examples of this , but that might just overwhelm you. Conclusion: summaries are good if you want to taunt the reader or listener with promises (sometimes vain) of properly directed conclusions on the condition that you manage you untangle yourself from own misguided and misinformed ones. And really, teasing, that's just plain rudeness.)
*This has been a shameless attempt at justification and a good example of overcompensation. And of exaggeration; I only pretend to hate convention.

You see, last night's piece of work was a chef-d'oeuvre. That's "masterpiece". In case you are wondering if I know what it is, l'humilité is humility. But a fait is a fact and chef-d'oeuvre is what it was.

And it was such because it did what I intended it to do: I was therapized. Honestly, I felt so much better afterward. The only thing that made me feel better after the fact was the fact that I wrote it while playing "New Slang" and when I was done I played it again. And the betterness was cemented.

Just as most of my best work comes as the product of moments pregnant with the urgency of necessity, this free-write was no exception. It was ripe with over-dramaticism and words that don't exist (I'm up to my third in this post). It's no mean feat, you know, to turn off the auto-editor in my brain long enough for the words to come out as the raw sentiments they are somewhere deep inside. Not to mention that those depths are usually closed to me.

Incidentally, when I undertook last night's therapy session, I initially thought I needed blogging therapy. So I started a post. Now I honestly have no idea who reads this thing. Often when I sit down to blog I imagine that no one does, and that I can just send it out to the universe and it comes back to me, pure and untouched: a well-kept secret. Of course, other times, I write with people in mind. Not specific people, but an audience of blurred faces. The problem is, one of those faces may be yours, dear reader, and you might just get your dirty paws on my secret sentiments. So it should be no surprise that the brain-child born in last night's therapy session will never see the light of day. Not in its current form, at least.

So there it sits, a draft in my dashboard; unpublishable because it is too honest to share.

And therein lies the epiphany. One of my past posts dealt with the idea of keeping with a discretion policy and mentions the creation of a blog entitled Monstrous Liar that would be a depository, ironically of course, of honesty; of my anger, fear, and private thoughts (See Nov. 2, a Hendry classic: http://www.angryalien.com/amys_diary.html). In that post I threatened the secret creation of that blog, leaving it as an inheritance for my those lucky individuals who find themselves in my will (which I of course have yet to write).

Well, after much overdone anticipation, I am happy to announce the creation of my blog: Monstrous Liar. Guess what? You are currently visiting it. It is the posts between the posts; the unpublished ramblings that exist behind the scenes. It lives and breathes and hums on my dashboard next to my account settings.

In honor of the comings and goings on this here blog that will remain unaccounted for I have a proposition. Mostly I just want to tease you, I think, with all that I'm not telling. My proposition is this: future unpostings on Monstrous Liar will make a shadow of a cameo on the Bell Tower. They will appear under a subject line of numbered lies. And they will have as their text the title from the original post. The titles likely being lyrics, or quotes, or French: contextless nonsense.

Thus, while last nights posting even included the full text of the song I was playing at the time because it was so integrally connected to the text, it's title was the first line of this post, a lyric I'll leave you to figure out because it's more fun that way.

You've just had your first taste of Monstrous Liar: the unblog. Delicious, n'est-ce pas?

Bienvenue my friends, bienvenue.

Monstrous Liar

I am literally melting as we speak. It is 8:31 pm and I am fanning myself with my hand it's so wretchedly hot here. I have been sweating since I woke up (10:45). I haven't changed out of my pajamas because honestly, what's the point? I'm just going to make anything I change into gross too. I HAVE brushed my hair, my teeth, and washed my face. Go me. I also made Navajo tacos for my family for lunch today, did some dishes, vacuuming and mopping and that's about it.

I know I am going to have a hard time leaving this place but I am glad that this life is not my fate. I haven't worked out in probably a month, my clothes are starting to dig into my waistline, I spent all day eating candy. Not chocolate; candy. I never waste my time with candy normally. And the worst part is, I don't even care. I am not depressed; I am melting. I was not made for the French life of having 5 weeks of summer. My new motto is "vacation kills motivation". I can't wait to get back to my JOB, my kids, my room in the basement that is so cool it doesn't even need air conditioning in the summertime. Friends, I like you too. Family, don't whine, you too.

I could have just said that I was grateful for a job, air conditioning, and my normally healthy lifestyle. But they would have been empty words without my whining coming first.

Anyway, lately all I feel like writing on this blog are things that would strictly infringe upon my "discretion policy". Which leads me to a pretty good question: what is the point of having a blog and knowing interesting people if most of those interesting people read your blog and wouldn't appreciate my insightful observations of them in all their glory?

I don't know what this says about me, but it seems like a lot of said observations are often incriminating. Especially when they concern me, and they often do. So I keep my mouth shut. Does this mean I am living a lie? Or that I am one of those monsters of a person who only derives meaning from life by mocking others?

I'm reading that silly girlie book still. Actually, I'm on the second in the series. I laugh out loud every time I read it. It's basically a fictional character's journal. And it's hilarious. Everyone I make read it hear agrees with me that it's funny. Even the guys. I'm seriously considering contacting (like I know how) the publishing powers that be to see if I could do the English translation. I'm sure I would do a good job, reading that book is like reading my life. And then my French would actually be useful. When I told people that I was a French major they wouldn't do that nod where they mutter something like "nice" all while checking out my shoes. No, I could say "yeah I'm a French major and I translated that hugely successful girlie book you've heard all about". Because it would be hugely successful. Trust me. Though that would be an ironic entry into the world of publication; not publishing my own work but translating someone else's. It's so ironic it just might happen: irony is one of my life's operating principles.

All this to say that I love this book that is like a girl's journal, or blog. And it's gotten me thinking. Conclusion, if I weren't me, I would find my life hilarious. And if I were to write a book about my life, people would read it, dangit. But no self respecting person can sell themselves out like that. I think we only laugh at fiction like that because we relate so much to it. Laughing is like a confession, it's liberating. But if what you were to read WEREN'T fiction, well reality might make you blush instead. I know I would. And you know what, I bet everyone feels the same way; that their life is publishable material but that they couldn't look themselves in the mirror knowing that everyone knew their deep dark oddities. It's like they say, about truth being stranger than fiction. Too much truth is too much strangeness, we can't handle it.


You know what I think I'm going to do? I'm going to start a whole new blog, entitled Monstrous Liar. I will be the only one able to access and read it and at last I will be able to write whatever the heck I feel like. No editing. No lies. I won't tell anyone the address but I will leave it in my will, by way of clues in the form of lyrics. It's really a shame. I live a funny life surrounded by amusing and interesting people that don't always know they are amusing or interesting. Plus I inherited the art of exaggeration from my father so even if they aren't amusing or interesting, I can usually make them sound that way. I can do wonders with people who are annoying. The world at large could benefit from my humoristic if not tactless and sarcastic observations.

But until I die and the person who I deem worthy of my blog password finds and makes public my blog, the world will have to wait for my translation of this book, which is basically the equivalent to Monstrous Liar aka My Life.


If you have to know, Prague was wonderful. Remember that bit about lacking motivation? Yeah, well details and pictures are coming. Later.