Let there be darkness

Soundtrack: from "Moulin Rouge" & Carpenters. There was a girl. This rather strange, enchanted girl. Wonderful, despairing and incorrigible too, if you want further elaboration. This girl, she was a very quiet and free-spoken girl, who wanted to travel very far, very far, overseas and deserts and into space - preferrably. (In a box. On the spot. Together with a guy in a mask or a tux or whatever, but definately with a Scottish accent.) Not particularly shy, but sometimes sad of eye, and unwise and wise ever-changingly, was she. And then one day, one magic day she passed my way, intruded more rightly, just turned up all unexpectedly, and as we spoke of many useless things, but funny things, and not so funny things, awkward memories she didn't even wish to bring up, ridiculous incidents and secrets, details I reckoned sensible to let drop; concerning some fools, some Queenies, some other friends and foes; all the while I found this girl...was me. Consequently, I embark on the new year (of posts) by facing myself in the doorway and coming up with some great new self-exploration-realization-empowering-bollocks. Rephrasing ingenius lines from "Moulin Rouge", not the original ones but rather from the version I prefer, the utterly lovable "Nature Boy" as sung by David Bowie. Okay, I love all of "Moulin Rouge", I just can't bear to watch it because I cry too much. Musical films, a fact that's never flawed. I weep like a baby. Er, more in the lines of howl like an animal with serious throat injuries. Wounded heart! Watched "Phantom of the Opera" the other day, and - I just can't help it. That scene where The Phantom (oh, GB-love) finally realizes it's over and closes his eyes to let the tears run freely, I'm completely beyond myself with utter, compassionate grief - ergo, absorbed in sobbiness. Hell, yeah! - what a blissful way to introduce the bright future, truly, but maybe that's the essence of my current condition, my momentary status; I loathe this importunate need for a fresh start, to change one's self and being; I can't pretend I'm being anybody beside myself - really; I am who I am and the foremost proof of that, immediate recollection, I cry at musical films. And somehow, I enjoy that. Doing it, and the very fact that I do it. Because it's something that defines me, and I like defining characteristics. I like continuum, I don't like these rapid indetity changes. They don't happen overnight, like a new year's resolution, anyway. Magic doesn't work in such a fashion. Whilst everyone else seems obsessed with wanting to begin anew and get a kick out of putting an end to evil deeds and establishing memberships they won't keep, this is the very time of year when I am most preoccupied with preserving my inner, most inherent, inescapable nature. A bit like the song, yeah. Trying, always, to shed some of my demonds and be better - of course - but not be somebody entirely different. That's cheating, in my very honest opinion. You may be able to change how you appear, how you behave, how you treat others and yourself, but you can't change who you are. Still, that latter lie is what everyobody's aiming at these first days of the year, these first weeks, they want an energetic go at all the problems in society, and they think they can handle them, they think everything will work out perfectly, and then March comes and they realize they're wrong. They don't live in hope, either, they live with delusions. Believing their surroundings will appreciate them more if they do this and that, to please them, and come forth as a radically more elligible persona, all of a sudden; but, and here's the my objection, what implies "more elligible", what do these people think they'll accomplish? A grand comeback, post-Christmas joy, let's put the sorrows behind us. I think what I'm trying to say is that tehe even the sadness has its cause and experience should be valued more. It all counts for something. The old year is not just a haggard piece, it's point of departure. Not to fly off and away, but to develop. Well, flying off might be involved, but regardless - it's about living with one's same, old self. I put a great deal of effort into living with a conviction that as long as I can respect what I do, others may respect it too, and if they don't I might want to alter it slightly. Don't get me wrong, I can be a complete idiot at times. I make a lot of silly mistakes, I am not Miss high and mighty oh-so-Perfect. Note the point of alteration. But I never contradict myself, my instinctive will. And I hate fresh starts. Since perfection is just what the fresh start-idealists yearn for. False, phony, ignorant shields upon their eyes for all the cruelty in the world; close one door, open another, but you're still in the neighbour room. Too much baggage there, too much to change for mye sake; too much to crave, too little offered. So maybe it all comes down to my own fault, maybe what I'd need is something fundamentally fucking else, maybe lying to my intrinsic senses would indeed gain me more, I don't know. I do know, however, that in despite of all, I remain (for now) the same, strange little girl with the same, strange little pieces of writing that will be posted here on the Blog, for another year to come. Yours truly; the one, blonde, baloney - Scaramouche. Here we go, 2008, enough philosophical darknessies for now.