Back-dating, re-evaluating, revisionism

of the day, 19 February in three phases.

19/2 – 20/2 the raw text

21/2  a postscript

22/2 – 7/3 re-consideration

8/3 – back-dating, re-evaluation, [commentary] and analysis; (censorship) and posting.

You found this again.

Your Kingston was the first work thumb drive that you had – primary school and the idea of work.

Making PowerPoint slides and placing rainbow clipart in because it looked good.

I miss that rainbow font.

You are writing and you are wasting your time

Wasting away.

You are wasting away, rotting from inside out and the truth is you must confess that you are not – you are not where you wanted to be; are you?

But what you want comes from what you do not have now – it is not a want in and of itself.

So you must not give up.

You cannot.

You have no choice.

I did not want to live.

I did not want to die.

No one wants to die.

Everyone wants to have a good life – to love and to be loved and to have plenty and not have to worry.

But when you have none of these and no hope of any of the good things, then who would want to live?

You are lucky, you must tell yourself that.

Spit it at yourself and remind yourself that you are un/grateful.

You did nothing to deserve what you have.

All the things, good and bad – they go not to deserving people.

People do never get their just deserts.

It’s a pity.

You, who are alive/not hungry.

You who is reminded that children in African countries are dying of hunger – you who prefer to eat this or that and do not just eat.

bless the rains down in Africa.

You who spends the time here and now writing rather than doing other more productive things – maximising the opportunities given to you?

Opportunities are a curse.

Thomasina is wrong – she does not realise her worth.

Her worth is much more than her worth to Septimus as a pupil – her intrinsic intelligence and her could-have-been contributions to math were so much more than a frail man’s fame and ego.

She reminds me of Matilda.

Roald Dahl from my childhood came back to life, Quentin Blake’s style so distinctive.

Plath’s children storybooks. – they said “Why would anyone give Plath to children to read?” and immediately the other jumps on it and says “Why not?!”

I hate it when they fight.

I hate raised voices, bruised egos and insecurity that manifests itself in derision.

I hate it.

You hate it too.

We hate it.

[Is it hate? Or are we placing a label onto emotions that manifest themselves so acutely that we ache. Is it the manifestation or the emotion that results in hatred?]

That’s why we study people.

Professor says, “Are there ethics in studying people? The demands we make of them the moment they become public…”

[Interesting is that Professor ‘says’ rather than any other words. Was this purposeful?]

Truth is that there is no such thing as privacy.

What can be found out resides in the public domain.

Your life is not your own. It belongs to society. Maximisation of society’s welfare.

If Econs says (remove) yourself then that’s the beneficial action.

But if History is right, then revision which is natural is also whitewashing and editing of history and therefore unacceptable and

No wait Literature says there’s good and bad poetry

Then KI says everything is subjective, you know?

Sorry, cancel the ‘you know’ – that’s Mr P and GP interjecting.

Cold logic and KI based off the JTB that they are challenging at its base.

Cold?

No.

They are anything but cold, so full of life and I try so hard to match it but I have been exhausted.

I get home and sleep and I’m not on 10B but the teachers are rattling on to S1B

[I am grateful to have caught up. But the world rattles on, I am Getting There.]

So it’s true, I am behind and I’m struggling to keep up – but where is it that I have devoted my time and energy to?

There is nothing left that is taking up my time except things like this – writings that don’t make much sense unless the you are me.

Are.

I do mean are.

We do mean it.

We are.

If I asked you to churn out ten thousand words in a night, of course, you can do it.

Nothing is beyond us, right?

There are 24 hours, 48 hours, pi and 2 pi and periods, cycling, no, witnessing, swimming and rotation, permutation and choosing – P and C are all arbitrary math you are my earth wire and you ground me.

You grind me into dust.

Macerating like peaches, only, unlike fruit – no, I’m like a fruit.

But you are the stone – the peach stone.

Hard and rough on the surface. You crack to show an unblemished, intact core – that refuses to break but the truth that you are not protecting us as much as you are the people attempting to break in.

You laugh, gently – brush aside their insults and deflect the looks and cutting words – they consider it friendly love and just banter but you do not like it – you are too weak, too hating of confrontation to actually say it.

But you hate it.

[Oh yes, this we know we hate.]

And they have told you they hate it when you make them look weak, forgetful in front of people.

They pulled you aside to tell you that and you arched an eyebrow and nodded, sure, tried to play it cool.

But you are boiling.

[Why? Perhaps it is the injustice, this idea that you have to be ‘good’ all the time. That no jokes about them are okay but you are just a little too unreactive and therefore they assume it is okay for them to make their jokes.

There are times that we want to reach out and crush the beating heart between us. The beating heart is between our own ears. Would it be better for them to know that you hate it just like they do and still do it, or for you to think that they are just ignorant?]

The truth is that you are not kind.

You are not gentle.

No such thing as morals.

No such thing as good people – deep, inside to the core, everyone is rotten – this stems from your own weakness, your own hidden inhumanity.

Silent anger that boils inside you just waiting to be released – you are wound, and you are getting more and more wound but you cannot release because they will be hurt the moment you do.

Just a fraction of anything, if you show your ‘true self’ society cannot take it.

What is ‘self’ anyway? It is what you make of it? That’s patently untrue.

Self is what society thinks of you.

Your sense of self is not evaluated without society’s input.

I will tell you again.

I will remind you a hundred and one things.

I don’t believe in human goodness.

I believe in human cruelty.

Because of that, I believe that people, rather than be honestly cruel, ought to just pretend as best as they can that they are good.

If they act well enough, perhaps they will become good.

Perhaps they get through life and die and be remembered as someone who was good.

What defines evil?

Your thoughts …. Thought crime and grammatical errors.

I tell you again that I am not good.

  1. You. We. Are. Not. Good. People.

Please hear us out. We are not good.

But we are trying to pretend to be good.

I hope the act is sufficient.

The truth is that seeing you happy makes me happy.

That’s the only reason why I am kind.

Is it to make the world a better place?

Not directly. The world will burn someday.

But your smile has become my heartbeat.

We are people pleasers. Society rewards it.

[I think this is a thought most troubling. Society rewards conformity, doesn’t it? So should we not be rewarded instead for cruelty?]

We do not have anyone to spill our most troubled thoughts to – because I have to constantly ideate and extrapolate if I can tell you anything and how you will take.

There is no one left who is willing to just listen.

[So we spill it out here? Does that make sense?]

I sit there like a sponge and absorb your blows and I let you vent because I know that there is no one around us who can act like a rock as well as I can.

No one in this () can listen without offering input at every sentence.

No one in this place will listen without judgement.

No one in this world will just let you talk and talk and wallow in self-pity.

Rumination.

Destruction.

You are my rock left.

We are still together.

(don’t you think everyone feels a little misunderstood? Even if everyone could write this exact same paragraph nothing changes. You just know the world is stacked against you and there’s something so cathartic about railing against this world that cares nothing for you and how you feel you feel so justified like this is your right but don’t you understand that nothing changes?)

() me.

[This is our quiet pride. Our control.]

Now the little one is hungry.

At least there’s already the pasta dough done.

Please give me strength to last this night. I will keep writing in you, you are my legacy.

My pet, our pain.

() is gone, yes. I cannot feel anything else anything more.

Age of Iron was preferred over the Prelude. But I know, that the others, especially they ( and () who was Mr. B’s favourite, honestly), don’t like that Mr T is now in the staffroom.

I ought to feel ambivalent.

I ought not have an opinion.

But I do though. Let me tell you another time. after we cook pasta.

This is a bad pastaime.

[This ran out of control. Indeed, another time. My thoughts have dissolved. I feel ambivalent now. There’s not much a difference made to our lives.]

Eating is though.

Pasta, from yesterday.

Yesterday, like jie, is gone.

This piece is not for redemptions.

There will be no redemption of any of them.

Not this, not today.

Today is a day just for yourself.

Not even today.

The rest of today.

There are 8 minutes left. 40 minutes to roll out, cut and cook pasta, pasta sauce and mix.

Don’t cut the pasta sheet slanted again.

When folded, fold along a central line, and cut parallel to that line, perpendicular to the planes of pasta sheets.

Dust off excess flour next time, before lowering to the water.

Today was close to a disaster because the water turned to gloop – at once too little water and too much flour.

But the little one has made her judgement that it is good.

She is hungry after all.

They need so much.

I am learning to be patient.

I no longer want to work.

I no longer want to try and that is the truth.

You who are afraid of love, because it is in the name of love that people commit atrocities.

[But, do we still want it? Maybe no, after all.]

Use this time to do what you want to do – not necessarily what you love.

I watch youtube food videos and get hungry at 3 am and throw flour and butter together and macerate apples and make pan apple crumble.

There is beauty in chaos.

Order in chaos.

But there is not much order in our life.

The little one’s humming is slowly going to drive us mad.

But until then, our temper stays.

We tamper it.

I don’t know how to explain how I feel when I-

What- now the little one says that she has a gum flap.

Yeah she has a gum flap alright. The tooth fell out this morning you see.

It’s gone too.

  • Think of the last lesson which was 4/5 times, now 3/5 times a week History.

I like History.

I gave up Physics to be able to do it, we all know that very well.

Was it… worth it?

You miss physics, you can tell from the way you sped through the Physics-based differential equation questions.

You miss science, clearly, from the way the concepts come to you and you want to () punch in the face of that idiot, who raises questions just to feel the satisfaction of confounding Mr C, who rejects answers grounded in proven science and clear videos and experimental proof, because he just wants to feel smart.

Really. (). Hell.

Bless Mr C and his patience. We didn’t get it from anyone else, except maybe laoshi.

[Stop. This is not a redemption piece.]

No. Well I can’t help the fact that I feel so indignant that Mr C just calmly and kindly says, “Maybe, I’m not sure… Of course, you should go and do your own research.”

Where is the anger we saw at the () when they burst into class last year?

I both admire and despise his capacity for patience. I am learning.

For the sake of all and the good things, I can only see good things in Mr C. I ignore the burst of anger from last year because it has never been directed at me.

I ignore that he’s also highly likely bad.

[Is he? Or has he already mastered much of himself?]

But I don’t care.

He’s definitely less bad.

Auntie says that the man () really (seems) sombong.

I can’t say I disagree?

‘pushy () girls’ goes the rumour.

Plath or Arcadia?

I like Arcadia more.

But Ms () or Mr ()?

I missed her.

[You re-evaluate this after two weeks. Emotions and thoughts are a fickle thing. You are a little bit afraid. That’s okay. You miss not her but the idea of a self. Perhaps 5 minutes is a little too much to remain in control for.]

Oh, do I need to remind you that you should just remember what we mean? We never learnt it officially, pretty sure that the spelling is wrong.

I’m going to nap.

Let’s try to wake up, okie.

(I didn’t wake up.)

21 February

No love, you can’t post this without censoring.

It’s for us and us alone.

It is not for anyone’s entertainment.

[It is censored. And it is for our rumination, rather than entertainment. Catharsis to read and re-read.

You have so many cute kids now. You will protect them. You will not get angry.

You must be patient, and you must be kind.

You must save energy for them.

You must, you must

you must.

You have made the judgement that there is no one else who will be; therefore you must be.

You must be

good, even if they rend

your heart and even if

you are still looking for rele

ase. ]

8/3 fin.

 

 

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