Monday, 29 March 2010

The Spider and the Fly

The Spider and the Fly

by Mary Howitt

Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to show when you are there."
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, " Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you 're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue --
Thinking only of her crested head -- poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counselor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.


The Gypsy

Sunday, 28 March 2010

I'm Gonna Fake It

That's right. Here's to fake optimistic cheerfulness.
What? You didn't actually think I was going to fake something else, were you? ~raises an eyebrow at~ Perv. **

Things are not going to change if I don't, so maybe I'll end up fooling myself into believing the act, or better yet, maybe things'll actually change to the better that way and it won't be an act anymore.

I'm going to dash and finish my painting before I lose this sudden stroke of inspiration.

The Gypsy

** Yes, I know I put the idea in your head now. It was deliberate, y'see?
It was still you who thought it. Or didn't. Depends on how your mind works.

Monday, 22 March 2010

Masquerades ♥

♫ Masquerade
Paper faces on parade
Hide your face, so the world will
never find you ♪

♫ Masquerade
Every face a different shade
Look around there's another
mask behind you ♪

♫ Masquerade
Seething shadows
breathing lies
You can fool
any friend who
ever knew you ♪

♫ Masquerade
Leering satyrs, peering eyes
Run and hide , but a face will
still pursue you ♪

♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

See, I've got an obsession with masks. (Which I gladly used in my graduation project for world literature: The Phantom of the Opera) And dressing up in general, halloween and castlefests being like, highlights of my year, birthdays not included. (Even though I've never actually dressed up for either.. Hmm. Need to change that.)
And two days ago, I got asked the fatal question: Why?
Well, obviously it's not very fatal, I could answer it well enough, though I can't explain it like I feel it.

Probably because of my fascination by all human beings (and other beings as well) try hiding behind their "masks", even if it's just a smile or something.
I catch myself staring at people (strangers and friends alike) wondering what they're thinking, wondering whether they're acting. It's got something to do with reality versus what people want you to believe.

That, and the fact that I like my reflection a whole lot better with something like a mask on.

So does wearing a mask serve as a protection for yourself as well?
From, like, other actors, so they can't tell what you're really thinking or feeling?
Only if that's what you make people believe, it's a wall you create that doesn't really exist.
You can also do it the other way around, make people believe there is no wall when one is as high as the seventh sky.
Masks are just intriguing.
Masks were always what Heros wear to protect their identities.
Like Batman, Superman, Wonderwoman..
But that's the same thing.. pretending not to be someone is almost like pretending to be someone you're not.
Most people do.
The Gypsy.

Disclaimer: A good friend of mine bought me the white/purple mask in Florence when she went there. It's the size of my palm. And I was trying on her own life-sized one for fun. Obsessions obsessions.

Friday, 19 March 2010

Spoiler: Whining ahead.

Did you know there are sites out there explaining how to hold intelligent conversations? (( And I quote: "This has less to do with their intelligence quotient (IQ) than with their emotional quotient (EQ). Only a self-aware, self-confident person with excellent social skills has the ability to engage in intelligent conversation."
Or another really brilliant one: How to be interesting to other people.
How do I know?

Because I've been having too much time to think, I've been analyzing every single thing I say and do. Everything I let happen and everything I let others say to me.
And though always swamped in self-doubt, insecurities and always being "too harsh on myself", this is even worse.
I wonder what I have in that hole where everybody else has at least /some/ ego, and a bit of self-confidence.
I cannot be interesting anymore, I bore everyone I talk to. I don't hold intelligent conversations because I'm either incapable of holding them, or incapable of letting others know I'm capable of holding them.

Even more horrible?
Typing this is just making it worse.
It's like admitting you have three feet, five heads and a total of three fingers.
And no, this does not make me any more interesting. Just more whiny.
Yay to me.

I'm thinking I need a shuffle, a desert, and some energy drinks to keep digging even if my body wants to shut down.
I don't want to nag. Or be whiny. Or be this.
I don't want to be me anymore..

The Gypsy.

Thursday, 18 March 2010

Who knew..

M.C. Escher.

.. talking to yourself can be strangely helpful?
Not necessarily talking out loud, even. Typing and thinking helps just as much, in a venting way.

Maybe that's just me, though?
I talk/think/type as if I'm talking/thinking/typing to someone else.
Like psychiatrists, psychologists, and mental health coaches and nurses and all the rest of them are simply a means to get you to talk, vent, and feel better about it. Or not, depending on whatever it is you're trying to cope with. They don't add much, they're just there to listen. Like friends. Friends you have to pay for.
Professionals, though. I mean, I'm sure they're worth it. Sometimes. Maybe I study psychiatry. I might be good at it.

Also: I miss everyone.
As in.. /everyone/.
I feel lonely a lot, and no, that's not just because I'm alone a lot (Which I'm not. Not really). And that's about as fun as the anal rape scene in The War Zone.

On a different note: I yam hungry. Yay.
*goes to hunt*
The Gypsy

Saturday, 13 March 2010


I know they don't do it on purpose.
Not out of spite anyways.
But people keep on hurting me in the most creative ways possible.

Mostly, they don't even consider me at all. That's type A. They just say and do what they want. I'm probably in this category myself. Does that make me a hypocrite?
Then there's the all-honesty "I'm just sayin' " people. Type B.
Then there's the "No offence, but .. " usually followed by something offending. Type C.
And then there's the " I don't give a shit about you. Just so you know." Type D.

Maybe there're more types out there.
If I were in any stable state of mind I would've thought this out before typing.
But then, if I were in any stable state of mind, I wouldn't have typed this at all.

The Gypsy

Monday, 8 March 2010

Once ...

... upon a time, there was this little girl.
She'd keep writing and writing, whatever came up in her head she'd jot down.
She'd never think of how to put anything, her 'style' -as far as it can be called that- just came natural.
Not writing was just unthinkable, it was like someone telling her not to breathe.
She'd choke and suffocate on her own thoughts, because her ever-active brain would never give her a moment of peace. Assignments -like for Creative Writing- were fun for her as long as they left her writing space (in her case, breathing space. Quite literally.) No telling her what exactly it had to be about, and which style she had to use, because that in a way just messed with her own stream of consciousness.
This little girl grew up, and is still writing. She hasn't learned yet how to shut down or direct her trails of thoughts, and maybe she never will. Which is alright, as long as she can vent and not literally think herself crazy. (ie. thinking so much she'll turn really crazy, she already is of opinion is crazy in the non insane sense. Whatever that means.)

Where am I going with this?
No clue. I'm just breathing writing.

The Gypsy.