About irregularone

The ramblings of a person with an irregular mind and an unhealthy addiction for wikiing...wikieng...whatever, just searching on random things that I find fascinating on Wikipedia. To the people in my "real world", I'm your average teenager. But this is the sanctuary of my mind, where I can actually let go. And all without anyone knowing who I am, God bless the internet.

A crack on the head is just what you get for any part of who you are

Tune of the day CXLVI.

Everything about this video is inspiring. I wish I was there, moving to the rhythm of the bass, watching the gladioli’s sway from side to side as Morrissey danced in his peculiar way, singing the message of a perpetual generation – the misunderstood youth. I wish I could see him, along with Johnny Marr, just moving in a circle. Someone give me a time machine, please. That thing really should have been invented by now, methinks.

No, a crack on the head
is what you get for not asking
and a crack on the head
is what you get for asking

Don’t speak, just dance.

What I’ve recently learned about myself is that, when I’m at a party, there’s nothing I like doing more than dance. Why? Because you don’t have to talk to people you don’t know. Now, I know that just sounds like I’m being socially incompetent, which I partially am, but it’s true – even the most obnoxious person is bearable when they’re shutting up and dancing. You don’t have to spend time making stiff conversation, you can just connect by moving to the same beat. You can lose yourself and find someone else at the same time.

Also, there was a boy that reminded me of Phreckles. Now I understand people who hook up with people just because they remind them of the person they like(d). I cared too much, he was awkward and adorable. He is also a year younger than me. So no.

Oh, and a boy in heels is a giant. A glamorous amazon. A glamazon. He was stuck up and nice at the same time, weird and impressive. Also impressive, his makeup. Bree van de Kamp never looked this fabulous…or slutty. Same thing.

A last thing: Some people aren’t so stuck up as you’d think. And some are the opposite. But what else is new?

Clementine.

This is what happens when a friend sends me a text message asking me to tell her something. It’s nothing big, I thought it up in almost no time, but I’d still like to have it on here. Who knows, it might mean something someday. 

Clementine is wandering aimlessly through the city that she’s known her whole life. The towering presence of the buildings used to give her comfort, a sense of stability, but not anymore. Clementine has this feeling of longing buried deep inside of her chest. She wants to pull it out, to shake it and ask “what do you want?”, but it’s too far for her to reach. And so the feeling remains a familiar stranger, unknown but oh so present. Without realizing it, she stops at the bridge that crosses the river, and leans over to look at the stream. Calmly, she starts humming a song under her breath. Islands in the stream. What does that even mean? Clementine grows frustrated. Why does everything always have to be so damn difficult? Always so hard to grasp. She huffs and kicks a stray piece of gravel on the ground. A chuckle interrupts her grumbles and she stops. That voice is familiar. Clementine turns around and is met by the grey eyes that, she hadn’t noticed until now, screamed home. Pedro. He gives her a beaming smile and asks: “Something bothering you?” “Life.” she answers, the corners of her lips twitching. Pedro silently walks up to her and picks up two stones off the ground. He holds one out for her and she takes it. “At least know that you’re not alone.” he says. At the sound of these words, something lifts. Clementine can feel the longing snaking its way upward until it’s at the very top of her lungs. She can’t help but let out a loud, tinkling laugh of exhilaration, and Pedro just smiles. As if this is completely normal. In this moment, something passes between them. Something that can’t be described. Pedro gives Clementine a look that says “Go ahead.” and for some reason, she knows exactly what he means. Clementine takes a deep breath, never breaking eye contact. “One. Two. Three!” Two stones are hurled through the air and hit the water. The sound of them breaking the surface is small, but the importance is immense. Two stones together, and never alone.

————————————————————————————————–

And then I just started thinking about who this Clementine might be, and thought of these small (fictional) facts.

Clementine has tan skin and soft, shiny black curls and walnut-shaped eyes. She’s short and curvy. She loves Janis Joplin, Dusty Springfield and Joan Mitchell. A hippy at heart but not very free-spirited in thought. Bad at thinking outside of the box.

She also has a slight southern twang that comes out when she gets upset or excited. She got it from her grandmother, a sweet southern lady from Texas, who practically raised her while her mother worked late shifts at the ER.

So yeah, there it is. She’s a nice girl, that one.

Polar Bear.

I have a new old friend. I re-discovered him while looking through our main closet, a little friend. He’s a polar bear with a red, knitted sweater with snowflakes and a logo on it and a coke in his hand…err, paw. He has dark brown, slanted eyes and a black nose. I call him Michael, because he reminds me of Michael Cera. He has the softest, white fur, and when I bury my head in it, I feel home. I wasn’t much for teddy bears when I was little, so I guess that impulse is coming in a bit later than other cases. I really love it though. My little, new-old friend.

What?

Once, I had a dream that I was in this huge city filled with concrete buildings without windows. The whole city was in the same shade of pale gray with the sky a deep charcoal. I was running along with a huge crowd, all heading to a Paramore concert. After running for what felt like hours without getting anywhere (literally running in the same place), I just stopped and realized: Wait, this is just a dream. And then I thought, well it is a Paramore concert, so what the heck, let’s see where this takes us. And then we all arrived at this huge dome where the concert was going to be held. When I woke up, I still had the feeling of elation…until I realized it wasn’t real. But had I actually realized that it was a dream, or was it just a fake realization that was a part of the dream, considering that I just kept on going? And if I really was aware, was it really me being acting “rationally” and choosing to go to the concert, or was I still constricted in my awareness and had to follow the course of the dream? I dunno man, but it was very strange.