Two Things.

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique on November 10, 2010 by Randomique Jester

The sweet loss of control can only be experienced when you allow yourself to drown in a sea of imaginative possibilities that only art offers.
I find myself relinquishing any creative power and becoming inspired.
My hands have not rested since yesterday. I write intermittently. I eat. I calm myself down, numb myself with routine necessities but my hands itch for creative release.
Strangely, I find inspiration in unexpected places. The fear is paralysing and irrational, and I seem to be able to suppress it for a while. When it takes over, the source is clear: jealousy is shrouded with ugliness and relentlessness.
The root of insecurity stems from unnecessary comparison. This leads nowhere, the feeling of inferiority is self implied. Yet, I covet the talents of others, especially where I thought I excelled.
I feel robbed, with no admirable talents of my own; just bits and pieces of everything instead of an impressive, definitive and admirable craft I can take pride in.
Is it writing?
Is it music?
Is it art?
Is it the dramas?
They all speak to me with lure.

My weakness is prevalent and spiteful.
I repeat old mistakes like a stuttering record. I only have myself to blame for willingly and lazily depreciating my own powers. I resort to the comfort of nothingness and anonymity. These are just thoughts few of many, and they will mean nothing weeks from now. These words will lose meaning and my lack of action will leave me barren.
I’m stuck in an ironic loop. I repeat the same rehearsed role, I don’t evolve and therefore I decay.
In shutting myself out I finally taste the bitterness of solitude.
I hide behind reality, but fiction has no secrets.
My deepest fears and desires are played out, in that ironic loop.
The loop. The loop. It repeats and overpowers.

This void that could only be filled by a perfect soul-mate is a distant dream. It’s conception by a realist is laughable… but the possibility exists, it hasn’t been disproved.

The music numbs the fears again. It whippers: the existence of a nirvana is only possible in a utopia, along with other discarded ideals. And to the land of broken dreams that live on, I’ll go.
I’ll curl up in the arms of a profound angel, shrouded with romantic mystery and poetic aestheticism.
My heaven will prosper in ruins.


A Case of You/ Joni Mitchell

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique on October 30, 2010 by Randomique Jester

Just before our love got lost you said
I am as constant as a northern star
And I said, constantly in the darkness
Where’s that at?
If you want me I’ll be in the bar

On the back of a carton coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice

Oh you’re in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
Oh I would still be on my feet

Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I’m frightened by the devil
And I’m drawn to those ones that ain’t afraid
I remember that time that you told me, you said
Love is touching souls
Surely you touched mine
Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time

Oh you’re in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I’d be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed

Oh but you are in my blood you’re my holy wine
You’re so bitter, bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I’d be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

It has began.

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique on October 30, 2010 by Randomique Jester

“My world and I is as quiet as can be
Self imposed solitude isn’t half as bad as it seems…”


The slow change is awakening from the ground and spreading from the roots.
I’m getting to the bottom of this and I’m letting myself be lead blindly.
This time, however, I am confident.
Because if you have no particular place in mind, any road will get you there.
And I’m ready, I’m armed with charm, wit and a nice ass.

Why do I let myself be swallowed in this universal hate?
Why do I go against my own nature and try to blend in?
I only feel loved when sound envelopes me like a velvet blanket.
One of those, fuzzy, electric ones that vibrate with warmth.

It certainly evokes something in me no person can.

I regret for ever for neglecting, in my ignorance, the things I love most.
I repress my talents because I’m a rigid monogamist, even when it comes to art.
I would let myself be consumed in love for a single art.
I would give it my all.

But I’m afraid?

Ah, it’s wonderful to be misunderstood! To yell to the world words that mean nothing!

We’re preached of a unified world, that of peace and a solitary existence. We’re all matter that attracts and expresses itself in mysteries only nature can decipher.
But who says I want to be as one?
I embrace my solitude, which has a negative connotation to other but to me it’s the sweetest sanctuary. I embrace my right for individuality. I reject reality and its imposition on my imagination!

I need nothing more.

“Don’t forgot the songs that made you smile,
And the songs that saved your life.
Yes, you’re older now,
And you’re a clever swine,
But they were the only ones who ever stood by you.”

My friends are the voices. Raspy, hesitant, beautiful, soulful, strong. The rhythms, climbing, slow, steady, nostalgic. The lyrics, sweet poetry that expresses the most beautiful of feelings. My friends are the golden leaves that dance in the wind, the trees that rustle as I walk by, the birds that get me out of bed, begrudgingly, the sunshine and the fresh rain, and nothing more.
I need nothing else.

“If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.”

I have died a thousand deaths and I’ve lived ones more to hear it again. For it alone, I would live a life of misery, writing love songs in the dark to proclaim its name.

Art can only be expressed in art, any intention to describe a feeling so inexplicable–the catharsis art creates–is in vain. Express your love, your catharsis in art, as Bloom says.
For art opens a doorway to the only world that could be beautiful, the only one that can be magical and full of love and the only one that justifies the title ‘utopia’.

And so it began. A noble inspiration for a humble cause.
I’m not sure where I stand but I’ve made sure I stand on my own.
Now where to find this love, this passion outside my sanctuary?
Perhaps this is my quest.

“And when you’re dancing and laughing and finally living
Hear my voice in your head and think of me kindly.”

The pursuit, happiness and love will forever be credited to art and music.

Back To Wonderland.

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique on June 5, 2010 by Randomique Jester

i haven’t stopped to think.

And it’s been a while, so long I have forgotten how.

It’s hard to express myself now because I’ve let myself drown in the simplicities of life, forgetting that the core of my existence has always stemmed from my mind’s eye and the imaginary world it created.

Randomique in wonderland no more.

Have I forgotten it?

Is it calling me back?

It must be if I’ve managed to force a coherent train of thought to form, somehow.

What solicited this long forgotten 5$ philosophy was the lowest of the low, the most shallow of plots, the most linear story… I write when I’m provoked. I write best during numbing pain caused by a bruised ego or a tattered heart.

It’s no longer bearable on my own, without its impossible beauty. Yet, I came back to Wonderland for the solitude it offered.

I can’t stand reality, it wounds me with its routine of horrors. Every news story is yet another reminder of this world’s imperfections.

What can be worse than to be trapped in such a world?

I can’t help but run as fast my legs can take me, as far as possible, while this world grows smaller, people become nothing but dots and abstract lines, events are nothing but painful, yet distant reminders… this world shrivels up and dies.

The phoenix that emerges from the ashes is my creation of solitude and music. Pure perfection filled with colour and character, drama and wealth… all of my stories end well, even if I get carried away.

Am I rejected? Not pure enough? Spoiled by my own quests for shallowness?

Wonderland soon fades into a distant song; all dissipates around me and I can no longer hold on and merge with it.

It’s no longer mine to control, the Goddess has become the outcast.

There they are, my loyal friends and subjects, they stare at me sadly as they evaporate one by one… their names are distant tastes on my lips, their loving embrace is too weak to arouse my senses…

Are they the ones who dissipate or is it me?

I just want to say this…..

And the violins cue in.

Must I yell?

My mind has clouded my beautiful Wonderland.

The music is no longer pleasant, it’s takes the form, the sound, of broken glass.

Can I bring it back to life?

I dare you to move, Wonderland.

Can I save it from myself?

Can it save me from drowning, shrivelling up and dying with the rest of the world I came from?

But why must I go back? Can I stay here forever?

Why not?

It used to be so easy as a child, everything would cease to exist at once,

Oh how I burned with silly passions…

Did I let myself grow up when I promised I wouldn’t?

But did I grow old?…

All the things I promised myself, all the deadlines I didn’t make… I stand before my judge, myself, and every day is judgement day, every day I fail… the next I try and I begin the journey towards perfection all over again.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to enjoy or live it, it’s the fear, the time is running and I think of all the things I haven’t done and all the people I haven’t been…

I wait on the past, but the past is long gone…

Maybe it’s not Wonderland that needs the help,

but maybe I feel a little silly playing pretend at 21?…

How can I detach myself from all these realistic notions so that I can fly to the sky with a pair of balloons?

It’s sad, the only answers I can find are more rules, more restrictions, harder work… what have I become? I miss my lazy innocence… I miss when the world offered possibilities and not sadness……

This adult reasoning is dirt that won’t come off, no matter how hard I try to keep my new dress in its pretty blue state. Every day is the same, every dream is the same- I never get it right.

I’m never good enough.

I’ve always settled, no matter what I do.

I settle beforehand not to be disappointed.

Sweet words of friends and lovers are no longer encouraging, but are scornful and teasing. Their votes of confidence feel like lies.

Every day I wash myself and can’t help but feel dirty again, like I’ve missed a spot… Like I’m doing something wrong, any turn is just me going backwards from the spot where I’m supposed to be at.

The crowning of the success story will have to wait one more day… as I figure out once more what I love, and run from it.

It’s so hard, it is so hard. I will focus on something harder instead, because realizing your dreams can be risky… if you fail, you’re heart broken, you’re a failure and I am too old for this, too old at the ripe age of 21 to figure it out… I should have been Mozzart by the age of 8.

I’ll lie here instead, curled up on the blue grass fields of Wonderland and try to breathe…

Try to breathe… myself and Wonderland to life…

With every song, with every breath a little bit of soul will come out.

Safe In Misery

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique on March 18, 2010 by Randomique Jester

Yesterday I promised myself I would write.

I thought it over, right before I went to sleep. I mulled over how I would address my current state and the problems that create this sticky plateau. I thought of the best ways to blame circumstances and people for this immobility and how I would deflect the blame from myself.

That was yesterday, and today I have nothing to say.

I am staring in the face of some imaginary universe, bewildered. I stutter, I mumble, I fall.

And that’s exactly how I feel – I’m falling short and I’m falling deep, and even music hasn’t been able to scoop me from underground.

It’s easy to talk in riddles and metaphors without saying anything but that is precisely how I feel.

Like an unfathomable paradox, a Jester whose only purpose is to amuse; when I fail to entertain and I’m discarded I stare: empty, misunderstood and poised for my next chance to impress.

But the show must go on. Even if I’ve stopped completely.

Even if I’m going backwards and deteriorating.

Somehow I’m lonelier the more I surround myself with others.

I am angry over unspoken words, absent deeds. ‘Lack’ shouldn’t affect me as much as it does. But it does. Oh, it does. Because I live in void, lack and absence; I plot my nest in emptiness. The shell is all I’m concerned with, not the essence.

Still I search for that essence that will complete me, for that spirit that will inspire me… Where should I look for it?

– Not within myself.

Another part of me, wishes to intervene: it wishes to brush the melancholy away and nestle this broken, angry bird that is my spirit. It wishes to nurture me with love, but is it too late? Is it too late to fix something that’s no longer broken? It’s not the plateaux, it’s not the circumstances, the people – or the lack of  them – it’s the absence of these problems that brings me to a halt. Traces of what once was, like distant lights from dead stars, flicker and their remnants leave me incapacitated.

Even if they don’t exist I find it necessary to invent them. I find new ways to torture myself, I find new excuses and ways to deflect the blame from me. I’ve fed myself on loneliness for so long, how can I be happy with being happy?

I hate you.

I hate everyone.

You hate me.

Everyone hates me.

I hate… myself.

– I love myself.

I love myself to the point that I’ve made it my life’s purpose to prevent myself from getting hurt. I prepare myself emotionally for disappointment, for anger, for loneliness, for lack – so that I’m never surprised by it again. So that I’m always safe in anger, hate and loneliness. I hold onto my old problems so that I don’t have to deal with new ones.

I’m safe.

But I expect someone else to shake me to the core and throw my anxieties out the window. It’s funny isn’t it? Expecting the unexpected which will never happen? No one can do what I can’t do for myself. And those I hate for disappointing me, ignoring me, not understanding or comforting me can never succeed at something they aren’t meant to do.

But I suppose it’s human nature to spend life searching for someone else to solve your problems. Prince charming, someone beautiful, someone you’re worthy of… but why would they settle for you?

Randomique & The Lawyer: The Vengeance

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique on September 10, 2009 by Randomique Jester

People tend to complain my posts are too heavy, probably because they are.

One of the readers even asked me if I was happy with my life and it sounded like he was about to give me the number for the Suicide Hot Line.

Well, first of all, yes I am content with my life, thank you for your interest. And second of all, a lot of you don’t realize that when I don’t write profound thoughts to an imaginary audience I lead a real life, in which I act like a 10 years old 90% of the time.

I throw tantrums, I play pranks, I do silly little dances in my cubicle and one of my favorite ways of spending my lunch hour is people watching.

Oooh, Randomique, you lead such an exciting life!- you might say, sarcastically. But before you judge, think about this: would you be reading this blog if YOU were leading exciting lives? No, I didn’t think so.

And as a matter of fact, people watching can be very fun.

The other day I saw a tall businessman on a bicycle, he had thick square glasses – the type serial rapists have on “Wanted” ads – and he was eating a sandwich with one hand and awkwardly maneuvering the bike with the other. He also had this demented smile on him (since he was clearly too busy to eat tuna on regular days and this was an exception) and all the while he had mayo dripping on his tie and chin.

A smiling businessman on a bike might not seem amusing to everyone but my perverted mind works in such mysterious ways that the white, dripping mayonnaise around his lips made it so much more comically enticing; I couldn’t help but let my imagination run a marathon and I eventually started giggling like the 10-year-old girl I emotionally am.

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud as he rolled by like a fat kid on Christmas who got a giant cake made from… tuna. And since I have really bad social skills (as you can tell) I didn’t bother pretending the source of my amusement was anything other than the Tuna eating biker. I might have even pointed and yelled “GEE, LOOK AT THE UGLY DUDE ON THE BIKE!”.

Okay, so I didn’t yell and point, but I did laugh like a hyena in heat. The skittles in my lap rattled and spread on the ground and people looked around wondering if someone let a Capuchin monkey lose.

Alright, since we’ve grown rather fond of this businessman we might as well make it personal and call him… Harold!

Well, Harold threw an angry look at me and even twisted his neck to look behind him in search of the maniacal laughter.

Uh-oh, a lawyer!*

* The Lawyer is an angry beast from the underworld whose behavioral patterns often involve lecturing others grandeloquently about their insignificant role in society when compared to those defending murderers and sex offenders in the court of law. They are self-righteous, obnoxious and wear funny looking ties (often stained with mayo as it appears). They are likely bitter about the fact they’ve spent 8 years of their life in University, without having a social life and feel those who dress casually should pay for it with their brain cells.

I knew he was going to turn around and lecture me because it happened before. Lawyers have another favorite snack for lunch and it appears to be me. They lecture me in lines to the movies, at bus stations, at supermarkets (when I used to work in one) and in this case, when I laugh at them.

So Harold turns with a vengeance, his stained tie blowing in the wind like an antenna detecting 21-year-old, billing clerks. I knew he’s going to pull the Cop routine, where he self-importantly stops inches from my face and takes his time, with a grave demeanor, to get off the bike as he prepares to lecture me about working in McDonald’s for the rest of my life (even though I rarely eat there let alone work there). Lawyers assume that anyone who doesn’t wear a tie is likely to work for McDonald’s and according to this logic the entire corporate world is divided into law officials and McDonald’s workers.

He turns with a screech and does a little spin around the fountain, all the while staring me down with his angry, beady eyes. People snicker. I look like a puppy about to get executed. The closer he gets to the bench I’m lunching on the wider his sex offender smile gets.

Inches away from me he… begins to waddle. Still maneuvering one handedly he is unable to stabilize the bike; he looks on the ground on my army of darkness – the colorful skittles, viciously scattered around my bench, protecting me from the wrath of lawyers.

The next happens rather fast so I’ll spare you melodramatic description.

He looks down. He looks up. He is confused. He looks at me. I grin. He looks at his sandwich: should he throw it and spare himself embarrassment? No, it’s too darn good. He waddles again, afraid he’ll fall to the left, he leans to the right. And he falls like a beached fish who got a lethal heart-attack.

There is a momentary silence as all the lunching employees from the neighboring office buildings, gathered in little hierarchal groups stop their chatter and stare. The only sounds heard are that of chirping birds, intermittently passing cars and the water fountain.

I bite my lip down.

I grin.

I frown.

I smile widely, a smile full of teeth.

And I burst with my loud childish laughter for the next five minutes.

Suddenly aware of Harold scowling on the ground, I collect my belongings and I rise from the bench completely forgetting about the skittles in my lap (once again) and let them fall and scatter around Harold who’s still lying intertwined with his bike.

Feeling the hostility rise from the ground like poisonous gas I hasten my steps, but before I get too far I turn to Harold and I ask nonchalantly and probably insensitivity: “are you a lawyer?”

He just stares at me with immense hate and I take it as ‘yes’.

It happened a week ago and I haven’t seen Harold again even though I take my lunch on the same bench pretty much every day. I wonder if he’s too embarrassed to come back or if he even works around that park.

But sometimes I like to imagine, maybe out of masochism… I like to imagine and shudder at the possibility that somewhere, Harold is waiting for us to cross paths; with his glasses illuminated by a rusty street light, his horrible smile, bearing yellowish crowded teeth and his chin, dripping with mayo he is waiting for me in a dark, abandoned alley.


The Pursuit of Perfection/ Randomique in Wonderland

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique on September 9, 2009 by Randomique Jester

alice,in,wonderland,films,alice,film-daaf98f939d869dcce68ef60e83a09fe_hThe pursuit of perfection is fruitless.

I find myself comfortably (numb) in a made up world that accommodates every one of my finicky desires. I have conjured up every little detail of this imaginary world, no matter how filthy and dystopian it might be. My characters are not happy people picking flowers in the fields, they’re deep, tortured and righteous individuals.

Some things remain the same. The mass media could never be anything other than what they are – hungry vultures, tearing flesh from limb on a quest for their own survival.

Rock stars are still idolized, celebrities are worshipped.

There are ugly people and there are beautiful as much as there are those who commit crimes and those who don’t. However the line between good and evil is blurred indefinitely and my favorite heros and heroines, driven by intense passion and self-conflict, kill not only for self defense but for sport.

And I like it just fine.

My world is magnified, it’s as intense and as righteous as my raging emotions; it cannot be bound. I find myself swept sometimes, not realizing the limitations of the “real”, fake world I am forced to (physically) live in.

My moralities are challenged and I find myself breaking all the rules and disregarding those I cherish, perhaps because they don’t have a place in my world, just a vague presence that is never explored. It is most likely because my world revolves almost entirely around me :]

And yet, I never seem to get what I want. Which makes me wonder, do women really know what they want? Would they still want it after they’ve gotten it or would they feel trapped and pursue something else? Or worse, would they try to change what is beyond their reach (i.e other people)?

I am content in exploring these questions in my version of utopia. I don’t like it here. I don’t like the imperfect aspect of this world. I hate the mind-numbing stupidity, I hate being misunderstood or inhibited, I can’t stand being oppressed by those who are louder (not wiser), I hate how our value is still judged by the exterior rather than our intellectual and emotional qualities.

This world isn’t my kind of ‘fair’. I am too righteous to be able to walk among these absent minded creatures and not feel assaulted by every word, every action whether it’s directed towards me or not. I’ve always thought my desire to flee from every place I grew accustomed to was genetic, but my mother had her reasons too I’m sure.

I know it isn’t normal to live in a world you despise, or isolate yourself even from those who love you in their dysfunctional way but… no, scratch that. I DON’T know that, I only know that because I was told my genuine necessity to be left alone – is not normal.

Do you blame me for wanting to escape? Perhaps be a permanent resident of a world in which I am not only normal, but celebrated, understood, cherished and revered?!

Going back to the subject of my life needing to showcase some sense of irony……. Everything I do, all of us in fact at least to some extent, we do to please and impress this enormous, faceless body called “Society”.

But who is society? What are her hobbies? Who are her friends? Did she ever stutter in front of a crowd? Was she embarrassed? Did she stumble on the way up the stairs? Does she lie? Does she cheat? Will she understand and relate to you as a small insignificant part of her?

The short answer? No.

The long one? Nooooooooooooooooo.

Society is far too rigid. It is heartless. The ‘crowd’… it can’t be bothered to be more specific than a stereotype not does it like being apologetic. You fall where you may, into neat little shelves, where you are to be dissected and scrutinized – such is the man made monster called society.

And it grows bigger.While I still, fall between the cracks.

I can’t be dissected and though I should be relieved to have escaped, to have slid by, unnoticed, I feel underprivileged… like an innate right has been taken away from me… like I’m not “normal” for not being classified, for being the “odd number out”…

I slip through the cracks,


I fall,

like Alice

in my own wonderland.

And I’m happy there.