The Dark Side Of Pony Land (not for kids)

For no reason whatsoever I have begun to imagine a MLP version of Quentin Tarantino films.

Not that this is what we will be contemplating today but I thought it would be worth mentioning - in case anyone out there has any inspired ideas. Posy as *******. She does wear all yellow. So does Lemondrop - she would be better really in the role as she is the athletic type. Oren would have to be one of the white ponies, naturally, but which one? Magesty?

No, today's thoughts will be focused on the progressive nature of technology and it's influence on our culture. It is now possible, as I'm sure all you techno-junkies out there will be aware, to download almost anything for free on the internet - to copy films onto mini portable "media" players - Archos, iPod and the like - almost anything except time travel.

The Japanese cartoons of the much celebrated Studio Ghibli - such as Princess Mononoke, have strongly overlayed messages about the impact of technology and industry on the land. They highlight the fear that destroying what is natural and beautiful in the world will in turn destroy all that is magical about it. These themes are echoed in stories such as the Matrix & Animatrix. Although I will never ever say that they are wrong, too much reliance on technology could result in our downfall I am pleased to say that I do not share these fears in my own tiny world. The need for chi destroying cables and oppressive black boxes is being removed from our homes. With the developent of such wonders as the 600 gb hard drive the size of an old video (VHS tape) we can now store our entire collection of films in the space that only one would have occupied. We can without guilt replace (well I'll never get rid of them because that would be a sin worse than murder) our previously bought on LP records, with MP3 encoded downloads from the internet for free. Bittorrent - google it. Why should we have to buy the same piece of music our parents bought fourty years ago, and then again on tape and if they were well off later on CD? We shouldn't. I am all for the free distribution of music and film that we previously owned in another format.

My point was really going to be that I feel so much more at ease knowing that I can now hide all of the plastic - metal effect pieces of machinery in my home and there is next to no trace that I have the latest technology at my disposal. Not that my home is decluttered as yet, but over the next year I will restore my home to a black box free environment. No longer will I have to buy a piece of furniture specificly to house a CD or video collection. Soon there will be wireless speakers strategicly placed around the home - I will, when I win the lottery, buy one of those super flat screen monitors/TV that can be disgused as an old painting mounted to the wall. I will pack my films into boxes and hide them in the attic and watch instead from an electronic chip the size of an ants bunkbed. I will rid my home of the evidence and live in a world that reminds me of a simpler time - a more natural place, but with a little magic.

I have often hankered for a world more like those you find within the pages of an aged book or a fantasy film and soon we can. We will use technology to aid our lives not to fuel the production of cheap CD racks.

I no longer need to be torn in two with my love of the past and my appreciation of modern gadgets. I long for the warm summer days when I can sit on a sun longer in my garden when I surf the internet. It is snowing here today so being outside is not so welcome. So as much as these genius's of Anime had a very valid point, I for one will not let it encroach on my natural surroundings.

I am currently working out how to get all the MLP series on my computer - it will take time but what is fantastic is that it is possible.

Aside:

Next week on the world of wierd -

Great Expectations, Lickety Spilt and HeartThrob.

The fact is that there are very few character types in the whole of the history of literature. Comedia De' l Arte or some such thing - research.

For further contemplation - do the little ponies really have comparative characters in classic literature. Is Pip like LicketySplit? Which character is most like Eustacia and Estella. Truly? HeartThrob?

I have already mentioned that Magesty could be Big Brother, but if we delve a little further back to Hardy, could we perhaps draw links between books such as The Mayor Of Casterbridge and the downfall of Hydia in MLP the movie. Possibly not, but where there is a will there is a way. Oedepus perhaps?

Someone help. Magesty does use some form of oracle - and I suppose to be really honest was not the first winged beast of equine appearance Pegasus himself? Tamed at the hands of Perseus. Shall we then equate Megan to said Perseus and Firefly to Peagasus? Surely the smooze conjured by the witches is reminiscent of the power of The Gorgon, Medusa, and the gaze that turned all it fell upon to stone. (Hmm, Narnia ref. - C.S. Lewis borrows yet again from Greek Myth, not a complaint though). Perhaps Katrina is some form of Egyptian Godess.

Well until I've brushed up on my Euripedes and co. Goodnight and ponderous dreams.

EVER MAY LEARNING AND QUESTIONING CONTINUE

Found out that my mom is very sick and we are moving house this week and I have a new job so I've been very busy. I appreciate the up-beat comments as they restore my faith in the opinions of others. I have been downloading MLP films and episodes I had not yet seen. Perhaps I'm just getting too old to aptreciate them but I did get the feeling that they were not as good as the ones I used to watch. The little ponies seem just too sweet and too perfect for my liking. Can't remember the name of it but one I have is about the first tooth ponies were singing meanly about the new born twins and how dreadful it was not to be the centre of attention, and in comparison I watched "A Very Minty Christmas" and I thought they were sickeningly nice to eachother. No one is happy all the time, even ponies make errors of judgement, suffer resentment and have hissy fit's about nothing in particular. Bring back the good ol' days, so to speak.

Really I guess I'm going against my initial arguement, but that truly is my nature. I was under the impression that the motivation behind the films were just a little questionable, but now I propose that this was in fact a not so subtle way to appeal to all ages, providing longevity, and allowing the stories to evolve in the minds of its audience, but I found very little of lasting interest in the above mentioned film featuring the G3 ponies. We need to revive our children, to give them a little more scope in their most formative years. It did interest me though how similar the chatacters were to their eighties counterparts. Minty = Fizzy. Thistle Whistle = Whind Whistler. Sky Wishes = Galaxy. And so on. I'm not imlplying that I didn't get some joy from adding to my MLP video library but it has inspired me to think about creating an alternative version of Pony Land. Not perhaps as extreme as a Pulp Fiction style story but something with a little grit, a bitter twist and some real emotions not just glowing cuddles and butterfly dancing. If you feel so inclined then do post some suggestions. I'm thinking along the lines of swamps, wiggly worms, dragonflies and a missing historical pony a quest to find what ever happened, bats and gloomy caves, plants that grow quickly and change the landscape so that the
little ponies have trouble finding the way irritating unhelpful pixies and some kind of Gandalf character in the form of an apperition, turning up to aid the ponies when things get just a little too tough to cope with. And a tragedy. Not perhaps to question mortalitity but to emphasise real political issues, like a mutiny and an otracised pony who can redeem themselves. Well I'll spend some time thinking.

THE DARKEST HOUR IS JUST BEFORE DAWN

I am waiting. It is perpetual solitude and unending procrastination of life, whilest watching the weeks seep away. When they chose to dipict life as sand through an egg timer they could have picked no metaphor more apt. It is all just sand. Unimaginable quantities of utter sameness. Perhaps the odd occurance of interest, a worn shell or a decorative pebble, but on the whole it is all just sand and more likely than finding anything of beauty or intregue, one tends to come across a cactus that has spines the lenghth of a kebab skewer.

When I get stressed my whole body aches to excrete in poisoned words the extent of my pain. I wish to sream to smash to stain and to spoil all that I can see. I seethe, my veins burst with anger and all I can do to ease my fury without total destruction of all within my reach is to cry. Does anyone have any idea how it feels to be trapped. Tied into a groundhog day of ones own making. My fear of change has chained me into a hell of utter isolation from the very world I have dreamed of joining for as long as I can remember. I have been denying my depression for so long now I had almost forgotten that I was or that I probably ought to be (depressed that is). I have a santa sized sack full of painful memories and whenever I get upset I put another one into it. I cant help but take a peak when I stuff it in with all the rest and then I remember what I keep in there. Every time I cry, I cry for all of it. I do not escape it or deposit it. I am by nature a hoarder. I do not let it go because I do not like to do cliche's without really good cause. I find very little point in councelling because I do not see what it is that can be achieved by organizing pain. It is a fluid emotion, confining it and defining it only turns it into something, let it roam of its own accord, the longer something has to wander freely without direction, the more likely it is to get lost. It might disperse, become disorientated and parted from the rest of it, and then be picked off one by one until the end of the horror film. There is too much solidarity and strength in numbers in many cases, in others too many cooks spoil the broth either way I will win in the end because I want to, and really that is all it takes and I need no one to tell me that, I just want to be miserable about it all once and a while.

In case anyone reads this I had what you might call a reasonably good day at work, which is why were I to have scuicidal tendancies I would have od'd on paracetemol by now. Misery aside, my life is so mundane and yet so finely balanced on the verge of utter destruction and neverending mediocrity that I can hardly bring myself to keep breathing. I am pissed off and I am tired and I am increasingly aware that the only way to motivate myself is to picture the absolute most bleak future. I will attain, I will consume, I will contribute to the destruction and corruption of the world, because I have tasted the life that rebels from conformity and it breeds feelings of apathy and in the end the ony way to fight the system is to destroy is from a position of knowlege, sever the nerves with the sharpest knife. Silent screams are never heard.

DO NOT WATCH BIG BROTHER - you are he who you fear

think thoughts for youself before you forget how to - fight the media driven universe that supplies the words we should speak about the fake world we are encouraged to watch - do not be a statistic, do not fit a media mould. Defy expectation but do not fall into the trap of being convetionally individualistic.

There is no way to win. 42.

Ask a stupid question get a stupid answer.

Why My Little Ponies? I hear you cry.

Why not.

Carebears, too obvious, not enough scope really. They were a bit dumb really, and far too politically ignorant of how life really is. As much as Marxist ideals may appear to be, well, ideal, Ponies undersood that for a real world to exist there had to be flaws in the system. Flaws make for improvement, perfection stagnates and fails to progress. Thinking becomes lost when there is nothing left to think about.

THE DARKEST HOUR IS JUST BEFORE DAWN

You see, the words of things sometimes become muddled to the mind that has yet to decipher the true meaning of things. The skilled writer of literature that can last throughout life, from both childhood to the dying eyes of a ninety year-old is one that develops layers of new meaning with each reading.

Carroll was a genius.

I did for so many years, although not particularly inspired by the ramblings of a portly walrus, but more the harmonious warnings of Peter paul and Mary, belive that their was a rare form of wax used either for polishing ceilings or oozed out of the floorboards of the upstairs rooms and collected above my head on the ceiling. For some reason people thought it mighty important stuff and wrote about it then made up songs with it in. Later on in my childhood, whilest watching the charmingly animated stop motion BBC versions of the Wind In The Willows, I learned about a similary peculiar substance, elbow grease, but wise beyond my years I decided I would ask what it was rather than be left in the dark. So the concept of euphamisms (SP?) was known to me and I began to devise possible meanings for the term, ceiling wax. Was it a sarcastic term for someone who was completly misguided or inept? One who felt the need to wax ceilings.

Not long later I went to a museum and saw the Magna Carta hung on the wall. There was a large red blob at the bottom impressed (no****) with the Kings seal. ****My point here is to illustrate by the use of a pun, that words that sound the same often have very different meanings. Is it any wonder that people speak at crossed purposes. Not to mention how a young mind can be so misled by simply having a poor ability to spell.

TO SPEAK OF OTHER THINGS

Beware the Jabberwok my son, the jaws that bite, the claws that scratch, beware the jub jub bird and shun the frumious banderrsnatch.

Now tell me that my mind works in strange ways.

I like the Jub Jub bird. Seriously though, how could you not. It is such a short bouncy sort of name. He looks a bit like a puffin or a penguin to my mind. . . Perhaps that is why we are reminded to beware him. Do not take for granted that something that sounds harmless, charming even, is going to be. It my end up having sharp teeth, or a tendancy towards drawing a kife when your back is turned. I still like him though. And when did Alice ever take advice, even her own.

I think that words such as frumious and vorpal ought to have made part the dictionary by now. I have yet to check, but I'm guessing they aren't. Frumious sounds dragon like to me. Sort of hoarding and greedy, festering and miserly. Vorpal is evidently trusty and strong, sharp and lots of other positve sounding things. I think there is not enough enjoyment of language anymore. People are seemingly more content to speak as commonly as they can (well in sa-af lund'n en-e-ways, south london anyway). I spend so many days listening to the not so dulcet tones of a stunningly attractive girl whou is charming but sounds appalling. She accentuates it when speaking with customers. She drops consonants (SP?) as though they were breadcumbs and she were Gretal, and inflates her vowels until they are fit to burst. Not that I am a snob, but I do air on the side of a little too well spoken whenever I feel I can get away withi it. It commands a little more respect and I feel like such a fraud when dumbing down the language. It just sounds so much less unpleasant.

. . . On seccond thoughts though I guess he must be more like an ostrich or a secretary bird. Tall and odd looking, and utterly fiercesome (now really I am bad at spelling but this is a tough one - i went with the 'ierces' combination but toyed with 'iers' and 'iercs' 'iers' before taking the final decision) (Well I decided at an early age that as long as what I was saying was understood by the reader then what difference did it make, I then realised that noone (I know that is right because I learned it) noone understands me fully anyway, so spelling was the least of my worries - I like to appologise for it with long winded and utterly pointles explanations though!)

THE TIME HAS COME, THE WALRUS SAID

Am I old or am I young?
Am I thin or fat or none
of the above, perhaps
it would be more apt
not to analyse appearance
but to consider for instance
which pony do I most resemble
and if I were one, would I have to live in a stable?

moving swiftly on

I am tired, I have to work tomorrow. It is a Saturday and the whole idea fills me with dread.

On the whole I don't really hate my job. It is fine and most of the people who I work with have no idea of exactly who I am. I am really quite secretive about myself. I am great at finding out about others and giving away very little. I save my strangeness, and honesty, for here. Not that this a particularly private way of divulging the real (or at least most of), me, but it has the benefit of not being read by many. Perhaps you stumble across this and may even read some of it. But in general it is so that one day should I accidentally, or perhaps on purpose, be dead, then some part of my thoughts will still remain in the ether. My dead friend has a small message online that I read now and again. It feels kind of reassuring to know it is there. I am somewhat more selfindulgent and waste acres of space doing this, but what the hell, people who think that they are odd need to know that there are lots of others out there and in actual fact more people are odd than not so up yours to the rest of you - we are normal.

I'm sick of people telling me that I have psycological problems, that I have split personality disorder or that I'm wrong for preferring not to go out clubbing till I can't see straight (Dance and Drink not cave men with wooden impliments). I like to sit alone in a room with the curtains closed all day. I like to watch a full season of stargate in one sitting. I enjoy spending all weekend in bed with my boyfriend but doing nothing (much) more than trying out new combinations of nutella with bourbon or custard cream biscuits adding peanut butter just to be exciting (and I didn't take ofence at being likened to John and Yoko even though it was said in spite). I wan't to play Ring Of Fire on the guitar while Capricorn and I sing in our best June and Johnny impersonations. But I also want to spend all night with a close group of friends getting steadily more enebriated with every glass of red wine I consume untill it's two days later and the party is over. All in all I think I am the most utterrly happy depressed person that I know.

I think the fact that I am actually being granted two whole days off in a row has given me a bit of a boost. This is Esk in a good mood. This is Esk actually on the cusp of inner peace and acceptance. This is not Esk. This is a carefully chosen outward embodiment of some parts of she who decides here to be known as Esk. Me, myself and I have many more perhaps less paletable facets. I own fur - not just my cats I might add. Not particularly because I want to, but there lies another topic of conversation. I have birds feet in my jewellery box. I have a pair of antlers protuding from behind my television. I am technically quite an evil sort of person.

I'd still have to choose Fizzy, even after all that. If for no other reason than she was the best pony. She had the coolest hair, the prettiest eyes and colouring IT HAS A U IN IT!!!!!!! (says she who can't spell for sh i t ) and I love love love love loooovvvvveeee milkshakes. or are they rootbeer floats? anyway I am a total bubble head. I talk to much - did you notice - and I realy liked locket and blueberry baskets but they were shy pose pegasus and unicorns are more, well, me. Kind of nice most of the time but bearer of a lethal weapon. Wings are too fluffy and I am afraid of heights.

I bought the coolest dress yesterday which is fizzy coloured or perhaps a bit more like wiggles the new born one - aqua greeny blue - anyway it looks so pretty from a distance but up close it has skeletons and dragons on it. Sooooo me.

My house is an island, in a green sea. It floats amongs the debris of an idylic paradise that was destroyed in fury by God with displeasure at being proved wrong in a game of chance so ironicly has intalled at least two flagship churches that battle eachother across the murky waters with guitars and folk religious singing that echoes in what is now a plasticised perfect place. The people sing the cows low and the cats wail, but then they generally do just to get attention. And I sit in an inverted fishbowl. Looking out at all the silly fish. Encased and perfectly safe. But it is a little too prim and a little to neat for my liking. I want the paint to peel and the ivy to grow I want webs to appear and closeted skeletons to show. I want floorboards to creak an pipes to leak and creveses out of which little beetles might peep. I need the windows to rattle and rooftiles to fall until at last I can rest peacefull. I want to find my home again. I want to be secluded and removed from the trappings of decent village life and return to my forrest and live in my cave. I miss my quiet place. I want to find the magic that surrounds forgotten places. That is what is missing from me now. I want to really find a place I can be alone. I miss the trees that aren't manicured and the uneven ground, I miss the smell of damp leaves and most of all I miss the me I was when I was there. So happy and aware, or perhaps despratly meloncholy but blisfully ignorant to the fact. Either way, there was space for my thoughts to roam. They could become tangled in the branches and dappled by the sun and return more relaxed. I could hear only the deafening squaks of various members of the crow family and disturbingly pacifistic warblings of woodpidgeons. I miss my world. I will go for a walk next week through the fields and the trees I will wander till my toes are touching the ground that they need. I shall bath in the stagnant air that fills my secret festering building and once again see how nature conqures all and remember that all it needs to restore the natural order is time. Trees are patient. The can live hundreds of years. They will dislodge the concrete and reclaim the earth. Adieu.

THE DARKEST HOUR IS JUST BEFORE DAWN

The undiscovered and the continuously unpredictable aspect of humanity asounds me. I am an ever learning entity and I enjoy being proved wrong. For years I have been convinced that I imagined my youth, that the wondorously optimistic teenage male was infact to be a figment and an ideal, but there they all still are. Joyfully unaware or blissfully sauntering through their lives cocky but charismatic and full of unbound energy. They love music and talking and imbibing, and I find myself once again amused by their realness. I segregate myself and try not to take part but get once and a while cajoled into social interaction with my peers (well almost). I spent a sedate evening sat around a kitchen table, laughing, believe it or not, chatting and nibbling malt loaf.

I spend so much time locked into my head that I need regular reminders that sometimes people are pleasant to be around. I enjoy that some people present an image to the world but underneath are so very diffferent to those that they resemble. Thumbs up to the world all hope is not lost, the youth of today are still possible to talk to and even if we all demise in an apocolyptic nuclear war as so often is my fear, I have to say that for the most part, people were ok. We have laid devistatoion upon the earth, but quite alot of us were nice and I have had a pretty damned good time so far.

What pleases me most is that cliches are not always true. Platonic frienship is possible across genders, not all conversations between men an women have to be flirtatious. Sometimes love is so strong that the fear of infidelity is minute and bonds can be formed with others that never jepordise sp? a healthy ?an healthy? relationship.

All mimsy were the borogoves . . .