As some of ya'll know, I'm an AIDS activist. I believe that my generation has the knowledge to end the spread of the epidemic. I found a new website that I really love. It's called STOPAIDS.ch. It's swedish, so you can read it, but they have a game called "Catch the Sperm,"and you can find it by typing in the game name into Google. You can download free also.
Here's the download website I used...http://www.softpedia.com/get/Others/Home-Education/Catch-the-Sperm.shtml. It was super easy, and the game is pretty simple, but can get very challenging. It's worth a look.
Always use safe sex practices.
Be Safe. Be Informed.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Dark and Quiet
Have you ever sat in a dark, quiet room? What goes on in your head? Are you at peace? Do you feel calm and relaxed, or do you feel scared, helpless, and terribly alone? Do you feel as if the monsters in your dreams are suddenly real and present? Do you feel as if the world is crashing around you, and all you can do is sit as the room encloses and shrinks?
I feel as if I'm never alone. Kinda like I'm in the book 1984 by George Orwell, always being watched and monitored. Always. I can't sit on my bed at night without thinking, "Will it be okay to turn out the lights? Maybe tonight will be different..."
No, I'm not afraid of the dark, in fact, I love it. It hides our flaws in it's surrounding black curtains, keeping our little imperfections, our little embarrassments in a box that no eye can penetrate. I am, however, afraid of my thoughts. My own imagination frightens me. Sometimes I'll go to bed and be alright, but then as I lay down, my thoughts go rampant. Thoughts of death, questions without answers, and things happening that only happen in horror movies. My dreams as a little kid were along the lines of my house burning down as I'm watching my cousin drink gasoline in the garage. I had nightmares of my parents being werewolves folding clothes on our couch, and me awaking to them telling me that lunch would be ready soon. All of my dreams were unpleasant, morbid tales of grief and despair that usually left me waking to shocked to even utter a scream or even a word. Then suddenly, at about 15 years old, the dreams stopped. I could sleep all night, and not wake up gasping for air. It was as if someone had felt that I had deserved a break from the relentless dreams.
As I'm typing this, I'm sitting in a dark room with all of my fears and nightmares surrounding me. The zombies are under the bed and in my closet waiting for the right time to attack and gorge on my flesh. The ghosts and spirits are reading this blog as I'm typing it from the bedpost above my head. The cameras put up by Big Brother are swiveling and alerting the Thought Police of my crimes of free speech. Here I sit anyways, with all of my thoughts. I continue to sit in the pitch, continue to be wrapped in the curtains of the darkness. I'd rather sit here in the dark, than have to face all of my thoughts in the light.
I feel as if I'm never alone. Kinda like I'm in the book 1984 by George Orwell, always being watched and monitored. Always. I can't sit on my bed at night without thinking, "Will it be okay to turn out the lights? Maybe tonight will be different..."
No, I'm not afraid of the dark, in fact, I love it. It hides our flaws in it's surrounding black curtains, keeping our little imperfections, our little embarrassments in a box that no eye can penetrate. I am, however, afraid of my thoughts. My own imagination frightens me. Sometimes I'll go to bed and be alright, but then as I lay down, my thoughts go rampant. Thoughts of death, questions without answers, and things happening that only happen in horror movies. My dreams as a little kid were along the lines of my house burning down as I'm watching my cousin drink gasoline in the garage. I had nightmares of my parents being werewolves folding clothes on our couch, and me awaking to them telling me that lunch would be ready soon. All of my dreams were unpleasant, morbid tales of grief and despair that usually left me waking to shocked to even utter a scream or even a word. Then suddenly, at about 15 years old, the dreams stopped. I could sleep all night, and not wake up gasping for air. It was as if someone had felt that I had deserved a break from the relentless dreams.
As I'm typing this, I'm sitting in a dark room with all of my fears and nightmares surrounding me. The zombies are under the bed and in my closet waiting for the right time to attack and gorge on my flesh. The ghosts and spirits are reading this blog as I'm typing it from the bedpost above my head. The cameras put up by Big Brother are swiveling and alerting the Thought Police of my crimes of free speech. Here I sit anyways, with all of my thoughts. I continue to sit in the pitch, continue to be wrapped in the curtains of the darkness. I'd rather sit here in the dark, than have to face all of my thoughts in the light.
Writing equals so much...
Writing is a big part of my life. It's how I explain thoughts that can't be explained in words. It's how I keep my thoughts from eating away at me. I feel so vulnerable once they're in words, but it's better than them stirring inside me waiting for the inopportune moment to jump out. I guess it's better to keep some inside, but then they build up like a soda that has been rolling around in your trunk for 3 days. Either way, writing is like breathing, without it, well, you know...
First Blog: May 1, 2008
Hi, I'm Ginna.
This blog is not going to be me complaining or talking trash.
This blog is going to be my thoughts over life and pretty much everything else.
This blog is not going to be me complaining or talking trash.
This blog is going to be my thoughts over life and pretty much everything else.
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