At The Bottom Of Everything

How can I do this?? I can I make it happen, how can I make it go away? Its so much harder when you try your best and still can't achieve the slightest bit of peace. Berlin Berlin Berlin, at the bottom of everything, home is everywhere you are and I can't get away from that.

Straight to Hell Boy

So I am still here, and you are still there. I am in the same place. Same place, the same god damn place. Imagine if you were nowhere, nowhere I could see you at least.

Berlin Baby

Morning Morning Morning, another cold Cardiff morning. Sleeping bag in tow, we will pack today, to set off for another blistering cold hideaway far away from anywhere you can find me. Last night I dreamt again, again of a world where things that people say, are done. Where things make sense to me. Even in the Monet haziness of that world, things make more sense. Sometimes I think that my greatest sacrifice is my greatest weakness, but only to me. To others its probably a strength, to me its the Achilles heel that prevents me from leaving it all behind.

I will believe in anything, that last shreds of a person I will grab onto and still make them into something worth giving a damn over. Maybe that's where I keep fucking up.

But morning morning morning. The frost covers the cars and the pathway and slick with potential broken hips and backs. Each step is concentration and each tiny slip your heart races with the fright, and the pleasure.

Berlin baby, here we come.

Naive

BBC Live Lounge Covers... A good world to be in.

The benefit of an imagination, I can be in any world I choose to be.

How Far is Far Enough

So, the other side of the world is still not escaping? How could I be living at home? How could I be back there when everything that passes my eyes is foreign and the only thing I have to make myself at home is to remind myself of home? You have no idea. Or maybe I had no idea. I thought that being here would put me out of reach. Maybe being out of a reach is a decision I haven't yet decided to make? Maybe I like it better this way?

Why do you think I am a slave to the situation? I could not be further away, you could not be further away. I will make the choice, to remove you, to miss you, even when I don't need too. I do not need to prove myself, I have done that over and over again. You will be sorely missed but at some point, the realisation must kick in, that I, chose this. I choose not to leave you behind. That is where I make the difference, the distinction between slavery and freedom.

I think we are superstars.

The Difference In the Shades

Its funny being in a country that seems so steeped in history and culture, yet when it comes to the little things, the things that actually count, they are found wanting and lacking. When I first arrived in this great land there are many things that I have noticed which differ, often for the worst, in Englands favour, now...we begin.

Bins: One thing that is taken for granted, something that you always miss when you cant find one, but when its there, its used. Cigarettes, chewing gum paper, even the slightest hint of litter can find a home in a carefully selected space back in Aus. But no, over here a bin is as rare as a smile in this bitter cold and all litter is haphazardly thrown to the ground to be collected by the multitude of rain which never stops falling.

Food: The era of convinience has entered this land. Isles and isles of packaged food, ready meals and meals that require no thought, effort, or conscious decision about what you are actually putting in your mouth and cloaking it as a 'meal'. There is every style of food, every style of 'family' dinner, anything imaginal can be placed into a package and sold as a meal. Somehow completely convinient but on the flip side, completely complacent as a culture that seems riddled with overweight adults and pregnant youths.

Wheely Bins: Now to extend my 'bin section, this one really got me. We arrived bleary eyed but excited, only to drive through miles and miles of houses stacked next to each other, and each with a bright green bag of all there packaged goods thrown out on the sidewalk. Being slightly coastal, the issue here is as bag with seagulls, and crows at home. You leave rubbish out one night, the next morning its scattered across the road like new years party confetti. Yet, only 2 weeks ago was this problem address and solved. Wheely bins have been introduced, now the problem is people actually using them.

Please and Thanks You: Its cold outside but the people are colder. This is a land where courtesy and manners seemed to be bred from, then bred out, amongst the rubbish. There is little to no courtesy here, or manners for that fact. Things are loved and hated and do not be sad if your life stops having meaning when you work at the Cashier at Tesco, and 2000 people bought their packaged meals without so much as any acknowledgement or thank you. Gives new meaning to meaningless jobs, AND as a cashier, you dont even pack the bags, the customer does. You are simply just and beep and scan.

Alcohol: Is in every shop, every Spar, every corner store and every servo. There is more pubs in this city than there are shops. That is if you are careful about the price, you can get quite the cheap booze.

Many more things can be outlined in detail, scrawled over, then scrapped for others. The key to this blog was how different the little things can differ from a place called home, Without even being picky. Something so advanced, hundred/thousands of years old, yet they can't managed a bin here or there, or even a please and thank you. Then again, if you thought Australia was in the midst of a recession, think again. This country has half a foot in the grave, and the people and getting in to try and actually push the giant foot out, yet as usual, the weight of that giant foot is burying the people with it. No wonder no-one cares about bins when you have to pay not only to own a television, but to watch it, each home needs a tv licence just to have a television. They pay rates to the council as council tax, even if you are renting. The waiting lists for doctors outweigh the wait lines at Tesco, and yet here I am complaining about bins, The irony.

Ah I forgot, add teen pregnancy to that list, and I have summarised the UK. There are more young mothers here than an Australian abortion clinic.

Surprise!

Again should I be surprised? Please tell me the distance I need to be away from something for it not to follow me. I don't even know where I am but yet you can find me? Is there an answer? I should not be surprised for having these thoughts early on. I am so disappointed in my lack of ability to follow my own instincts.

But, now what to do? I am not here, I am not there, and you are not anywhere to be seen. I feel like the cat in the hat needs to come take this fiction for a stroll. Then at least my life might be a funny riddle rather than a ridiculous joke.

Sigh, maybe being so pessimistic is not the right way to be. Yet every time I get optimistic I fall. So how about me move to the left, jiggle alittle out of focus and live in my own world? Hopefully only there you cant find me.

silly.

So here I am, alone and tired
walked the last 300 hundred miles
I stumbled across to hardened tar
a pack of ciggies dont get you far

smoke and smoke the end away
smoke for all the plays you played
smoke for all the times you had
smoke for just being bad.

Lobotomy

I feel kind of sick today, in the tummy. I am not sure whether it be for the multitude of reasons that tend to plague me, or it just wasnt my side of the bed this morning.

You came back, which is great. You with your free spirit and ridiculous nature. And now what do I do with that, the 9 day plague till I leave and no longer suffer from you.

Or suffer from anyone, I never know who the 'you' is I talk about or write about. It could be me, it could actually be you, or it could be some sort of crazy person I dont know but insist on stalking. Either way you feel further away from me than you ever have, which makes me really quite beside myself. It makes me wonder what the next few months will bring me. So what am I doing and what am I going to do with me?

Abort abort, lobotomy lobotomy. Please bring the chisel so we can start this all again!

Ah ahhhh ahhhh

Who are you and where are we? I dont know most of you and you dont know parts of me. Disconnected. Slightly lost amongst rubble. Stupid rubble. There is no much shrapnel through me that I am almost scared to pick it out incase that ever important artery is there to pump out the last remnants of me. You rewrite it. You take the script and edit it. I look forward to developing the ability sometimes to edit you.

We can only wish. We can only hope. Who are you and who am I? Who am I to you to mourn?

it couldnt come quick enough

When i lay down at windows I like to dream I am anywhere but where I am. From your back looking at the sky you can really be anywhere you put your mind to.

I am anywhere but here, and anywhere is nowhere to be found.

Hey Honey, Take a Walk on The Wild Side

The sunny afternoon has rolled in, and I have abandoned this world for one entirely based in my head. I have the perfect perch here. I am going traveling soon, far away into foreign lands that will probably seem all too familiar. Step, step, step and I will dance away. I wonder what the effect will be when I move away from it all? I wonder if I will care! I wonder so many things I feel my head will burst, lets hope so, then I can have a fun time putting all the pieces back together like some elaborate Humpty Dumpty. I will do what no kings horsemen could.

So I took a plunge and sealed my fate
ran so fast from that closing gate
far down the path i run for the road
far far away from that heavy load

I love stupid little rhymes.

And little pegs.

Life gets kind of foggy sometimes. Stumbling around like you are half asleep trying to find the light switch. Not quite sure which direction to take, but eventually you just think 'fuck it' and go, or sit down and crawl up because you find the option of endless possibilities overwhelming.

My festival attitude is, its not a festival unless you've shared a joint with a stranger who either seemed to offer significant conversation points, or just clearly needed a smoke. Or for so reason at all. That is turning into my theory with life. obviously to me its bigger than a joint and a stranger. But its me sharing something with someone, in a moment that made it perfect. I want to seize more moments like that, I have watched so many slip by in the past because I was scared I would wet myself in fear because the big wide world was in fact, big and wide. Oh but now, now I am sick of settling for okay, when I know I can have brilliant. I am sick of saying no, when I no yes would be just as fun. And, what do I really have to loose?

So for all or none, or none at all. Or all at once.

And the coloured girls say... dododo do do do do dooooooooo

scatter

Abort Abort! Run for the hills! Duck your heads my soldiers in arms and scatter. We must hide to succeed in this victory. We will wait till dusk falls, hiding amongst the trees with our weary heads tipping to the edge of our muddy rifles. Then, then we will attack, when even the night is sleeping. We will crawl upon then like ants on honey and suffocate their constant terror.

And I wake up. Alive! I breathe again.

So late nights, late nights, another late night with the company of dear friends.

So we snuck down, trawling across the leafy floor as each footstep echoed through the forest a fate our enemy is yet to see. The tint lights glowed amongst the trees, and we spring. Each tent, each door, each step and each heartbeat flattened. Minutes that take lives seem to wander past us and I am left with the sound of my heaving chest and a few silent groans from the last breaths muttered into mud.

AWAKE!

Wide awake. Who is this and where am I?

closer

Ah the brilliance and bittersweet desert that retrospect is to any situation.

I have spent so much of my time concerned with your well being, with your happiness and with YOU that I have forgotten so so much about myself. I leave this situation with my head held high, it never dropped because of you.. You dizzied me with the circles you spun and the webs you wove around me. Danced tip toed over my sleeping eyes as you crept in late at nights. Huffed and sighed and watched me rise each morning to go to work. I spent my days, in many ways, all wrapped up in you.

So here is me unraveling. Here is the moment the clock stops on our adventure. Or at least the adventure we once had. It isn't fun when the person you love enough to know that loving them will never be enough, just doesn't seem to be worth all that energy anymore.. And I am sure sick of this heartache.

Disconnect.

Ah another night, another late night. Another time filled night. Due to recent unemployment the genuine greatness of having so much time is completely dampened by not wanting to use the funds to make a truly outrageous holiday out of it. Then again, I am holidaying soon and would probably find it a shame to burn before I can shine in splendor and privacy of another country.

Tea possibly? Or perhaps another drink? Perhaps sleep, the siren call of my blankets does sound rather alluring after a sun filled day on the ocean. I wish to write great things sometimes, instead I write simple things in the hope that there is nothing great to be found but the simplicity in having taken your mind off something.

I think that after reading over what I just wrote, another drink then sleep, But definitely, disconnect.

Blank Blank Blank. White paper.

Strange Occurances

My stomach still sinks you know, not that I want it too. I still feel ill.

I don't ever go out of my way, keep my head down, thumbs up and keep walking.

What a deluge. I don't really understand you at all. Sometimes I like to think I do, or maybe I track you in some cat like way, knowing your habits, discovering similar behavior, but there is no real set standard. I am utterly confused.

There is always balance, the laws of physics destine it. For every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction. Isn't that law number 2? It's about the only thing I gained from yr 9 Science with that odd substitute teacher. So what must some things be so out of order, maybe that is science's way of explaining kharma. Although we chuck emotional things into the mix to make it more 'spiritual'.

Clearly, no thought is put into this. It is just a stupid train of thought. A thread amongst the sweater. But you, you really do make me sick to my stomach, So sick, that I wish I could tear out my own organs sometimes to avoid feeling them melt and sink into oblivion. Lets hope out of sight out of mind, if so, please blind me.

A Streetcar Named Desire

the word lust exists for you.

It was night, late at night.

And so and so and so, Another day, another moment, another glimpse, another heartbeat.

Another.

Not to get sentimental as it appeared I would, I am all surface dwelling tonight. I don't have much to ponder over, or I actually have so much to ponder over that I refuse to perform such an arduous task and prefer to wander casually on Channel 7 for late night Comedy...it is Wednesday isnt it??

Who knows? I don't! I know that for sure. I am also sure that someone very smart said the key to knowing everything is realizing you know nothing at all. True true. Very smart man, probably drove himself insane with all those brains.

I wonder if I am one of those people that either:

a) trips, and falls, stacks it and revels in the moment

b) trips and falls and pretends nothing happened by doing a sweet ninja roll

c) trips, cries, and sobs all the way home

I think I am most likely a) I often revel in my own mistakes, I find that once you truely realise what I dick you are, only then can you come to terms with any sort of constructive way to fix it, or to not be quite such a dick again. I am still a work in progress however and in no way perfect.

AHHHH Tea delivered to me, now that is what you want in a housemate/s. It should be a rental requirement.

Occupant A: Non smoker, no pets, has strange nightly rituals BUT delivers tea to housemates when they are parched on cold nights.

DING DING DING!!! WINNER!

A person straight to my rental application.

First sip, good tea.

Babysitters Club

I am now a proud member of the Babysitters Club. After 3 years of dutifully being an Aunty, I have finally been entrusted with the golden child. Sebastiano. We have been hanging out now for...almost 2 hours. It has involved a walk, some attempts at play, my trying to read him Hunter S Thompson, then fearing it was inappropriate, watched while he tore the next treasured page I was up to.

Now he sleeps. Snore snore snore. It is 9:40am, only around 7 more hours to go. Wish me luck. Babysitting unfortunately is something you must do well from the get go, or fear never doing it again. ALSO, you can't really stuff up when a child is involved, it is collateral that I fear is just not worth it.

The beast stirs...cries...and I dash of to action.

Lost It Probs

Dazed confused, lost and bruised.
I am somewhere between this black and blue

My head is pounding, WHY WONT THE DAMN THING Stop!

Quiet. Ba dum dum, ba dum dum, ba dum dum. I can feel the pulse go through my skull and echo down my neck. I feel its needle like fingers probe me.

Probe. Ba Dum Dum, Ba Dum Dum.

Hounds of Love

I wonder.

Too many times.

I will find you one day and steal you back into my Neverland where we exist.

Then there will be no more wondering for me.

Sugar Man

Vice. Addiction. Drug. Habit. Routine. I am tired of this scene.

I want to see these colours again, I want to see the shore.

I want to see the barren plains that part me and the whore.

I want symphonies.

Summer Haze

I am floating, I am floating, I am floating
Tip toe across the waters still skin
ripples ripples ripples
My center of balance is all out of whack...

SO, I sit again stumbling over Graceland trying to figure out where and when the last truck stop took me and where I am now. I lost my travel companion months ago, across the t-intersections and stop lights. I wonder where they got off? As if I didn't know. I am sure I should know.

But I lost them! Who am I to go against the wind? Another one to shrug off.

So where to now oh trusty compass? We have gotten lost so many times, or is it lost? Am I just going exactly where I intended?

Hmm. Could just be crazy.

Day 3: Been and Gone

Day 3: The Chronicles

So as day 3 of unemployment waived hello and goodbye, I now must face the reality of what a working week is like without work. Which tomorrow I am sure will bring many a resume reviews for part-time bar tending jobs to keep my income steady in some sort of way. As a reflection of the weekend past, my fellows and I partied hard in memory of what now is, a past event. Dignity was left on my back deck at approximately 12noon Friday, and I am still struggling to find it. I know there are shreds of it left at 'the Grove' but that I'm sure is where it ends. There is no better way than to end something with such a self destructive drinking binge that leaves even yourself guessing. But to great times. Day 3 brought self reflection, sizzling sun at a BBQ on the river and a good hard look in the now ever foggy mirror that is my life.

Welcome working world, for I, never one to have received Centerlink, refuse to line up and join the masses. Fruit picking is good enough for me!

Unemployed! The Recession Hits!

And so the recession has loomed its ugly head in my life and forced its appearance to take action. I am now redundant. As of 12pm Friday 21st August, I was informed that my position was no longer required, that and the position of the 7 employees that worked underneath me. Again we fall pray to the corporate giants. So now I am unemployed after the longest stint of employment I have managed to maintain. It does seem however to be the cruel irony of my life that when things start go get into full swing, and I am marching to the beat of my own success, that I trip, sprain an ankle horribly, and spend the rest of my pride filled march hobbling meekly down the road. Enough of self pity however, I am going to spend this time channeling my inner hobo, working the bars again until I fly fly away to the cold arctic climate of a European winter. Which means, for anyone out there that actually cares enough to read my pitfalls and opinions, I will document my recent unemployment for all those who wish to know.

And this being day two, I am still riding high on the presence of the weekend after a full time working work and am sure that the true fuckedness of my situation will not punch me in the chest till Monday morning when I no longer follow the routine I have so carefully followed for the last 22months. Questions have raged through my mind, the obvious being money, rent, food, blah blah blah, but mostly, what will I do now for a morning coffee? Where will my workmates be when I am riding high in delirousness and have no-one to share the fact that Kelly Clarkson still makes song, and no-one to find it as truely repulsive as I do. Sigh.

Ode to better days, and a drink for days to come.

Endless Rain Into A Papercup

Confession.

I am a serial reader. News, fantasy, comics, blogs, diaries, nonfiction, fiction, any genre and any style. I devour books like a third world child who just found the last grain of rice on the floor. The most exhilarating thing I find about reading is that it takes the brain places that reality just can't. It ties threads in stories that Sherlock Holmes couldn't track and keeps you guessing like sex with the lights off.

The end.

Fake Plastic Trees

I have a very awful habit, and I guess its actually a personality trait, to overthink, over-analyse and just basically over power my feeble brain by trying to think too much. Often, over analysing, just the word itself implies to do too much of something, but what are the effects? For me, I am often left more confused than I begun with and certainly have many paranoid attacks over the results.

A few I have noticed that over the years I have succumbed to, is to over analyse even the most basic aspects of life.

Example 1. Breathing

When I was a small child, sleeping used to be something that came easy. Until one night I was up, tossing and turning like I never had before and thats when I realised, I was sure it, I had forgotten how to sleep. So I lay there still in the ever darkening dark thinking on how I had I always managed to fall asleep and what was different now. Then I had the 'Eureka' moment. My 5 year old self was sure that to sleep, you needed to stop breathing. So I spent the next few hours trying to hold my breath till I assume I eventually passed out from lack of oxygen and drifted into a haze. Of course until the next few nights when over thinking plagued me with the question on how exactly do I fall asleep.

Also, sleeping next to someone. Now I suppose blogging is a way to admit these dark issues that haunt us in our minds, and what better way than to share it over a medium that almost anyone can access. So here's to mental instability! Back to sleeping next to someone. On quiet nights, when you are not the first to fall asleep and all you can hear is the breeze on the trees outside and the rise and fall of your friends chest, you start to think about how they breathe. Sleeping breath is one of the nicest, most purest moments I could ever think of. Not to sound like a stalker, but I think sleeping is the closest people come to ever crawling back into that womb that we so dearly cherished for 9months. A place of innocence at least to onlookers. But I lie there trying to align my breathes with theirs, until I fear I am breathing to loudly for all to hear, or not breathing enough that I am slowly suffocating myself. It can be a very awkward task to try and snap yourself out of.

Example 2. Walking

Walking is something that comes to us, we all learn it, we all conquer it, we all have a different way of doing it, maybe the expression should be 'It's like walking, once you learn you never forget', get rid of all this bike nonsense. Well I guess the reason we don't use that expression is because we DO forget.

I was walking down a hill today, a hill I have walked down for the past 2 years, the same path, the same damn road, the same grass, yet this time the only thing that had changed was my brain and its communication with my legs. I was angle walking, viciously. I looked like a drunk woman doing an 8am walk of shame back from a very very big night (shoes in hand of course), but alas, I was not. It was 8am of course, but I was sober, showered, wided eyed and bushy tailed but maybe my brain didn't wake up yet because my feet started to wiggle alittle. Like I suddenly was doing the hokey pokey down the hill...right foot in, right foot out... To add to my mind blank, I also cross paths with numerous construction workers, who all witnessed my gap brained moment of walking shame. I was definitely thinking about walking as my brain tripped into the ecstacy of ignorance, maybe that was what did it?

Example 3. Spelling

Bolognese, Spaghetti, neccessary, naughty, forty, plague, vague, accommodation.

Ever stare at a word for so long you are convinced you have spelt it wrong?

Bolognaise, spahgetti, nescessary, nourghty, fourty, vaige, acomodation.

Examples of common ones that often annoy me to the point I need to walk away from the paper, gather the skills that I was taught for 12 years and reapply them to real life. Yes - English was a skill I would use every day. No - I will not always be good at it.

Example 4. Long Division

Just as a fun fact - I ALWAYS forget how to do this, then at the right moment of insanity, PING! I remember.

Nothing any of you needed to know, nothing I cared to share. But now because of my sharing all of you know something that I never cared to need.

Power of the VOODOO

You remind me of the babe...

What babe?

The babe with the power

What power?

The power of the voodoo...

Who do? You do!

Remind me of the babe!

Texts Between Haters From Opposing Living Rooms

H1: 'OMG I hope your watching a current affair!'


H2: 'Bogans...'

H1: 'I am so glad that was the reply I got from you.'

H2: 'Agree?'

H1: 'Yes, They're probs from Nundah'

H2: 'A current affair is a fucking joke, and not a funny one 'That he could have used to terrorise innocent passengers' Sickening.'

H1: 'I know right thus my fury blog. That knife is well sharp though'

H2: 'Well Sharp. How many sporting analogies can she (Tracy Grimshaw) use in one sentence? Many...Many...'

H1: 'If only we have a primetime TV show that was just us mocking primetime Tv Shows.'

H1: 'STUNT MIDGETS'

H2: 'You...are too good. Stunt Midgets...Angry Midgets'

H1: 'Can't about to give birth to a pizza baby...'

Simple Rhymes for Simple Minds

So it’s the end of the line, I guess our luck is up
Past the acres that we trod I guess you’ve had enough
I couldn’t bring myself to beg you so I took another puff
And the smoke rose through my fingers along with my beloved

The words came tumbling out as if god himself had spoke
Dragged through with each rise and fall, with each and every blow
You sat there with conviction and with steady steel you said
Yesterday we were lovers, but today our love is dead

Sat fumbling with the tissues, through my gritted teeth
Tore the eyes from the window that masked my bridled grief
Leave no trace I asked, as you turned from white to grey
Yesterday we were lovers, but today you’re just another face

The Judge, Jury and Executioner

The world of reality TV, what to say? There are the contestants, the interviewers, the host and last but never least, the judges. There is always the good, the bad, the fence sitter and the guest. Whilst sifting through the latest Channel 10 had to offer, I must admit, I feel victim to So If You Think You Can Dance. I absolutely adore the show for basically the talent, and also what the judges have to spew up each week. Especially, the person you both love to hate, and hate to be entertained by.

Mary Murphy.

Oh pray to the fake tan gods! A 40 yr old woman in a low cut top, baked better than the best Christmas Pork, glazed by the honey gods, dripping in over the top jewels, teeth as white as your newborns rear end and the ultimate American sensationalist with far too much volume and seemingly not enough brains.

Evidence:

I think pictures speak louder than words here.

THEN we move onto someone I am in no way fond of, mostly because every compliment she hands out, it follows with 'Your Welcome' like it was some sort of fucking gift from the judge panel gods in the sky. Yes, Marcia Hines I am referring to you. You with your heavily muscled arms, broad shoulders, slight lisp and black attitude. You who hands out sweet nothings to unsuspecting, vulnerable young people as though they should accept it with the graciousness that God bestowed on them. And in terms of what she actually contributes to the show, she is like the white lie that drips of everyones lips, sucked up by a giant wave and smashed on all of us viewers, her words are 'nothings' but empty promises and false praise, often leaving you more confused than you started out. Don't worry young potential Idol that you can't sing for shit, in a singing competition, Marcia would praise you for you 'spirit' or 'soul'. It sickens me.

Evidence:

Then, my last bone to pick tonight with reality televisions host/judges. Is that everytime I watch a So If You Think You Can Dance Australia episode, Natalie Basingthaffasdjkfniasdu (??) and the female british judge always, always, always look like they just down a bottle of vodka and a 'dollop' of all things perscription.

Evidence:

Now...I thought about finding evidence (actually did try) but I could not find the action shot that perfectly summed up either of their on air brilliance, maybe you will have to check out the show yourself. But kudos to Nat Bass who has maintained her 'smokin' status throughout.

Enough of this, nobody cares, nobody likes reality TV but my god, there is some pure trash on there that is almost at the core of all things bad taste, and I love it. So check it out if your keen.

Ha...Hahaha...Ha

What. The. Fuck.

Pure Sunday delight. Who knew such things existed to entertain.

I Live, I Evolve, I Die

"I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason.

I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I cannot transform into something marvelous, I let go.

Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls."

Anais Nin

Bone to Pick - Yes - You

Right, Ninemsn you have finally done it. 'Flock it' section is about to send me into a searing rage, not only for the fact that this week the stories have not change much at all and it bores me, and the following article:

http://news.ninemsn.com.au/world/847121/nz-children-mistook-dead-body-for-croc

Now - I am not one to judge any sort of parenting skills, mostly because my parenting resume lists 'potentially negligent and lacks any real idea of what to do with small humans', and I am definatly the 'fun' aunty that hands assorted nephews back when the tears start to well. BUT THIS, I will highlight in point form.

1. The title alone, 'NZ children mistook dead body for croc'... I have never seen a dead body, am not particularly keen on ever seeing one for that matter, but at what point does a poor womans body take the form of a dead reptilian? Also - well played NineMsn for luring me into another 'flock it' peice.

2. They played with said 'crocodile body' for 11 DAYS!! Not a few hours, not a day or two, not even for the weekend, 11 DAYS!! Where were the parents of this pack of wild kids that decided poking dead crocodiles was fun, for 11 days of adventure???

3. 'It was not until a parent tried to fish the body out on Wednesday that anyone suspected anything'. So, a lovely caring parent, atfer 11 days of frolicking leisurely around the 'Leisure Centre' decided that they should try and FISH THE BODY OUT, and that only at that point was there anything suspect. AND, its in New Zealand which I am pretty sure is not renound for its flourishing population of crocodile, so wouldn't just a dead crocodile/body in a small pond arouse suspicion on its own?

4. ' A neighbour said he saw a pack of about 10 boys poking it with sticks'...I wish I had more neighbours like that, that not only would not stop my children poking a dead body with sticks, but also referring to them as a 'pack'. Concerned parent? I think not.

In summing up, 11 days poking a dead body in a swamp thinking it was a crocodile...Hmm, suggestions for the Government of NZ/Local Area, more activities for kids, more education of WHAT SPECIES YOU ARE FUCKING POKING WITH A STICK FOR A FORTNIGHT!

Peace.

heaven in a cup

GOOD MORNING to a fabulous Friday in Brisbane. The sun is shining, the weather is clear and blue....

I was thinking of an ultimate Friday night, involving me taking myself on a date in my lounge room. I decided to list a few things that would be essential in wooing my dear self tonight.

Now - if in reality I was making this a REAL date with myself...It would also involve popcorn, witty conversation and a steady supply of various snacks. I would woo me in seconds.

The Developement Of Stockholm Syndrome In Lesbian Relationships: A Vague Observation Of Lesbianism

Recently as I wandered through the World Wide Web, I started reading about this wonderful thing known as Stockholm syndrome (mostly because the Muse song is awesome) but also for the fact that is all about how captives become somewhat attached, or defensive of their captors. Now thinking about my life and how I could fit this wonderful mental disease in, I came to think of it as very similar to lesbian relationships/break ups and how this often equates to how a relationship dependency forms.

Now it all started with a bank robbery in Stockholm, after this 5 day ordeal the captives were becoming emotionally attached and defensive of their captors. A criminologist then coined the term in relation to where the event happened how the effects of extreme trauma seemed to sway these victims to be more sympathetic towards their abductors. Now normally this implies to cases where someone has been kidnapped, but in most relationships I know (unsuccessful ones that is – but who’s aren’t these days?) there is always one member of the party that seems to almost ‘abduct’ the others life. Whether it be through isolation from friends and family, demanding of time and or literally taking it a step too far and keeping you in that cupboard at the end of the bed for the summer. It seems to happen to all of us at some stage, yet even in these situations where we know that we are under ‘the thumb’ or even under the influence in any way we become almost strangely defensive of our ‘beloved’. Often finding excuses for their behaviour to justify to yourself why they treat you so badly. I think it is due that after so many months of taking shit in a relationship you are so used to justifying it in your head as to why you are there, that you do half the work for the manipulative bitch/bastard.

It strengthens the bond I think when they give an inch and you take a mile, they may call you fat, make you feel bad, isolate you from friends, stop you from having any sort of fun or even occasionally hit you, but when they give you that little smile, the one that only they give you between punches, it makes it ALL worth it.

I just find it exciting to watch the ostracism of friends who enter ‘partnerships’ and often to see the succubus of a woman slowly dig their claws in till the victim never knew any different and would love to have no personal freedom, opinion and/or choice in their own life. Yet it tends to be the one who is smothered that often comes up with the stunning defence closing statement that both keeps you out, and locks them in even further. Point is: there are some crazy fuckers out there, ones that will keep you under lock and key whether it’s emotionally or physically, but this my friend seems to be the general term I can use for all my friends out there suffering from ‘lesbian Stockholm syndrome’, don’t become the advocator for your own imprisonment!

Freaky Friday

It's Friday!

Slaved away the working week, minimum wage makes life so cheap!

LIBERATED!

When I was a young waaaarrrthog!

Well as all of you who read this know, I am single. What has fascinated me since this period of lone ranger style existence entered my life was how utterly tweaked some lesbians are. After years in Brisbane and meeting all sorts around the way, I am surprised to know that the diversity and spectrum of human existence can be summed up in gay culture. There are the needy ones, the obsessive, the sexual, the friend that is no longer a friend, the ex, the ex’s friends, the ex’s ex’s friends, the old ex’s the ones your yet to meet and that one night stand at the Beat that you never live down and she somehow NEVER loses your number and she is the girl who is sweet at the time but will knife you when the bar tender talks to you because ‘I thought you were with meeeeee.!’

Now this is in no way fair, scientific or based on anything other than experience and personal opinion, so suck it up out there and deal with that fact if you are gay, your relationships will 9/10 end messy, you may be cheated on and during the course of your gayness I am sure there is that one guy that just ‘does something for me’.

But what is etiquette? Is there a mourning period? Is there a ‘my body is a temple’ moment where you become like the new age Ghandi and Confucius and start spurting out meaningful Asian proverbs or provide advice to friends on how yoga and meditation will bring out the demons and eliminating peas and ‘nasties’ from your diet help improve your emotional well being...FUCK THAT.

There is no point to this, I am just surprised at the deranged people out there and how lucky that through my cosmic bouncing around the gay solar system I have managed to find some semblance of sanity in myself and the people who I surround myself with. As remember you can always be ‘that girl’ or that ‘the one who went nuts’ and I would like to maintain as much dignity in the end, as I did in the start. Standards are not something that a broken heart effects, and the person who did it isn’t to blame. If you have your heart broken at all, thank your lucky stars you know what it is you lost; otherwise you have wasted another period of time parked at the planet that is showing no signs of organic life. And god bless psychos, because without them, how else would I look good???

Should I feel Dirty?

I needed to address the following concern of mine I had. I am not sure if I am like many people in this situation, or merely the minority, I am definitely assuming I am the first of the two options. Now, it is something that plagued me late on Saturday night while kicking back with a friend trying to nurse the excruciating hangovers we self-induced the night before, we sat down to watch Tears of the Sun, the Bruce Willis and Monica Bellucci film on Channel 9. Now, it was by accident we ended up watching this film not from any desire of our own, but as the opening credits started and the quiet African village foretold the story we were about to be exposed to, it looked like quite the film, however more than likely involving a series of horrible human rights tragedies and Bruce kicking some serious African rebel butt.

Now with most Bruce Willis films, there is lots of action, little dialogue and an ample amount of breast and blood. The film Tears of the Sun took us to those places in every aspect. The only short fall it had was that the film itself was about African genocide, so when the scene comes on of a village under attack from a swarm of Rebels committing atrocities, and it cuts to Monica Bellucci running through the carnage in a low cut singlet with heaving sweaty breasts, I felt a little dirty. One, I was staring at her boobs, two, I was staring at them while this massacre was going on in the background and was completely torn as to whether I was being inappropriate for staring, or it was the intention of the director to be looking at the breasts rather than the small children being murdered. I felt it really distracted from the whole heaviness of the movie.

Now after a few more of these scene flash before me, I turn to my friend during a quiet mountain landscape scene and comment ‘Hmm, did you see her tits in that scene??!’ to which she replies ‘Yeh I know!’ and we both agreed after that point that the only reason we remained silent was because it made us feel both uncomfortable to comment on such a spectacular site juxtaposed against something clearly horrific.

So, that is really it. What are we supposed to do? Should I feel like I am dirty for staring at boobs during something so violent, or, on the other side of the coin, am I merely a victim of product placement and sexual appeal oozed into Bruce Willis films?

The latter. I am the victim of the assault of breasts to distract from the fact that these events actually happened and she was chosen for her breasts and slight accent which pours through her speeches like a fine wine!

Just as some evidence, Monica Bellucci during the film...

Sea Monkeys: Dream Pets?

Sea Monkeys – Dream Pets?

A sea monkey! I know, many of you out there are probably wondering what this marvellous creature is, and how in fact will involving them in my lives change me? I too pondered the same thing one lonely work day and decided to investigate the world in which sea monkeys live. Although, sometimes you don’t always need to answers to all your questions and when I Googled ‘Sea Monkeys’ and carelessly opened a few tabs of information, I was actually amazed and how much was dedicated to this little creature commonly referred to as the ‘dream pet’.

My first impressions of a sea monkey were, limited to none. I had no impression. I don’t even know anyone who has sea monkeys. I did however know a boy in primary school that had quite the collection and due to this tenuous thread I feel I am more than an authority on the subject after 15 minutes of labour intensive research. My understanding of sea monkeys were that they were dots, in a plastic container, that had water and came from a packet similar to what you would find Pop Rocks in. But did you know that Sea Monkeys can impress friends? When I looked on a website titled subtley Sea Monkey Worship, I found out that Sea Monkeys not only make people calmer around you, and I quote:

‘Many professionals believe that fish and other marine animals make people feel calmer! If you bring your Sea-Monkeys to the office this might just help you with your busy day!’

Oh how delightful the ambience would be with a pet that you can literally ‘put in a glass jar, plastic container, anything you find around!’ Now I was truly intrigued, and thought to myself
‘Now if I had sea monkeys what cool facts could I impress my friends with?’ WELL, the website had all the answers to my questions. Sea Monkeys breathe through their feet! And are also born with one eye, that grows into 3 as they get older. Now this both shocked and amazed, but how, might I ask, are we supposed to verify these facts with a pet that is no bigger than this full stop.

Although, amazingly enough Sea Monkeys impact people’s lives just as much as the household dog.

“They are female I think cause they have a big red lump like sack on their backs. They both mated with a guy and shortly after died on the bottom of the tank. I thought feeding them every 3 days was enough so I don't know if that’s’ the problem. But I'm sad...what happened?”

I know, it’s tough...

Actually, I have to be honest. I am now extremely disturbed because I have come across a section of, wait for it, a section of poetry and haiku’s dedicated to Sea Monkeys, and a sample:

“My sea monkeys are alive right now.
But I'm running out of food for them.
I bet they never even liked that green stuff anyway.
The first one that died was eaten by the rest.
Soon there will be only one left.
And it will slowly waste away.
My sea monkeys refuse to breed.
I think they are the last of a forgotten race.
That is on the highway to extinction.
My last sea monkey died today.
Because it found out"SEA MONKEY FOOD IS PEOPLE!!"

I am not even going to sample more because they disturb me.

But sometimes questions don’t need to be answered. What started out as simple fun led to Haiku’s about sea monkeys, some really odd ones. But I will leave this fabulous question up to you; Sea Monkey: Dream Pet or Dream Threat?

Just as a reference, for more Sea Monkey madness, please check the following link http://www.seamonkeyworship.com/smvideos.html
Or to tickle your curiosity please visit http://www.sea-monkey.com/html/aboutsm/whatarethey.html

Hoons at Macca's

Something has come to my attention again, that ever since I was young enough to know what was going on, I have detested. I remember the days of the late night Macca’s runs with mates. It’s 11pm on a school night and coming from a country town, the only thing open was Macca’s and we would drive all the way into town for our cheeseburger just for something to do. We weren’t the only people with this idea however, yet we were the sensible ones who used McDonald for its intended godly purpose, as a supplier of food and not an automotive centre for 15 yr old girls and 25 yr old guys with crap ford lasers converted into the latest ‘hoon’ machine.

Exhibit A:

Now I live in a wonderful area known for its 24 hours McDonalds. Being close to huge a sporting ground also tends to work against us when late night crowds flood McDonalds, but without fail, EVERYTIME I have been there, I have witnessed at least 3 cars, with 3-4 people, hoods open, bling on, stereo’s pumping. I know everyone has their hobbies, but who when they were young said ‘I know! As my hobby I am going to pump my piss poor stereo at McDonalds because there is nothing more I would like more.’

This may be harsh; it also may be overwhelmingly true, which it is of course. I challenge you all to go down to your local Macca’s and count how many 15 yr old girls with their older boyfriends are lined up with Macca’s coke in hand, doof doofing the night away.

Freedom of Art

I found this fascinating just stumbling around the world wide web.

This is what Brazillian Graffiti artists did in repsonse to the Governement 'decriminalizing' graffiti, they painted all over an actual gallery, over the prints, the walls, the floors. Both acknowledging the value of graffiti as an art form and not just the value of the property it is placed on. But in contrast, Graffiti artists have hit back saying that doing this is the 'marketing, institionalization and domestication of Street Art'. In Brazil the term Graffiti comes from the word Grafite in Portugese, not only refers to the hip hop tradition of writing, but more specifically graphics, colourful peices and painted street art.

I love the statement. I am in awe of it.

penny for your thoughts

RUNNING LIKE A FUGITIVE

idiosyncrasies

Whether you call it an obsession, an irritation, an annoyance or just generally a neurotic bout of OCD everybody has a ‘habit’. The idiosyncrasies which define you, shape you, isolate you or just generally confront you in social situations. To my friends, I am a self confessed sufferer of many subtle and absurd eccentricities which often leave some people guessing, and me just shrugging my shoulders.

To start with, and this may take some time because the passion I feel on this subject is equal the rage it induces in me.
Loud Eaters.

Simple words that boil my blood. I fall victim to this fate often, ever since the days of sitting at the family dinner table next to my loyal father who never took a bite without a loud puffing of breath, or a slight, ever so gentle scrape across the fork. Since the dawn of time this enrage me to the point that I was banned from loud public outburst to people with poor table manners and eating etiquette that I would forcible remove myself from the situation to calm my nerves.
Last night however was one of the most brutal assaults on my ears in history. Bless my housemates, for the fact she snacked on a cob of corn while watching Antique Roadshow, but she did so with the abandon that no-one was in the room...But I was. One of the quietest shows on television and a cob of corn. It started with a bite; I was immediately driven to distraction, then a slurp with a chew. No-one can eat corn quietly I tell myself and set about trying to sooth my nerves. I fail. By the time I gather the courage to leave the room my eye is twitching in rage and I am literally shivering in my room remembering the way it sounded.

Now this may seem exaggerated to you, but I kid not. In a quiet room, I also fall victim to a crippling embarrassment that comes with eating in front of people, for fear in fact that my own chewing will sound like the chewing I so desperately hate. I even go to the point, that my favourite snack food (pretty much plain smiths chips due to various reasons), I will sit quietly, put the chip in my mouth and hope that somehow, I have enough saliva in my mouth that the chips rough texture will be softened and when I finally bite into the chip, it is merely a smoosh, rather than the obnoxious chomp.

Another of these strange annoyances that plagues me is also the use of load packaging in a movie theatre. I know a very lovely girl, who despite best intentions of getting herself the best movie snack ever, somehow ALWAYS would end up with a packet of Nerds rattling between the pink and the purple while the heart break scene of some Germany war drama flashes on the screen. I would not be surprised to find this particular noisemaker with the packet of tic tacs during a minute silence ‘freshening her breath’ or satisfying the latest sugar binge that over took her.

Somehow I must not reveal all my weaknesses, so a few of the more...sensitive ones I will keep to myself. But last, but most of all not least, if my absolute inability to have music blaring loudly while stopped at lights/give way signs/parking or drive throughs. Much to my constant terror, friends have picked up on this phobia and now threaten me during long car trips with blaring music at awkward pauses in the road.

I guess the point of this was to share, but also to understand that we all have very unique habits, eccentricities, almost superstitions which for no other reason than it tweaked us, we respond in completely irrational and socially awkward ways. Please feel free to share anything so I do not come across this page as such a freak. But hey, Virginia Wolf that raging alcoholic, I think she had it right.

“When a subject is highly controversial... one cannot hope to tell the truth. One can only show how one came to hold whatever opinion one does hold. One can only give one’s audience the change of drawing their own conclusions as they observe the limitations, the prejudices and the idiosyncrasies of the speaker”...

SO... here’s to getting to know ME!

Invictus

This was merely to share...


William Ernest Henley. 1849–1903

7. Invictus

OUT of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.


In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.


Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.


It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.



*no timothy mcviegh connection intended...

Ch-Ch-Ch-Chaaaaaanges

Decisions decision decisions. Never one of my strong points in fact, I am severely hindered by the constant drone of both perspectives which often clouds what I really think of my own. It can be disorientating getting lost in the deluge of other people’s lives and opinions. Although as with most people I know, advice is asked for merely as a way for the mind to unravel itself out loud, which is why coffee with friends seems to be such an effective way to alleviate the mind of pressure. We are given both sides of the coin, often more sides of the coin that can possibly exist and from there we stitch, sow and discard the scraps and come up with our wonderfully formed idea that you can credit as being purely your own.

I have undertaken a path of great uncertainty lately, tainted with the inability to make any decisions! I quested over an eternity of thoughts only to come up feeling less sure of anything than I was before. Then my Nan died and it all sort of changed. My perception of the fragility of life again was pushed to the forefront and I thought ‘If not now, then when?’ Will I stall my own life so I succumb to the self imposed pressures of a life that doesn’t seem to fit me? Should I consider the other people in my life that may be effected y this change? Then I thought, simply and truly, no. I have done that all my life and I am always left clinging to myself at the edge of the cliff while everyone forges on across the bridge they built to move on. I suffocate myself with consequences that I have been too afraid to do anything.

Then it changed. No man is an island, but every day of your life you may be in an ocean of people but like the wretched wave none of them will pause and stop breaking upon your shore for you to continue your adventure. No the wave will break and break upon your shore like the thousand years of rain which carve the crevices into the earth, and soon line your face with all their weary.

So we adapt, we change, we make decisions, we make up our minds. In the totality of finally reaching a decision I have stitched the hole you tore right through me, and this life has slowly etched away at each hapless string that frayed from the wound. I am whole, and I take each string and forged them back together with the resolution that life goes on. And somewhere in that vast great world I will find the niche where I can slip you in safely without having to unravel the stitching and change will sweep over me with each wave I refuse to succumb to.

Stuff and Nonsense

You may not notice, but I do. I always notice it all. I see all the little pauses, the space between your breaths. I hear it hammer out like the Morse code instructions to unravel me. Everything that you were had been carefully programmed unknowingly into my sponge like mind and now what to do when something doesn’t compute? I don’t know what that awkward glance is anymore. I don’t know where your mind trails off on its journey before plunging you into sleep. It is in all those little things that make me stumble, that make me pause and hold my breath at the corner to see whether the rise of this hill will make me fall, or whether it will be the next chapter in Odysseus where I can travel away from you.

Although all this I say silently to myself in my head as my iPod drums away into my ears and aligns with each falling step. All this rushes past me with the stench of the cigarette I just lit and the sense of it leaves me with each toxic breath that I spew back out. Always there is only the vague glimmer these days, only the pang occasionally when I pass the place where that joke was made, or watch the ad that had us both in stitches. And then when I know you are with her. I look down at my hands and see the sweat start to bead from each and every poor like the rage I want to seep out and blacken my tongue with. But I don’t, I pause, good girls don’t cry and I am far too proud. I steady the smile and set the jaw, and pace ahead with a fever that only reality can burn through me.

Let it fill me and burn through me the only way real life can and I will feel this rage settle within my veins so soon it is as routine as the constant beating of this heart which prevails through you, through me, and every other mother fucker hell bent on my own personal destruction. I will collapse the structure of myself long before you can peak inside and know where to start.

Yet we evolve and mutate and settle into a new pattern of being and relating.

We must evolve, for without evolution there is no progression and I will be damned if I am stuck in the caves when you roll out the red carpet to the end of the world.

Fiona o'Laughlin: What NOT To Do In Public

Everyone has a rough time sometimes, and what we normally do is turn to some comical relief to try and ease some of those heavy burdens. But I recently found out what it’s like when the shoe is on the other foot and you see some real public meltdowns.

It was a Thursday night, geared up with a few drinks in my belly, a few friends and I stroll out looking for laughs to see Fiona O’Laughlin at QPac. After booking the tickets 6 weeks ago we were just alittle excited to see the action unfold tonight. After running slightly late we shuffle into our seats and sit down for the show. She comes out, making a wonderfully vague entrance. After the first 5 minutes of the show we were convinced her vagueness must have been due to maybe a late night after she excused it as ‘just waking up from a nap’...how professional, but we are seeing her for lack of professionality on stage, so we rolled with it. After 10 minutes, things started heating up with constant pausing, rants, and a stint where she lay down on a lounge on stage like we were watching Masterchief stoned on a Sunday night.

20 minutes in, and the first ticket holders leave, a few squeaks and gasps from the crowd start erupting as more people edge to the end of their seats to leave. As this point, she is clearly intoxicated and swallowed some Valium right before heading on stage and its finally kicked in. It was like watching someone have a midlife crisis on stage and was completely confronting. At the point where more people started to leave, she finally looks up from her drunken ramble and peers out through the lights, ‘What!? You’re leaving? Idiots!’. I look to my friend, pleading with her as we are completely unsure what to do. She gives me a reassuring look as says ‘If it gets worse, we will leave.’ At that point, she fell off the lounge onto the stage and microphone clangs, echoing through the already half empty theatre. It is at this point we cut our losses and rise to leave when the announcement comes on that the show will not go on.

I have never quite experienced something so bizarre as to literally watch a mind shatter so publicly, and in such a work environment. It was brought to mind again whilst the Morning Show announced that she had ‘Collapsed on stage and taken to hospital’. Which I guess in many ways is very true. I could have videotaped myself after half a bottle of tequila and made a better performance I’m sure. With all that said, we learn a vital lesson. When in doubt, go home. Nothing is more embarrassing than losing your mind publicly, and being drunk in a One Woman show. Although, much love to her, we went to see her because her life seems like such a mess it’s fun to laugh at someone else’s crap, so I guess now the show is on the other foot, what happens when the comedian isn’t laughing anymore?

In Instants of Loss

There are many times in life when we face situations which seem almost unparalleled in how difficult overcoming them seems. If I was to centre in on a particular aspect which causes these feelings it would most likely be that of loss. Now recently I have under gone many variations of the term ‘loss’. It actually seems to be some sort of never ending cycle to spiral you down in it. But it is times like these that you truly seem to grasp the essence for the reasons you mourn. Which I guess is the special part; I mean what is a bit of pleasure without being dragged through torture first?

Now in memory of many things, I write this. Many memories recently have been pushed to the forefront, many good memories I should stress. From the song my Nana used to sing to me when I went to sleep, to how I used to look forward to having my morning coffee at work so much, and now it just has slotted into another blistering routine.

Slowly but surely I watched someone lose their mind taking everything they ever held dear to them, to vanish with each breathe that surely would pass unnoticed. I feel that it is in moments like this it is our duty to remember them as only we knew them. It is our duty to remember for them when things won’t ever be recalled and in that we will take comfort. In those strands we still grasp and hold so tightly we wish to absorb them into ourselves forever, we take comfort in the loss of someone truly special to us.

Words are so often not enough, they tend to burn your mouth as they slip out and only the ash remains with your voice. I wish I could put my mind on paper properly. Not with clumsy words like this to try and convey that sometimes we lose things we can never replace, if I had to put a ‘common’ term to it, it is all those Mastercard ‘priceless’ moments, or the ‘kodak’ moments which happen for the instant that seems to last forever. We will always mourn, but to truly know what you have lost you have to look at all the great things that are the reasons you mourn in the first place.

I feel like I have entered some sort of emotional turmoil column but I had to send my love out somehow to those who I now so dearly miss. It is in every little moment you gave me that I will remember you in all the best moments of mine.

Scribble it down

So we end another day with the sun setting, while most of us day roaming-full time workers will only just realise the day actually existed, and the sun doesn’t rise and set when your computer comes off hibernate or not. I have stared today at this computer screen for what seems like an eternity and you wonder why kids are bored when there aren’t any LCD screens around. All we do, all we are trained to do, is use them. The reason we are so IT savvy is because all we have ever learnt is how to utilise this wonderful information technology. You know what? I want a fucking pen pal! I want to receive mail that isn’t in my hotmail inbox or from Telstra. I want someone to send me a postcard with millions of stamps all over it from its long windswept journey half way round the world.

I think there is something to be said when receiving physical mail. Even the way the pages smell (depending on what you getting and where it came from). Now the irony of this whole situation is, I sit here on the computer expressing my views through a blog. If I could mail it out to all my friends and have them read it I would, although, I am a product of my ‘now now now’ generation and want to click ‘send’ and know it will light up your screen at some stage in the next 10 seconds, rather than the next 10 days.

Remember how to write a letter? Remember when we got our pen licence in school? I even had a pen pal in school! She would send me lollies in weird packaging and novelty pens. Of course, at the time I completely under appreciated the sincerity and effort this involved but now, the way to my heart would be to send my lollies in strange wrappers, novelty pens, and all this written in your own hand so I can see when you made a mistake, scribbled out a few lines, doodled on the side of the page when the thoughts weren’t flowing as freely.

I think in a day and age of technology it seems harder and harder to convey true meaning and true desire through your hotmail, face book, text or email. There is something to treasure when someone’s hand has scrawled all over the page, the ink smudging their hand as they think of the thousand things they could write. Then we would really know what it’s like to miss and what it’s like to truly communicate in a very intimate way again. Maybe I am just crazy, or maybe I am thinking of revolting against my keyboard. Either way, I wish someone would send me a letter, because no matter how many emails you get, I just don’t think it equals your name handwritten on the envelope and the stamps that tattoo its freshness all addressed to you, knowing someone has taken the time and effort to write down their thoughts and feeling on a page for you, walked the 15 minutes to the nearest shops, bought the stamp and envelope and flicked it off for some crazed posty to take it my door. Now that is sweet sweet communication.

Through the looking glass...

Now my point here: is to make my point. About anything and everything, from the fact I stood on a staple while working to work to the current global recession. To express freely my thoughts and the perceptions of this vast world in a way that only I can see it.

Everyone seems to have their very own unique reality. This is what makes people so fascinating. The way they tick, think, act, behave and speak. We are sculpted with the same tools, but each create a snowflake of a picture at the end of it, and when they say the mind works in mysterious ways they weren’t kidding. Anyone who says they have it figured out is either joking, deluded and drank way to much Red Bull. But here’s to trying, to voyage at least to figure out the way I see the world or see other’s in this world.

So I want to write this now, sought of as my mission statement. To be honest, to be unfair, to be a bitch, to laugh cruelly at other peoples poor decisions and I’m sure grudge over many of my own. To never being perfect but screaming whatever you feel at the top of your lungs for the hell of it anyway.