new hobbies

I'm giving up writing. Not that it is stale, or boring, but because I think I am done with it, time to put down the pen and pick something else up. I'm really getting into cooking, it is such an easy craft and something you can take with you anywhere in life, and I really want to start to do some water colour work as well. I am excited about the idea of art school, as a way to develop myself in another area, to learn about the world of colours. Writing about this reminds me of the great little segment in Night on Earth, where a blind woman tells her taxi driver about how she feels colour, and he'll never understand. It was great.

So no more of the writing, it is too frustrating.. I don't enjoy it anymore, and when you lose passion you find something else worthy

hungry

I've got a hankering for

-cheds or pizza shapes, cheds mostly
-a corny vampire film, or one about fallen angels
-a chocolate milkshake
-red lemonade
-a hug

dusk

The last couple of nights have been weird. Whether because it is coming to that time of the month or the weight of gloomy weather, but I sat on my couch last night and cried solidly for a few minutes. I've been feeling the breeze a bit more, the things I want to do, and how much I want to do them, pulling at me, my feelings for someone to whom I'm nothing, and the frustration in my repeating the same fate every week.. being low on money, which stresses me so much. I don't know how to do it.. once groceries are done, necessary buys and rent and paying off some debt... then I'm left with only a bit.. I guess it is my approach to. I could spread it out a little.

I'm doing well, feel a lot better today, don't why the last two days I've been feeling sad for. I think it's my hormones, the week before my doodahs I get moody, emotional.. not a week to watch dead man because then I become fatalistic and far too wistful. Far too thinking I'm beyond the here and now (which sometimes I don't even need art to inspire in me as a feeling) but it is there none the less.

Vellum is a book I'm really enjoying. Some awesome imagery in it. I'd like to read some Tom Robbins now that I have heard a bit more about him.

And I want to write. Write tonight.

I do like getting home at twilight and sitting with the back door open, typing up some ideas. There is something to that hour.

Now, if I can push away the feeling in my gut, tugging, my loving someone, I'll be fine. Just let go..
Move on

blink

my eyelids are heavy. I had a paranoid, worried, frantic sleep last night. I kept having weird dreams that felt like they took all night and I would awake to see I'd only been sleeping half an hour or two hours. Succession of worry, in my head, about work (for no reason really other than some tension), and my friend, and the music in my living room. I love that cd so much, I love it.

I read on wikipedia a description of a song I like, where the writer says " ghost of electricity howling from the bones of Dylan's face..." which I find a great depiction of Dylan in this song. I told someone on the phone about this and he went on raving bitterly that a critic can't describe Dylan that they are putting too much fantasy on him and that is unfair... Isn't that what I'm not there was, what we both loved? One big fantasy, psychedelic dream, parts surreal warp...

so many people are so very negative. I'm so over these people.

kill your darlings

I warp
I wander/Wonder
a heartbeat through the oceans
picked up by sonar script and heart print
a bouncing lunar dance
stretching me out, fingers screaming (now)down a cosmic windscreen.
I steer us closer
and you clutch me undercover
tell me to be a lover
Seek out the hardest thoughts
and crack them to pummel to pulp
you give me wings rather than clip them

Angel, little defiant star

continuation - control

I've changed this week. Exerted some self control, made some decisions, decided to no longer counter act my good will with poor judgement and no self control.

I've been walking home and feeling clearer for it, softer, have more clarity, vibrancy, focus, happier, energetic, eating well and allowing myself one treat a day, as well as writing and making the effort to sit down to churn some ideas. And I'm not worrying, not being paranoid and placing importance on what may not even be real, those factors we add to our lives by having fears. I don't believe in them.

I'm taking better care of myself, more pride and respect in my manner, my appearance, my relations. I am more engaging now, more fluid, honest.

I do believe for the first time in my life that I have needed the bad things that have happened and the shitty people to push me onto a better path, and that is only because of my unyielding optimism that I have not let them drown me.

I am very happy with who I am. I feel that I have come a long way and am now the person I want to be, living the life I want to live, and not applying others rules on me, not changing for anyone, not invoking or inviting horrors in.

This is perhaps the most liberated I have ever been. All cobwebs have fallen down. Any doubts I had died with my fears. I feel electric.

do it

If I need to get somewhere I'll walk there.

I have a reserve of strength, fortitude, love, serenity, optimism inside me that I am only now learning about.

I am healthy, I am happy. I haven't felt so much myself before.

I think I found me.

articulation times two

I caught up with Mary last night. I think my eyes are mirrors or windows, sometimes, to another place. In them, in a mind link of some kind, she saw exactly what I was speaking of. I love our catch ups. We equally fascinate the other. I love learning from her, she is an enchantress.

Life is so good.

together

I no longer feel frayed.

I've reached a point, a break through, where I am all that I wanted to be. Sure, there are goals I haven't yet reached, challenges not yet accomplished, people yet to meet, music yet to make, but I'm actually doing the things I have feared, learning the miracle of experimentation, and that it is healthy.

I've had a lover lately, I thought for a while it was something I wanted in my life, that I was ok with the emptiness of NSA sex. But that is not what I want. I think that is a cop out, of sorts.

To wait and share it with someone who loves every secret place of you, who worships you, who creates the feeling with you..a sultry, sensual tableture on sweaty sheets, THAT is "hot" THAT is beautiful.

I'm not going to see him again, avoid him where I can, talk to him only where I have to. I know he is seeing someone else and at first I was dismayed, hurt, and then it all just disappeared and I realised, in the face of something I feared happening, I actually don't care. And that feels good.
I guess I place reactions out there before the shit has even hit the fan. Sometimes we can delightfully surprise ourselves.

And I'm scared about the feelings I kind of have for someone else. I wonder if they are transient, if this is borne of some rose-tinted affair I have with the mystic side.

I am happy to be alone.

And I am happy with who I am. Loyal, fun, sincere. Optimistic, friendly. I've encountered people lately, and today very much so, that are on the defensive.

I'd hate to live in a cage,

ruminations

all day yesterday objects kept dropping, falling, colliding with gravity.
I made mental notes of this but I couldn't say why then, and can't now.

Teardrops make a sound. Raindrops too. Everything has a tonal force, in the weight of their footsteps.

On New Years Eve a guy came up to me and grabbed my face, in the too-bright of the kitchen light, and he looked into my eyes, and I could hear his fingers on my cheeks, and he said.. "why didn't anybody tell me" and gestured behind him with full lips and that boyish chin, and kept his eyes on mine, hypnotised, seemingly, and I didn't know quite what to do other than to stare right back, and smile, and frown, unsurely.

I had a man gaze into my eyes at one place of employment and told me my eyes were good for diagnosis.

But I don't see anything than what the person next to me sees. If I put anything on my senses it is gossamer, it is fragile, it is not really there.

I had strange dreams this weekend. I was in a small town, like a western town, and was waiting for my Mother, who is deceased, and I got the impression she was to appear on stage, her ghost, or her, back from the dead and very much alive. A woman next to me who had been in this same town dream last year, was talking to me as she always does in my dream about all sorts of things but I cannot remember what, other than she is taunting me, to make me jump up, maybe she is Gotcha. I get the feeling she fancies me in this gloomy way, and I always weave my way out of the crowd. Like I do in the dream before, with Dylan, and knowing what Love ought to feel like.

But I figured yesterday, sitting on the beach, after writing lovers initials into the sand, that would disappear with the wind and the surf, that it doesn't matter. What we see and hear and feel, yes it makes our everyday more vivid, but essentially for every photo we take, for ever kiss we share, it is to remember the moment that will end as quickly as it begun. We're all frantic collectors of moments.

beeeep

I'm thinking of looking into clairvoyance or something.. I've started realising that I have something spooky going on and noticing all sorts of things that keep happening. I get senses about people, and I've come to see I'm always right.

I think it'll be interesting to look into, in either case.

what I did

I dyed my fringe blue.
It's like a lagoon greeny blue. I don't really like it.

I had a meeting today at work. I've been slacking. Been distracted. Time to clean up or get out, right? Righhhtt. So I'm going to. Am. Doing.

And for the first time in many months I did my tarot. Got the Strength, Judgement cards which make perfect sense, and the Moon, which was and partly is the state I am in.

Going to think 'yellow' from now on. I can't believe my friend saw it. I said I saw Magenta and she gasped and exclaimed, "that's my favourite colour"

Haven't decided yet whether I'm just damn good at diagnosis, am wormholing some how (not Darko style, I swear) or am clairvoyant. She says I am.

Still seeing Angels every where.

clerks 2

is funny as all hell.
I have been missing out.

Shit.

bitten

I feel clear and certain today. And light. I woke up feeling curiouser than the day before, as though some giant weight exited my body in sleep.

I'm happy. Arranged my mind to suit. No more grief.

I'm making some scenes this weekend for the film. I love that I'm twenty two and shopping for fake blood in my lunch hours.

Dardanelles were weird and wonderful as usual. I wish my Sister saw these bands. The horror on her face would be hilarious.

I swear, her and I cannot get any more different. I'm concerned with bloody angels, acquiring bruises, sex, loud experimental music and piercing myself in places a good girl doesn't and she is bead making, scrap booking, Butterfly Boucher listening to, floral print wearing, sex after thirty moving to Sylvania Waters Fiona... The gap is a fucking canyon in difference. I love her so hard.

runaway

I want to be a runaway this weekend.

Hop onto a bus and go for a ride. Get tired and fall asleep and wake up sticky with melted candy and really hungry.

I used to joke that I'd catch the bus to Sefton, in high school, to be weird.

Maybe I will.

guts

I found cat gloves to wear for the masquerade tonight.

My room is a shitfight. Somewhere are my cat ears.

..give me strength.

dum de dum dum dum

My shitkicking Newtown bestie, Karina, reckons we should form a band.
Does the world understand how much this tugs at the old heart strings?
I'm touched, someone else wants to scream and kick and punch and wham her way into the world of music as much as I do.

We would be so hawt.

I've tried several times in the past four years to start a band. One actually had the minds for it but then one moved away and the other revealed themselves as a nutcase. Another guy borrowed my copy of 'Dirty' and never gave it back and my latest option has disappeared.

I'm making music whatever the case. I have so many ideas in mind. Experiments in sound, thrashing, angry, yelling, tormented, wonderful rock.

screwball things

I'm frustrated as all hell.



I need a cheeseburger happy meal.

dead poets

I chanced upon some writings of Anne Sexton. Her work is very sex driven, and reverent and then she went and stuck her head in an oven at 46. What a cop out. Not to mention, unoriginal. Suicide is not glamourous at all. I don't understand and won't pretend to, why artists and some people find it that way. It is the end. Whether you go on into the next life or hover around as a ghost, you're not your current chemistry, the miracle of that. I find who we are, circuitry and shit, fascinating and I think humans are amazing machines.

Anyway, so I was thinking about how I perceived things for a long time.

Even sex was cerebral.

Now I let myself have pleasure and laughter in everything and it is so much better. I like logic, and rationale', but moments lose their wonder and the expiry date is reached all too soon if we keep giving 'reason' to that which we engage in.

I had a friend of mine literally whispering in my ear for an hour yesterday about LSD (to which I mispronounced as LCD.. "I want some LCD mannnn" because I rock in a dorky way) and how he can now look at everything and everthing has a life.
And? was all I could think.

Anyone can look at a rose or a tree or a person and be amazed by the fact it has a soul, an energy, that it deserves to be on earth. The tree breathes, it is what we breathe, and a rose wilts and dies.. This is why I am adament that drugs are for the borings. I would like to try composing something after having pot but I do not concern myself with going out there and living my life based on that cycle.

I believe in the power of childhood. In remaining simple and not too guarded and enjoying small things, silly things, being light hearted. It is wise.

I've always been tapped into my better self, always been a smart person. It is moments like yesterday when I am so proud of who I am. Even now, I get butterflies writing this. I could have been such a failure. And I think it is because I perceive myself as a strong, loyal to life person, not a "survivor" or a "victim". I do feel grief when I am alone too much, and I am reminded of my parents, and then everything that doesn't work at that time becomes bigger than it is, more significant, and I start hating myself and my life.. always happens around Christmas, New Years, even my Birthday. But I don't give in. I never give in. I think there is enough insinuation in all this writing so far I don't need to write further than this..

Anyway, with ceremony, I find it ick, because I have difficulty in celebrating something that for so long has not felt important to me. To give, to share warm times with friends and family is great, but that is all it is. I respect and love and give out as much as I can from my heart to those closest to me every day. I don't need a day of the year to do it more.

So, maybe what I'm saying, is that while I'm a human miracle machine, and while I am proud, and while I too have my hiccups, I feel absolutely happy and ready to ride whatever may come my way. I don't even think about the shit anymore, I feel like I've cried for the last time, and everything from here on in is clear and straight as an arrow.

today is a sad day

my bruise is gone. faded, just a brown smudge on my arm.

Ring the bells, and mourn. It was the ugliest mother fucker this skin has seen.

fey & firmament

Outside I remembered an old skin, before I drew up the zip on this one. Not so much the flesh, but the feeling of that body, before I was Me, when I was a sylph, or a happy phantom.

I still feel that way and it convinces me of my origins.

The delight and space-like careening when doing what could be anything, anywhere. It's an awareness of the deception of time, the threads that make the veil. Like Nietzche said, what we see is actually only half of it..

I like to submerge myself now and again, and surface. Refreshed and glistening.

I don't like to talk this way much, because then I get dreamy and distracted and morose. But it must be done, outstanding ideas have to be put down.

This is almost like a cubbyhouse this blog for my most expansive self.

loose change

I want him to think of smoke, and honey and early morning kisses when I'm not there.
Whether akin to my quiet singing voice, or that he knows me so well he sees this and the plume of feathers, ornate gold mirror frames, shadowed velvet, barefeet running, throwing him into walls lore of my locked up heart.



I am the kind that bites her lip and grins when she is singed.
and he'll be the kind with the paper-cut fingertips and culprit glare, ashtray nearby in his dark wooded mending, our blood running the same course. He'll hold the scoring key to my breast and testify to the galaxies between him and my thighs., seen through the locksmithery of my eyes.

shadowed

this is my gnarliest possession.

The antics of an unruly youth >>>.. And when I start skating I'm bound to get more. Doth the ear detect a "coooooool, man" being uttered? Of course. I still climb trees, fences, run amuck barefoot whenever I get the chance.