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Tuesday, December 23rd, 2008
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10:31 am
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| Monday, December 22nd, 2008
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1:43 pm - 'Non-Smoking Prohibited': My 2008 in review
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I almost typed ‘2009’, such is the haste with which I desire to kiss this year goodbye. It’s been so monumental and confronting and horrible . . . I want to believe it’s just the ‘twenty’ thing and not a hideous taster for the years to come. As I turned twenty on Saturday, I’m now allowed to refer subjectively to this ‘twenty’ thing, though the thing generally has been year-long and observable in all known victims of this terrible age group.
Everybody smokes this year; everybody trained their newly adult fingers to roll a manageable rollie. Not me of course. I tried a romantic cigarette-sharing gesture on a hill at sunset with a smoker-boy I’ve tried to write out of the history books, and in what must have been a wrathful manifestation of God’s will, I wound up coughing the shit out of my lungs for an hour. It was unbelievably embarrassing. Especially because I’ve been making that same gesture (super rarely) since I was maybe twelve and I just never got the hang of it. More importantly still, I just can’t explain to people without hating myself when a joint comes around that hell, though I’d love to, I physically CAN’T SMOKE it; I just can’t damn well smoke it without risking an awful lungy display and the THC wastefully dematerialising.
And so it was that in 2008, all the attributes I used to naively overvalue in people seemed to became pretty irrelevant socially compared with the ability of a given individual to: withstand being outdoors in dodgy weather (because they’re smoking), strike up conversation with almost anyone (because everyone concerned is smoking), pick up almost anyone they want (because of their common interest in smoking), and generally veil their insecurities much more effectively than non-smokers because they can just stand outside in the dodgy weather in between chatter looking relatively stable, breathing in and out like that, as if it’s enough in life just to go breathing in plants.
Everybody went through break-ups in 2008. I went through two. It’s the worst shit ever. I don’t know how anyone goes through several. I don’t know how anyone deals with their incredibly corrosive effect on the soul. That’s scientific. I can feel it. I can feel my soul right now and it’s completely swimming in acid and it has these awful rusted edges that are melting into the acid gradually but perceptibly like polar ice caps into the oceans. A tarot card reader told me I feel ‘eroded’, which is bang-on. And no matter what great experiences I have from day to day, it’s there, and it causes reflux and, and, this curious tear duct problem! So doctor, doctor, I don’t want your cough medicine or your skin grafts, doctor, please! My heart is broken, and if you are a real doctor, if you are a witch(doctor), please can you just bring him back???
I miss my first and only love every day. I can’t move on from him. I don’t understand yet how to do that when I still believe in it. As in, I love him powerfully and I believe in my love for him. Not to would be like ceasing to believe in a God that you believe in instrinsically. But it is such a very finite business. I really don’t want to be twenty and tormented, but I don’t know how not to believe in it. I want to comparmentalise everything within me in such a way that love and longing and memories aren’t tied up with my everyday sense organs but that I’m able to access those things when I need then and can use them creatively. It’s not an option anymore to call and scream “I love you powerfully and believe in my love for you!!! rwooooooooooooarrr” Not again. Every time I do something similar I’m set back for months!! So I’m playing a very one-sided tactical game that involves many grace periods and handicrafts and miracle mascaras. It’s slow. It’s like chess against a bored baby pooing in his nappy and not taking much in. That baby is so fucking useless and bored but you so love it’s ruddy, shitty little body and the abyss behind its eyes.
I can’t go on writing this. Later I might explain more of the twenty thing.
current mood:  cynical
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| Thursday, May 29th, 2008
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7:57 pm - MY CULTURAL STUDIES ASSIGNMENT
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| Saturday, November 17th, 2007
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8:24 pm
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So I finished at work, for now at least (looks like it's going to be part-time when I get back next year, but I am secretly waiting for a divine intervention in the form of the perfect job offer) and it was a wonderful day and they showered my with leaving presents and money (you ba-utey) and I truly thought "how wonderful", and that they meant it about what an asset i'd become, and I prided myself on my growth (as a secretary... and as a person...*cue applause*), and I thought how, despite the stress and boredom and early-morning agony and weakened immune system, that I'd miss the quirkiness of the law firm that refers often to 'Notices of Potion' and 'Daffydavits', and I cleared my desk and my drawers, and I thought I hadn't left a trace on my desk or elsewhere of my messy, hopeless nature that I'd done my darndest for eight months to conceal, and that no one would be any the wiser...then on the bus home, I remembered: I FORGOT TO CLEAR MY COOKIES. nooeoooeehoooo.
Now I must look only to the future.
I arrive at LAX at 6:30am next Sunday the 25th of November.
current mood: snotty
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| Tuesday, October 23rd, 2007
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6:23 pm
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I fell in love with a girl on the bus. Notwithstanding my heterosexuality and my relationship status, I do this a lot. It was love at first sight with this one, and I've seen her twice now. Twice in 3 days. She looks like another pretty girl I know named Hannah, but she has soft blonde hair like the sands of heaven that she wears back in a sweet ponytail, and a dear perfect little fringe. Her skin is white and pink and her eyes are grey and on sunday she wore yellow and white, and today she wore red with navy. She's no wacky dresser, but her clothes are crisp and sweet like her, and she wears these chocolate and vanilla ballet flats that I can't make up my mind about. She is like the colours in default livejournal templates. l loved her most when she sat next to me on Sunday and after a good while pulled a chewy strawberyy lolly out of her bag, casually unwrapped it, popped it in her mouth then repeated the process some minutes later. It's no secret to me why I'm in love with her, for the record. It's just one of the many daily manifestations of my tendancy to be sent into raptures over beautiful things. Also, she's everything I'm not. I'd do a course if it'd teach me to eat lollies with poise and not the way I do, which is like an oafish labrador, thinking always of the next lolly and not of the one I'm eating.
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| Wednesday, October 17th, 2007
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4:35 pm - Voltaire was wrong
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Desk calendar says:
"Work spares us from three evils: bordeom, vice and need"- Voltaire.
Speaking as someone who is currently at work, I must say emphatically that Voltaire was wrong on all three counts. Sorry mate.
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, October 15th, 2007
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8:38 pm - ode to bees
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I wake up sweaty and my waking chases the bees away. I have a lot of thoughts in the next few seconds, disguising themselves as one long thought. First, fear. Then, that there are no bees to be heard anywhere in the room, and that that seems normal. Then that I can feel the intact length of my clammy body against a sheet. My searching hand seizes upon a pillow, askew but nonetheless right there at the head of the bed. That all seems ok as well. The laws of probability are shining favourably on me: this is none other than my beeless bedroom, and I am me. While that thought is exercising its sobering juices on my brain, I get to thinking I've never once woken up in a fearful sweat, that i've achieved a life goal, and that I must tell my boyfriend. Then as soon as I'd forgotten them, I remember the bees, and the nightmare comes flooding back. Again I experience the vengeance of the surging bees, and the many other now wraiths that had blazed a cruel credenza up to them.
I sense how it all started someone with two staples, innocuous seeming, boring down into my two soft thumbs. An horrific accident; how did it happen, nobody knows. A voice asked 'Are you OJAY'? (not are you okay!) and i felt so queasy so quickly. I fell backwards in agony, or surprise, and i tumbled or drifted or somehow else arrived at the ground, but the ground was not ground as we know it, it was 10 souls per metre Nightmare-Ground and it twisted as an accordian might and sounded fatally as a non-professional accordionist might sound, and sharp and venemous enemies were encroaching fast. Scorpians and industrial sized toothpicks and chomping blades of computer game slaughter-grilles sought me (for what, I couldn't know!) It was so much at once to take, all these talons were so long they'd pierce a tall-standing, boulder-dispositioned buffalo and confine it to a wheelchair forever (and) more!! Soon I was seeing red. red boat, red breeze and no portal to blue. Someneverknowhow I was lifted or wrestled out of the red. I realise only now that I owe my am-i-even-awake-the-sun-never-rises-if-a-tree-falls-in-the-woods, sleepy, falling back to sleep now life to the bees who shall hereafter be called angels who shall hereafter call themselves the royal flying doctors, blessed be their stripes.
current mood:  dreamy
current music: Australian Idol
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, October 11th, 2007
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10:05 pm - some thoughts
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-Six weeks til I leave, wanna start packing now, think I might start heaping some jumpers and socks in a corner
-It alarms me how many of the sweetest romances seem to be breaking up. Heath and Michelle... way to go and seriously break my heart.
I've had some other thoughts recently but I need some beauty sleep. Feeling vaguely wretched. Goodnight fucklords.
:/
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, September 6th, 2007
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9:56 pm
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Oh Sydney-sider,
Work-day hater,
Public holiday reveller
(you can say that again)
(with a megaphone)
Oh Sydney-sider,
Cancer-licking,
Sunshine dancer.
Your APECtoral muscle
screaming,
publicising
'An extra day!'
What possibilities can this day know-
How extensively can possibly fructify
the nector of twenty-four hours?
How now, oh, gay Sydney-sider
May you wring real brilliances
from this one,
likely blustery
September day.
current mood: public holiday
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, August 26th, 2007
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7:21 pm - ahhh
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Avant La Haine (Romain Duris & Joanna Preiss)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_LH6sqKGrU
Lui :
Sais-tu ma belle que les amours
Les plus brillantes ternissent
Le sale soleil du jour le jour
Les soumet au suplice
J'ai une idée inattaquable
Pour éviter l'insupportable
Avant la haine, avant les coups
De sifflet ou de fouet
Avant la peine et le dégout
Brisons-là s'il te plait
Elle :
Mais je t'embrasse et ça passe
Tu vois bien
On s'débarrasse pas de moi comme ça
Tu croyais pouvoir t'en sortir,
En me quittant sur l'air
Du grand amour qui doit mourir
Mais vois-tu je préfère
Les tempêtes de l'inéluctable
A ta petite idée minable
Avant la haine, avant les coups
De sifflet ou de fouet
Avant la peine et le dégout
Brisons-là dis-tu
Lui :
Mais tu m'embrasses et ça passe
Je vois bien
On s'débarrasse pas de toi comme ça
Lui :
Je pourrais t'éviter le pire
Elle :
Mais le meilleur est à venir
Ensemble :
Avant la haine, avant les coups
De sifflet ou de fouet
Avant la peine et le dégout
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, August 13th, 2007
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7:04 pm
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Might lose job. Made mistake, quoted the office account number wrongly (one digit fuckup) in an email to a client, he transfered $1500 (irretrievably so it seems) to god knows where. Won't know my fate until the boss gets back from freakin holidays in a week's time and has a "serious talk" with me. after i've done my "soul searching" (hellOO, just call me Captain Soulsearch) to figure out "why I didn't check" (i know perfectly well why, for the record- i was in an upset rage over mistreatment from a colleague when i was instructed to send the email in question...but i realise that's hardly the point).
Honestly why does life have to be so cruel, I try so hard...
This is so bad because, aside from the obvious, I have $891.42 in my savings account, hardly enough for:
1. Los Angeles (25th-28th November)
2. New York (28th Nov-3rd Dec)
3. Paris (4th Dec-???)
5. Spain (??? Dec- ??? January)
6. London and wherever else the breeze blows me (20th January-5th Feb)
(plus eleven hours in tokyo on my way home :D)
INCIDENTALLY, WHO WANTS TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO IN THE AFOREMENTIONED PLACES?
This is really not good. I have to pray for my job methinks.
WHO HAS A TEMP JOB LINED IF FOR ME IF I GET FIRED?
Motherfucker, I can't believe this.
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| Monday, July 23rd, 2007
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11:44 am - good morning sick day
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Since reading and being soul-smacked by ‘Tender is the Night’, a display cabinet full of many of the world’s rarest and richest passages, I find my brain, more intensely that usal, trying to pin sublime descriptions to every feeling, non-feeling and feeling so infinitesimal so as to become huge again (that I may have at any given time of day or night) that signals to me an apparent visceral poetry. I’ve been my harshest critic for a long time, but to become my own permanent stenographer (and with such limited success) is really quite worse. If I were anthing of a writer, my little sickness would indeed by a heavenly present, but it is not fruitful. To describe it:
When I feel something that conjures my monkey, I get a seamless, looping mental scene comprised of a series of superimposed images diving and spreading toward nevernever. The most vivid is of a disembodied voice running off what I’ll call soundings. I hear the SOUND my feelings would take on in the hands of an expert narrator, be it, perhaps, Fitzgerald (oh damn you, ‘Tender’, damn you), or someone else (if there’s an equal! For the sake of somethingerother, say there is). I hear the cadences of the thing, much like dialogue in a dream, and hear every component of my feeling forming gorgeous assonant syllables. The soundings then develop a gentle but assured momentum and I see them invisibly traversing a rolling hillside. More in the foreground than the hillside is a hand, not mine, mimicking the motion of the hillside, but moving rather more liltingly than the hillside (which carries the soundings forward in a fast, forward-moving wave).If you were a passenger deciding whether to take a train ride over either the hand’s course or that of the soundings across the hillside, I’d advise you to take the hand, if you wanted to see more scenery. Yet, the soundings, the hand and the hillside are not really distinct from eachother, so it’s kind of a moot point.
Anyway, finally, almost simultaneously but not really, the ill-formed, would-be words are now letters emerging as typescript across a page, the soundings of course still trying audibly to fashion some meaning from the rhythm of the motley letters.Then, pissed off, knowing the scene cannot progress in its current state, I will it to implode like a collapsing chair, and it passes to somewhere out of sight, still diving and spreading.
There’s so so much more to say, but no place right to start from.
current mood:  sick
current music: Neil Young
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, February 17th, 2007
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6:18 pm
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YAY, I am to be on the big screen at the Latin American Film Festival!
http://www.mca-tix.com/event.asp?pID=844. I'm in a scene from 'El Nero's trip' showing at the Chauvel on Mon the 26th as a part of Spotlight on Local Filmmakers. I'm an extra but sort of not, because stylised mimed acting was involved. I'm yet to see the film but I have this suspicion that said stylised mimed acting wasn't pulled off too well on my part. But it should be interesting/very embarrassing to see anyway.
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| Tuesday, February 6th, 2007
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4:09 pm
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I am starting Spanish lessons.
current mood:  bored
current music: Nina Simone- My Baby Just Cares for Me
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, January 11th, 2007
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7:53 am
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| Sunday, December 24th, 2006
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4:01 am - Some pictures + critical appraisal of the state of my life/teeth
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( Some pictures from my party aka Mature Young Adults Tangle Themselves in the Streamers )
So, Christmas fast approaches and as always, certain folks find it hard to muster the cheer and egg nog the holiday demands. Of course I hate to be a naysayer, but for the sake of honesty, which is also a festive trait, I'll name them here in order of the gravity of their wrongdoing.
#4 Our table-decoration sized blow-up tree, which hasn't even emerged from the cupboard this year to spread about a square metre of cheer.
#3 Me. I'm only in it for the prawns.
#2 My mother. She and my step-dad are leaving me on Christmas day to go the way of the modern atheist pilgrim- the New Zealand wilderness. There they plan to live on boiled nettles and sea-kayak their way to nirvana. Some reasons given for their untimely peregrination include "I don't believe in Christmas anyway" "i'm not Christian" "it's all commercial" and "i can't afford it." Mummy, mummy, hasn't Western living taught you to make immeasurale sacrifices of faith and pocket, for the family whom you loathe? Santa won't be visitng YOU in the mountains. I'll be spending Christmas with Dean's family, good Christians... from Mullumbimby. See, you can be a hippie AND a traditionalist.
#1 Employers. How these lowlives can decorate their trees and take charge of the pavlova with the knowledge I remain unemployed is anybody's guess. While they're eating premium Christmas cakes this season, I'll be indulging in the Tip-top variety, regularly shown up to contain vermin, bicycle spokes and shoelaces.
Now, the truth of it. Many things are getting me down. I have become a real social invalid. Even around close friends, my attempts at conversation ring as hollow as a hermit crab's evacuated shell. I find it hard to make eye contact, I swerve around uncomfortable encounters, instead looking to the ground for treasure (and food scraps) (not quite). The moments i'm enjoying are more like paintings than anything else. I watched a film last night, 'Kika', another Almadovar.... INTERJECTION. THERE'S A CD WITH FLUTE PLAYING AND BIGGIE IS HOWLING BUT IT'S REAL TUNEFUL... HE SOUNDS LIKE A CASIO... yes, to resume, in the film, there's character who takes polaroids of he and his girlfriend when they're having sex so he can get off. I haven't reached such a degree of perversity but i relate in that everything feels like art, not life. I like looking in the mirror, as if to frame myself in a setting, to develop a sense of what's beautiful about me in a particular context. I look looking in the mirror at both of us when i'm with Dean, admiring, say, our backs' incline, or my hair sticking up a certain way, or simply a certain romantic, peaceful 'je ne sais quoi' that one would look for in an artwork. I try and look as zen as I can, then take solace in feeling 'beautiful', but not beautiful becaue i'm perfect, beautiful because I'm poised. I think it's different to vanity.
I am sad becasue i haven't written anything since school, and I don't feel especially inspired, or capable.
I need a job badly. I can't get by. I'm going to inquire about Youth Allowance after the public holiday. I've been applying for appropriate jobs, but by mum doesn't entirely believe i'm 'trying very hard', which is driving me mad. I know she nags because she can't afford to support me financially, but she keeps dishing out this 'you're 18 now' stuff, meanwhile implying 'you're being lazy and immature'. It's hard enough for me trying to reconcile my own hopelessness, and the sense of feeling like an 8 year old who'd prefer to hide under tables at restaurants, with being an adult in the eyes of the law and having to make adult decisions. I'm scared of getting a job where my incompetence will be loudly displayed, too.
What else. I miss acting, oh boy! Maybe i'll join a theatre group next year, and if i get the money, get an agent.
I'm going to Mebourne in January with my sweetie. I can't wait, though I don't have a cent yet. I will feel like captain of a ship. Of course that's a progressive lady-captain with a lady-like dress for warm-weathered sea-faring and spotting birds painted in thick creams with purple undertones. I'll be able to introduce Dean to somewhere i'm fairly familiar with, knowing the navigational landmarks, and a bit about seafaring, but still getting the thrill of different environments. I can take advantage of legal drinking in the bars of st kilda, but not the kind of drinking that makes the seas turbulent. Drinking to make the sailing smoother, giving way to the twinkling lights of piers and then to sleepless nights from raucous bloody europeans drinking downstairs with the effing cargo.
current mood:  peaceful
current music: Captain Planet Theme
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(9 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, December 20th, 2006
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12:12 am - OHYEAH. I FORGOT.
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| Tuesday, December 19th, 2006
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10:05 pm - MIGHTY KEVIN YOU RIPPER!
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At the beginning of Year 12 I set what seemed to be an ambitiously high yet desirable target UAI of
"97.8.... Mighty Kevin the Great".
Dudes, they calculate these things to two decimal places.
Guess what I saw when I opened the page this morning?
NSW UAI:
97.80
Amazing.
current mood: chipper
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9:00 am - MYYY HSC.
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Here is THAT table I've been waiting for, that which arbitrarily quantifies my success in high school, and bizarrely determines my eligibilty for tertiary study. I have indicated areas of pleasant surprise with an asterix, those of mild disappointment with a French circumflex, and substantial disappointment with two. circumflexes. The rest is as predicted.
It's exam mark, followed by assessment mark, followed by HSC mark, followed by band (1-6 for 2 Unit subjects, E1-E4 for 1 Unit subjects).
Drama
96/100,97/100,97,6
English (Advanced) 90/100,89/100,*90,6
English Extension 1
ˆ40/50,47/50,44,E3
English Extension 2
ˆˆ37/50,47/50,42,E3
Modern History
ˆ90/100,90/100,90,6
French Continuers
90/100,90/100,*90,6
Now let's away with these nonsense digits, and delight simply in having (more or less) excelled, most likely enough to get into my desired course and again lap up the spoils of Australia's eduuumacation system. :) Peaceout!
current mood:  exanimate
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, December 13th, 2006
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9:03 am
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Tomorrow I'm going to call about a job advertsised in the paper as a Santa's Little Helper in the ten days up til christmas. Thumbs way up.
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