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Q: Why do I feel so shit?
A: Have been listening to Cat Power for almost an hour now.
A: Have been listening to Cat Power for almost an hour now.
November 30th, 2009
November 24th, 2009
A dark, warm blanket draws close around the whole city & well into the burbs. The city takes on a completely different vibe in the summer because it's hot late into the night and everyone's so glad when the sun finally goes down. All tucked into this hazy existence in the same, uncomfortably sweaty bed with no way out.
You can go crazy in heatwaves like this because there's very little respite unless you've got killer air con or work in a cinema. We're all so pissed off cause we can't sleep and the trains are always late and you've only got one fan at home and you have to wait for ages for a tram and walk all the way home with your heavy bags of shopping.
We all clutch at available support on the trams & trains - when they eventually get there - like we're done for if we let go. We can see our reflections in other people's faces. Not just cause we're sweating & so are they, but we all wear the same tired and angry expression. We carry bags under our arms & our eyes.
You can't take any more clothes off. You wonder again & again how you survived last year & how you're going to survive another. Then you remember yes, it felt the same. And it goes on and on and on.
November 23rd, 2009
at uni there's a stop smoking campaign run by the student union
where they got you to donate your cigarettes to them
'every cigarette takes 11 minutes off your life'
'what would you do if it was your last 11 minutes'
every time i pass it i think it should be more like
'what are you going to do with your last 11 minutes'
where they got you to donate your cigarettes to them
'every cigarette takes 11 minutes off your life'
'what would you do if it was your last 11 minutes'
every time i pass it i think it should be more like
'what are you going to do with your last 11 minutes'
November 9th, 2009
November 1st, 2009
I have left my Melbourne home to seek solace in the country. Solace from my family; old, reliable things from memories. All so romantic! My cats are going batty and my bedroom smells of their pee. This place calms me wih its familiarity.
Lately I've been whining about my housemate and her boyfriend to anyone who will listen. So here it goes: I'm bothered by the way he seems to be over all the time. I just don't like coming home and knowing that he's going to be there. Of course, it's exactly the opposite for her, which I understand and it's fine. But it really does bother me when I can't relax in my own lounge room because it smells like bacon and he's playing some crap games on his ps3, using up our wireless to function with it, adding to how he already uses our internet and our electricity and water of course. All these bills that I generally pay because I'm the one with money in my bank account. Not that she doesn't have money, but I'm just.. I dunno, soft? I forget to ask her to repay me and then she doesn't do the dishes for days and days until I start on the mountain of them and.. I think I'm really fed up of it. I want my house to look nice. I want it to be tidy and not to smell like boy. I like my house and it's mine. I feel like a stranger there, like I'm imposing or just not meant to be there.
So it is nice being back here where I am wanted. I made gnocchi from scratch (I took photos. I guess I could post them here sometime) and I've been playing the piano and I'm trying to do some craft projects but I've got one final assignment to do for uni that should take me about a day if I'm a good girl. I have to go back to Melbourne to work as well. Plus I just want to go back and go out and be social and do wonderful things with wonderful people. I'm going to England in December with family - I have to fly on my own because I complained about missing my work Christmas party and then the Christmas party date was changed so I miss it anyway. Shouldn't have complained. But then again, it'd be kinda lame being on a plane with my family for 23 hours. Just sayin'.
Being home makes me feel a whole lot less dramatic. Just so much calmer.
Last night some of my friends from high school came over and we drank wine and ginger beer and cider outside because it was warm late into the night. First we talked about existing, then we talked about sex. It's only natural.
Last week it was my twentieth birthday and I had a four day birthday extravaganza. I had a really nice blurry one night stand with some young nice boy. By young I mean a year younger. I need to stay away from younger boys. Even though this was only a year and in the past I've only done a month or so younger, I just really feel the difference. They are so sweet and nice. This particular boy was quite nice to me and it was a good experience. Anyway I don't know where I'm going with this. Oh I was going to say that I've just decided that I can't go many days without dancing. It's something that's become imperative to sustain my happiness. So I went to this gig on Saturday and as it became Sunday, my birthday, I was dancing to one of my favourite bands (favourite, despite my non-subcrush on one of its members. by non subcrush I mean I used to have a slight crush on him because he would email me from time to time, but now I just feel compelled to talk to him and speak loudly about him when I go to their gigs. I'm really weird.) to one of their best songs which just goes "i'm not scared i'm not scared i'm not scared i'm not scared" and really that was for me the best and somehow most meaningful way for me to enter my twenties and if I can share that anywhere I think it's on livejournal.
Today I went to this arts festival in a small town near Horsham where ferals in cowboy hats and beautiful shoes (so they're not really vegan ferals. just hippy ferals) live. Dads with dreads and mums in overalls and sequins tote their children around to different gigs. It was just a kind of magical, quiet experience in this tiny old town on the highway towards Adelaide. A beautiful boy with curly hair and baggy clothes was around taking photos, riding around in one of those green machines, followed by an entourage of equally beautiful boys with lovely shoes. I took off my shoes, despite the heat, and wandered barefoot through this emporium in an old, old garage. Collected things. A nice record player that I would have purchased had I twenty five dollars on me.. or if I had speakers to hook it up to.. or records.. I would so do records if I could afford to buy them. Plus even though I really enjoy the experience of putting on records, I'm not altogether convinced of their audio quality.
My OCD kitty wants me to go to bed now and I think I should embrace the opportunity to stray from the nerdscreen and read. Read a goddamn book, Susan. I'll do a photo post soon, so you can see some of the things I do sometimes.
Lately I've been whining about my housemate and her boyfriend to anyone who will listen. So here it goes: I'm bothered by the way he seems to be over all the time. I just don't like coming home and knowing that he's going to be there. Of course, it's exactly the opposite for her, which I understand and it's fine. But it really does bother me when I can't relax in my own lounge room because it smells like bacon and he's playing some crap games on his ps3, using up our wireless to function with it, adding to how he already uses our internet and our electricity and water of course. All these bills that I generally pay because I'm the one with money in my bank account. Not that she doesn't have money, but I'm just.. I dunno, soft? I forget to ask her to repay me and then she doesn't do the dishes for days and days until I start on the mountain of them and.. I think I'm really fed up of it. I want my house to look nice. I want it to be tidy and not to smell like boy. I like my house and it's mine. I feel like a stranger there, like I'm imposing or just not meant to be there.
So it is nice being back here where I am wanted. I made gnocchi from scratch (I took photos. I guess I could post them here sometime) and I've been playing the piano and I'm trying to do some craft projects but I've got one final assignment to do for uni that should take me about a day if I'm a good girl. I have to go back to Melbourne to work as well. Plus I just want to go back and go out and be social and do wonderful things with wonderful people. I'm going to England in December with family - I have to fly on my own because I complained about missing my work Christmas party and then the Christmas party date was changed so I miss it anyway. Shouldn't have complained. But then again, it'd be kinda lame being on a plane with my family for 23 hours. Just sayin'.
Being home makes me feel a whole lot less dramatic. Just so much calmer.
Last night some of my friends from high school came over and we drank wine and ginger beer and cider outside because it was warm late into the night. First we talked about existing, then we talked about sex. It's only natural.
Last week it was my twentieth birthday and I had a four day birthday extravaganza. I had a really nice blurry one night stand with some young nice boy. By young I mean a year younger. I need to stay away from younger boys. Even though this was only a year and in the past I've only done a month or so younger, I just really feel the difference. They are so sweet and nice. This particular boy was quite nice to me and it was a good experience. Anyway I don't know where I'm going with this. Oh I was going to say that I've just decided that I can't go many days without dancing. It's something that's become imperative to sustain my happiness. So I went to this gig on Saturday and as it became Sunday, my birthday, I was dancing to one of my favourite bands (favourite, despite my non-subcrush on one of its members. by non subcrush I mean I used to have a slight crush on him because he would email me from time to time, but now I just feel compelled to talk to him and speak loudly about him when I go to their gigs. I'm really weird.) to one of their best songs which just goes "i'm not scared i'm not scared i'm not scared i'm not scared" and really that was for me the best and somehow most meaningful way for me to enter my twenties and if I can share that anywhere I think it's on livejournal.
Today I went to this arts festival in a small town near Horsham where ferals in cowboy hats and beautiful shoes (so they're not really vegan ferals. just hippy ferals) live. Dads with dreads and mums in overalls and sequins tote their children around to different gigs. It was just a kind of magical, quiet experience in this tiny old town on the highway towards Adelaide. A beautiful boy with curly hair and baggy clothes was around taking photos, riding around in one of those green machines, followed by an entourage of equally beautiful boys with lovely shoes. I took off my shoes, despite the heat, and wandered barefoot through this emporium in an old, old garage. Collected things. A nice record player that I would have purchased had I twenty five dollars on me.. or if I had speakers to hook it up to.. or records.. I would so do records if I could afford to buy them. Plus even though I really enjoy the experience of putting on records, I'm not altogether convinced of their audio quality.
My OCD kitty wants me to go to bed now and I think I should embrace the opportunity to stray from the nerdscreen and read. Read a goddamn book, Susan. I'll do a photo post soon, so you can see some of the things I do sometimes.
October 14th, 2009
today I was walking down Burwood Rd and I realised how much I really like grooving away while I'm walking. I love singing while I walk and I just do it all the time lately. I was returning home from our favourite Indian restaurant on Glenferrie rd, Sahni's. It has $15 buffets on Wednesday evenings. And they taste so good! Tonight there was this eggplant and potato thing and it was utterly fabulous. Usually we eat and eat until we are sickeningly full but tonight we restrained ourselves. By we I mean my sister and my dear wife Jacqueline. And then I wanted to scope out this place where my dear friend/boss/general awesome person is going to be MC-ing a poetry reading. These events are created by Laura Smith who is Melissa's friend and who I hung out with at TiNA. I rather admire Laura because she seems to be part of this really awesome poet crew. And after TiNA I decided that I want to be a bit more into poetry and writing in general. Of course, it's a rather unfortunate time for me to realise this seeing how university happens to be really alarmingly busy at the moment.
October 5th, 2009
Just returned from the best and most creatively stimulating weekend of my whole life. Spent four days wandering around with poets, listening to writers and other artists talk about their work.. just felt so absolutely comfortable for the first time in a long time - really in about two months. Went to writing workshops and submitted some writing for a zine they create from the workshops & my little bit of prose got chosen. They edited it a little bit but I'm glad and I feel so elated and validated now having been "published", even on this small scale. I crushed on about a zillion different writers/poets/musicians and not for the first time am I certain I won't settle for anything/one less than a fellow creative. Most importantly, this weekend made me stop thinking about the bad, bad things that have consumed me for the last three months. Was a bit scared that upon my return to Melbourne all those things would come back - and it took a few days in Newcastle to banish them - but so far things are looking good. I am busy and I can do this.
Actually they really really heavily edited me, but it's pretty good still. Still me in there. I have been told before that my expression is loose anyway. If you want to read the unedited version I could post that too. But this is what was published in the Voiceworks zine "nanoworks" that they stayed up creating on Saturday night at TiNA.
I had a festival crush on "jojo" (yoyo) from the Voiceworks team. And also this beautiful poet boy with big eyes from Perth whose name is Patrick Pittman plus also Steve Smart who is from Melbourne. On Saturday night I went to the beach and was dancing near the baths with Zoe while others swam naked. Our friend Laura wandered off along the shore and we had to call out and wait for her before we left. I was talking to Steve Smart or really he was talking and I was in awe, just listening to him talk lest I actually just .. I dunno, what was I meant to say to this bewildered looking bear-man.
Settled for this:
Might I trouble you to roll me a cigarette, I asked.
I already have, he said.
And then I couldn't light it in the wind and asked for some shelter and he enveloped me in his cloaky thing and at the time I felt a bit awkward but now I just feel real swoony.
For the record, I did go back to buy the cardigan. It is beautiful and bright green.
When I emerge from a church I'm fine, somehow. I remain calm and plan.
I make plans to eat, to go places, to go back and buy things. I assume I'll have the chance to. But what if I'm caught in the rain that turns the black sky to purple? I could be struck dead.
I won't be able to go back for that cardigan. Will someone buy it? I won't be able to go to England with my family. Will they go without me? Do they know how much I've decided to love them? Maybe I won't get to finish this beer or this sentence.
My fears wrap around me like a blanket, like I'm alright. Like I'm going to wake up every day for the rest of the year. I'll get to see the sky turn purple and hear the thunder and get wet in the rain. To have more fashion crises. To get my fashion crises wet in the rain.
I make plans to eat, to go places, to go back and buy things. I assume I'll have the chance to. But what if I'm caught in the rain that turns the black sky to purple? I could be struck dead.
I won't be able to go back for that cardigan. Will someone buy it? I won't be able to go to England with my family. Will they go without me? Do they know how much I've decided to love them? Maybe I won't get to finish this beer or this sentence.
My fears wrap around me like a blanket, like I'm alright. Like I'm going to wake up every day for the rest of the year. I'll get to see the sky turn purple and hear the thunder and get wet in the rain. To have more fashion crises. To get my fashion crises wet in the rain.
Actually they really really heavily edited me, but it's pretty good still. Still me in there. I have been told before that my expression is loose anyway. If you want to read the unedited version I could post that too. But this is what was published in the Voiceworks zine "nanoworks" that they stayed up creating on Saturday night at TiNA.
I had a festival crush on "jojo" (yoyo) from the Voiceworks team. And also this beautiful poet boy with big eyes from Perth whose name is Patrick Pittman plus also Steve Smart who is from Melbourne. On Saturday night I went to the beach and was dancing near the baths with Zoe while others swam naked. Our friend Laura wandered off along the shore and we had to call out and wait for her before we left. I was talking to Steve Smart or really he was talking and I was in awe, just listening to him talk lest I actually just .. I dunno, what was I meant to say to this bewildered looking bear-man.
Settled for this:
Might I trouble you to roll me a cigarette, I asked.
I already have, he said.
And then I couldn't light it in the wind and asked for some shelter and he enveloped me in his cloaky thing and at the time I felt a bit awkward but now I just feel real swoony.
For the record, I did go back to buy the cardigan. It is beautiful and bright green.
September 29th, 2009
21. I don't want to have to worry about dying. I want to die now. I want the worry to stop. Thinking about death. When/if I'm old one day I'll remember trams and trains, journeys I've had on them. Recall stuff vividly. I guess you never forget certain things.
Gosh that man is tall. I bet he has a giant penis.
22. Young people really suck. Like REALLY, sixteen year olds are poo. I think that school holidays really sucks. Articulate today, am I not?
I often chant to myself something lke this: "it's ok Susie. He wasn't that great. he wasn't smart enough. he wasn't enough. you'll do better"
23. When will I find someone worthy of my semi (tonight) drunken prose? Why is Collins so brave and interesting (but a bit weird and arrogant)? I wish he was attractive.
25. Now, I have written about it many times, but life really freaks me out. We're talking always. Every day. It's getting easier to be out and in at the same time. I'm accepting 'things I cannot change', I know how dangerous my brain is. I often think about things that happened to me before everything turned inside out. I try to seek comfort there & remember what I was like (when I was all human).
27. I remember things like Owuor & Mr Taylor & Ms Cupper & her guillotine earrings & mixed CDs from times gone by & funny tram drivers & open days at Melbourne uni colleges & lying in the park in the sun and trying to swing really high on the swings in May Park - all the things I've done in May Park & every other park in Horsham - so your feet would touch the trees. So many good things about "being alive"
28. Other things that are hard to let go of: drizzly Mondays, feeling warm in bed & cuddling teddies, (memories of) squelching around in clay in gumboots, shopping for flannies, shopping, doing anything - anything at all - with Jacki.
Apparently people call orgasms "the little death". I haven't had one for a couple of weeks now and whenever I get close to the idea of masturbating I end up nearly mutilating myself amidst fears of various STDs & lesbianism. I just don't want to orgasm at my own hand. It seems so pointless & vulgar.
29. Today is sweet and warm flowery scents; sunglasses. Yesterday I heard that life is actually meaningless. If they teach it at RMIT it must be true.
Life is meaningless.
Life is meaningless.
Pointless.
Words are pointless.
Nothing is beautiful.
I don't know how to believe in all of this.
But I feel like if someone loves me, if I could only have someone fucking my brains out, then I would be alright.
These days I convince myself I want to cut myself again because it won't hurt as much as all the bullshit existential stuff. Plus maybe I'll be able to let go; get out.
Gosh that man is tall. I bet he has a giant penis.
22. Young people really suck. Like REALLY, sixteen year olds are poo. I think that school holidays really sucks. Articulate today, am I not?
I often chant to myself something lke this: "it's ok Susie. He wasn't that great. he wasn't smart enough. he wasn't enough. you'll do better"
23. When will I find someone worthy of my semi (tonight) drunken prose? Why is Collins so brave and interesting (but a bit weird and arrogant)? I wish he was attractive.
25. Now, I have written about it many times, but life really freaks me out. We're talking always. Every day. It's getting easier to be out and in at the same time. I'm accepting 'things I cannot change', I know how dangerous my brain is. I often think about things that happened to me before everything turned inside out. I try to seek comfort there & remember what I was like (when I was all human).
27. I remember things like Owuor & Mr Taylor & Ms Cupper & her guillotine earrings & mixed CDs from times gone by & funny tram drivers & open days at Melbourne uni colleges & lying in the park in the sun and trying to swing really high on the swings in May Park - all the things I've done in May Park & every other park in Horsham - so your feet would touch the trees. So many good things about "being alive"
28. Other things that are hard to let go of: drizzly Mondays, feeling warm in bed & cuddling teddies, (memories of) squelching around in clay in gumboots, shopping for flannies, shopping, doing anything - anything at all - with Jacki.
Apparently people call orgasms "the little death". I haven't had one for a couple of weeks now and whenever I get close to the idea of masturbating I end up nearly mutilating myself amidst fears of various STDs & lesbianism. I just don't want to orgasm at my own hand. It seems so pointless & vulgar.
29. Today is sweet and warm flowery scents; sunglasses. Yesterday I heard that life is actually meaningless. If they teach it at RMIT it must be true.
Life is meaningless.
Life is meaningless.
Pointless.
Words are pointless.
Nothing is beautiful.
I don't know how to believe in all of this.
But I feel like if someone loves me, if I could only have someone fucking my brains out, then I would be alright.
These days I convince myself I want to cut myself again because it won't hurt as much as all the bullshit existential stuff. Plus maybe I'll be able to let go; get out.
September 14th, 2009
Tonight I am internet happy.
&
Thought I'd share something with you. I recently decided that I want to be a bit more crafty and creative, so I made myself a little bit of an owl softie. I researched patterns and styles of owls for a little while then just kinda made up my own pattern.. I could be a little more adventurous though. Anyway here are some photos. If you look closely, you can see me wearing a silly headscarf in the background.
I read this guy's tumblr and he always uploads pictures he's taken of himself with photobooth. He's really pretty and can do that, but I can't do it the same. I'll just hide behind my owls.
I think for the next softie that I make I'll just use the floral material for the whole thing and maybe have the wings a plain colour. I wasn't really sure what combination would work the best.. I mean this little fellow is cute, isn't he? He was nice to cuddle last night anyway.
Farmer Wants a Wife is possibly the worst show to ever grace Australia's television screens, amirite?!
&
Thought I'd share something with you. I recently decided that I want to be a bit more crafty and creative, so I made myself a little bit of an owl softie. I researched patterns and styles of owls for a little while then just kinda made up my own pattern.. I could be a little more adventurous though. Anyway here are some photos. If you look closely, you can see me wearing a silly headscarf in the background.
I read this guy's tumblr and he always uploads pictures he's taken of himself with photobooth. He's really pretty and can do that, but I can't do it the same. I'll just hide behind my owls.
I think for the next softie that I make I'll just use the floral material for the whole thing and maybe have the wings a plain colour. I wasn't really sure what combination would work the best.. I mean this little fellow is cute, isn't he? He was nice to cuddle last night anyway.
Farmer Wants a Wife is possibly the worst show to ever grace Australia's television screens, amirite?!
hungrySeptember 12th, 2009
Tonight's the kind of night where you know you should've gone out but instead you buy coronas, fish & chips, dress up in shorts and sit on your balcony talking shit in the weird heat. You go to the park in the windy wind, play on the playground (that reminds you eerily of the McDonalds one from your youth) then roll down a hill in the park and, cause you're wearing dumb shorts purchased from Big W last summer, get really itchy legs. Then you have the urge to come home and write - write about what? - and find that you've exhausted yourself after one facebook status and three tweets. You punch out a crappy livejournal entry while your housemate has a shower with her boyfriend. You can hear everything they're saying. You realise you're exhausted and hope you fall asleep before they start having sex.
September 6th, 2009
Good things from the past week or so:
On Tuesday I attended the Melbourne Fringe Festival launch with my work colleagues. I proceeded to skip the rest of the day of work (with my boss so it's totally fine, right?) and drink cider in the sunshine. Enjoyable times with lovely work people until we decided to go exhibition opening hopping and I finally stopped drinking at about 9 or something.. not a moment too soon. I proceeded to accidentally light my hair on fire along with seemingly my eyelash and eyebrow. I don't know how my eye remained unscathed. I don't know whether I left before I embarrassed myself too drastically which is worrisome. But mostly I am just happy that I made it home in one piece, not being able to recall getting on the correct tram but somehow ending up in Hawthorn. Then my sister's housemate/our friend Kym came around with a loaf and we chain smoked on our balcony sitting in beanbags talking about boys and blowjobs and other bullshit I'm sure.
The next day as I was having breakfast with my housemate and her friend, we sauntered past the St Vinnies near our house and espied a beautiful green couch out on the road. We went over to inspect it and found that it was only $50. Soooo we decided to purchase it as it was also a foldout a lot better than the foldout couch we presently have. Then, although St Vinnies is just around the corner from our house, we had to brainstorm ways to get it home. We don't have a car. We did figure that perhaps four people could probably carry it up the street and around the corner to our flat though. So we called Kym to come down and help us, sitting on the couch on the side of the road as we waited. This road was really busy at the time too because it was peak hour or something. It was really funny watching people's reactions seeing three girls on a couch. Some rude men yelled "BUY IT OR GET THE FUCK OFF" and Jacki yelled back "WE DID FUCKING BUY IT!!!!" so we decided to make a sign to quell any further rudeness. This seemed to please the drivers even more. Anyway I just will remember that half hour of road-couch sitting as something quite enjoyable.
Then I defied all odds and made my desired train home to Horsham [though I thought I would totally miss it, I had ten minutes to spare at the train station]
I spent most of my time there playing Regina Spektor songs on piano and knitting and reading and lying around with my cats. Therapy?
Last night I caught up with a friend from high school and gossiped and we went to Coles to buy pudding. Amy, my friend, used to work at Coles and she said that she used to wish she had a boyfriend just so she could go to Coles on Saturday nights and buy ice cream with them. I thought that was the sweetest and best reason for wanting a boyfriend and I am going to start a list of criteria for boyfriends and that will be on it. Another thing will be that they are not allowed to be dumbfucks about Pokemon.
This morning mum was looking through old videos and other old things and she found my grandfather's war medal and I got to hold it. She put on this video of when we lived at the farm and I was rollerblading around and my little sister was just a baby dancing around in the boots near the front door and my older sister was yelling at mum for filming her at the wrong time. Then I let my sister do my hair and I got on the bus to Melbourne.
On the bus there was a bunch of French and Italian people - two boys - talking in English about driving on the left side of the road, snuggling into and leaning on each other with large eyebrows and lazy beards. In a very lovely European way.
Fuck next week is going to be terrible. I have wasted my mid semester break and not done enough work. I'm going to be on RRR tomorrow and I haven't read my scripts properly or organised myself for it. I should be freaking out but I don't CARE
On Tuesday I attended the Melbourne Fringe Festival launch with my work colleagues. I proceeded to skip the rest of the day of work (with my boss so it's totally fine, right?) and drink cider in the sunshine. Enjoyable times with lovely work people until we decided to go exhibition opening hopping and I finally stopped drinking at about 9 or something.. not a moment too soon. I proceeded to accidentally light my hair on fire along with seemingly my eyelash and eyebrow. I don't know how my eye remained unscathed. I don't know whether I left before I embarrassed myself too drastically which is worrisome. But mostly I am just happy that I made it home in one piece, not being able to recall getting on the correct tram but somehow ending up in Hawthorn. Then my sister's housemate/our friend Kym came around with a loaf and we chain smoked on our balcony sitting in beanbags talking about boys and blowjobs and other bullshit I'm sure.
The next day as I was having breakfast with my housemate and her friend, we sauntered past the St Vinnies near our house and espied a beautiful green couch out on the road. We went over to inspect it and found that it was only $50. Soooo we decided to purchase it as it was also a foldout a lot better than the foldout couch we presently have. Then, although St Vinnies is just around the corner from our house, we had to brainstorm ways to get it home. We don't have a car. We did figure that perhaps four people could probably carry it up the street and around the corner to our flat though. So we called Kym to come down and help us, sitting on the couch on the side of the road as we waited. This road was really busy at the time too because it was peak hour or something. It was really funny watching people's reactions seeing three girls on a couch. Some rude men yelled "BUY IT OR GET THE FUCK OFF" and Jacki yelled back "WE DID FUCKING BUY IT!!!!" so we decided to make a sign to quell any further rudeness. This seemed to please the drivers even more. Anyway I just will remember that half hour of road-couch sitting as something quite enjoyable.
Then I defied all odds and made my desired train home to Horsham [though I thought I would totally miss it, I had ten minutes to spare at the train station]
I spent most of my time there playing Regina Spektor songs on piano and knitting and reading and lying around with my cats. Therapy?
Last night I caught up with a friend from high school and gossiped and we went to Coles to buy pudding. Amy, my friend, used to work at Coles and she said that she used to wish she had a boyfriend just so she could go to Coles on Saturday nights and buy ice cream with them. I thought that was the sweetest and best reason for wanting a boyfriend and I am going to start a list of criteria for boyfriends and that will be on it. Another thing will be that they are not allowed to be dumbfucks about Pokemon.
This morning mum was looking through old videos and other old things and she found my grandfather's war medal and I got to hold it. She put on this video of when we lived at the farm and I was rollerblading around and my little sister was just a baby dancing around in the boots near the front door and my older sister was yelling at mum for filming her at the wrong time. Then I let my sister do my hair and I got on the bus to Melbourne.
On the bus there was a bunch of French and Italian people - two boys - talking in English about driving on the left side of the road, snuggling into and leaning on each other with large eyebrows and lazy beards. In a very lovely European way.
Fuck next week is going to be terrible. I have wasted my mid semester break and not done enough work. I'm going to be on RRR tomorrow and I haven't read my scripts properly or organised myself for it. I should be freaking out but I don't CARE
August 27th, 2009
I just remembered the time when I met Dave and how hopelessly something something I then became
eyes hair money gin hands chairs
and Murray later told me he was angry or upset or something that night
anyway I just remembered how lovely and possible things seemed for a few weeks at the end of May and at the start of June
how nothing was really happening to me but I felt fucking ecstatic anyway
and after all the crapness of August I'd like to have some of that back
eyes hair money gin hands chairs
and Murray later told me he was angry or upset or something that night
anyway I just remembered how lovely and possible things seemed for a few weeks at the end of May and at the start of June
how nothing was really happening to me but I felt fucking ecstatic anyway
and after all the crapness of August I'd like to have some of that back
August 25th, 2009
Sometimes I wish I lived in a shitty dorm thing with heaps of other young people
So I could be more irresponsible but have people constantly around me telling me that it's all right
Yesterday I woke up and it was sunny and windy, like it has been for the past couple of days, and I skipped my boring lecture to do washing.
I went to my philosophy lecture about quantum physics. Heard about the cat and the box again.
Josh bought cigarettes and we smoked on the lawn of the State Library to stave off Monday afternoon depression. I don't think it worked for him but I was sufficiently mellower. His cigarettes were scratchy and harsh, unlike mine that go down smooth. We watched a fire in a bin. We watched some firemen sent to put it out and laughed at them for having to come out and put out a fire in a bin.
And then it began to rain.
And it was grey.
And it was darker.
And I was listening to Sigur Ros at Richmond train station as the rain started, listening to Takk for the first time in a while. Walk home in the rain. Soundtrack & umbrella. This is when I realise that my washing is still on the line and will be completely soaked.
The washing stayed out overnight in the hopes that the morning would bring more sunshine.
It did.
So I could be more irresponsible but have people constantly around me telling me that it's all right
Yesterday I woke up and it was sunny and windy, like it has been for the past couple of days, and I skipped my boring lecture to do washing.
I went to my philosophy lecture about quantum physics. Heard about the cat and the box again.
Josh bought cigarettes and we smoked on the lawn of the State Library to stave off Monday afternoon depression. I don't think it worked for him but I was sufficiently mellower. His cigarettes were scratchy and harsh, unlike mine that go down smooth. We watched a fire in a bin. We watched some firemen sent to put it out and laughed at them for having to come out and put out a fire in a bin.
And then it began to rain.
And it was grey.
And it was darker.
And I was listening to Sigur Ros at Richmond train station as the rain started, listening to Takk for the first time in a while. Walk home in the rain. Soundtrack & umbrella. This is when I realise that my washing is still on the line and will be completely soaked.
The washing stayed out overnight in the hopes that the morning would bring more sunshine.
It did.
August 23rd, 2009
Oops. Being so focused on transcendental philosophical speculations I
forgot to make an announcement about simple practical matters.
First, the entire school of applied communications, currently in
building 6, is about to make a jump in space-time to the left (or the
right, depending which way you’re looking). This will be a fairly
cataclysmic event (though relatively short on the geological timescale
of the planet) and I advise not being in the vicinity when it happens,
this being 28th August at 4pm in afternoon, Earth time, unless you want
to go somewhere far away for the mid-semester vacation. For the shift is
liable create unstable pockets of imploding vacuum here and there which
could suck you down a wormhole. (As this would be forever, better bring
a spare toothbrush.)
If all goes well the school should re-emerge in building 9, which has
been refurbished (as it had dilapidated furbs before). You may observe
the reinvention of the school and its new furbs after Monday 31st
August. Assignments due after then will need to be handed in to building
9, spick and span, to go with the new spick and span surroundings. (You
may have to proceed down a decontamination chamber to get to the
Assignment Box.)
I think my new office is going to be 9.4.20 * take a note of it.
_________
Journals. It would be good to have them in before this jump takes
place, so I can place them safely inside a force field, and so your
tutor can read them during the vacation week when everyone else is
having fun. So bring them to the tutorials next week and hand them in to
your tutor in person. Your tutor will endeavour to be in person as well.
________
While cruising the strip joints of King Street at the weekend (King
Street, Alpha Centauri system) I nipped down an alley to avoid the
transcendental mind police and their cognitive tasers (I’ve spent too
many nights in their nitrogen coolers to relish another: they don’t
appreciate freelance intergalactic holistic private detectives on their
turf * take it from me) and suddenly bumped into a sexy Vegan
quadruped friend of mine (yeah, that’s right, a blade runner from the
Vega system: goes by the alias Diotima and sometimes Sugarbaby). After
playing a couple of rounds of multidimensional poker (in which I lost
not only my shirt) and downing a couple of gargleblasters with whisky
chasers (yeah, that’s right, I’m talking Vat 69, cosmic export
strength) she waxed lyrical about the increasing number of Vegan
restaurants being opened by her compatriots in Melbourne. (Check it out:
the lentils spins on the plate in accordance with their twin particles
at the other end of the universe * see week 6.)
Then she communicated the following supplement to me through her
shimmering blue tentacles and suggested I add it (this being a good
thing to do with a supplement). As I have found in the past on many a
double moon lit evening on the undulating purple beaches of K-Pax 5, she
can be subtly persuasive with her shimmering blue tentacles*
She spoke of how phenomena in the space-time continuum are interlinked
together in an orderly and regular connection. Science throughout the
known universe can make good headway in studying the order and making
predictions. In other words cause-and-effect (or the principle of
sequential causality) seems to apply everywhere in the matrix, even on
King Street, even to human beings (which is bad news for the freewill
believers and their assorted judgmental gods).
Given this sequential causal order, the question remains: Is causality
a primary or secondary quality?
“Most life forms assume,” she said, “that it is a primary quality
out there in itself like space and time. However, as all well educated
life forms know, the plump Scottish philosopher David Hume, despite his
mouth being full of haggis pudding at the time, pointed out that we have
never perceived causality (the actual causal power in itself) only the
recurring regular connections in the sequence of phenomena. We assume
“something” is holding them together in this orderly way.
However, the “something” need not be causality “out there” in
itself as a primary quality. For it could just as soon be the mental
glue, the cohesive power, of the mind.”
(This could explain why they often fail to hold together when you have
been out drinking gargleblasters and whisky chasers (Vat 69, Glasgow
strength) as anyone from Glasgow will tell you.)
Moreover, if we suppose that causality is real in itself we generate
the same kind of contradictions we generate if we suppose that space and
time are real in themselves. For the principle of sequential causality
is this: for every event there must be a preceding cause in the series
to account for it, and then this cause must have a preceding cause to
account for it, and so on back and back in an infinite regress, i.e.,
without end. Or more precisely in this case, without a beginning: for no
beginning cause can be specified that would not itself require a
preceding cause * etc, etc. If so, the series has no beginning in
time, and so cannot actually get underway.
(If your next P&O spaceship cruise fails to take off, and management
claim the delay was beyond their control because it was brought about by
an infinite regress of causes in the ignition procedure, your may not be
able to get your money back.)
“How can the temporal series of causes exist if it cannot get
started?” I asked.
“Good question,” she said, and smiled with triangular starlit
obsidian eyes.
Picking up on this clue, and snubbing their collective noses at the
transcendental mind police, idealists in the universe (not to mention
sundry holistic private detectives) argue that the temporal series of
cause-and-effect cannot be real out there in itself. It can only be an
inside con job, i.e., a mental projection, akin to an optical illusion
or a dreamscape, as is the space-time continuum with which it is
inexorably linked. In which case the whole interconnected package deal
(space, time, sequential causality, speakeasies) is entirely mental (as
is, eg, colour, loudness, taste, hangovers, etc) although, nevertheless,
vividly “real” for us experientially (especially the hangovers).
“If so”, she said, “then causality too is a secondary quality.
And indeed it now seems that there is no good reason to suppose there
are any so-called primary qualities out there in themselves independent
of mind.”
Then she passed out.
___________
A student, who goes by the alias Tess, recommended the movie, The
Nines. Today I seem to have a memory of watching the DVD the other night
and I seem to want to recommend it for this course. Bear it in mind
though that, on a scale of gods from 1 to 10, the Transpersonal Self is
not a 9, not even a 9.99999999999, but a full-on and complete 10 (than
which there is none tenner). There could of course be other 10s * if,
for instance, there are other universes parallel to this one. (Would
“parallel” apply if there is no space between universes?)
Another student, who goes by the alias Alicia, recommended Synecdoche
New York. Everyone is everyone, etc. Yes, it can be recommended too,
even if just for the brilliant title. Many would argue that Charlie
Kaufman is the greatest screenwriter this side of the Milky Way.
__________
Some of you may need to be reminded of this from the Assessment
Requirement sheet:
The journal entry must be dated (star date such-and-such etc) to
pinpoint the exact lecture/topic to which you refer. Base it more on the
lecture than tute and start off from an issue or argument in the
lecture. Exhibit your understanding and weigh up pros and cons of the
issues involved.
And this:
If you have to leave a tute early be sure to clear this with me at the
start of the tute else we’ll think * How rude! * and marks will be
lost.
And that you need at least a Pass for tutorial participation in order
to pass the course: otherwise any half-assed efforts will have been in
vain.
forgot to make an announcement about simple practical matters.
First, the entire school of applied communications, currently in
building 6, is about to make a jump in space-time to the left (or the
right, depending which way you’re looking). This will be a fairly
cataclysmic event (though relatively short on the geological timescale
of the planet) and I advise not being in the vicinity when it happens,
this being 28th August at 4pm in afternoon, Earth time, unless you want
to go somewhere far away for the mid-semester vacation. For the shift is
liable create unstable pockets of imploding vacuum here and there which
could suck you down a wormhole. (As this would be forever, better bring
a spare toothbrush.)
If all goes well the school should re-emerge in building 9, which has
been refurbished (as it had dilapidated furbs before). You may observe
the reinvention of the school and its new furbs after Monday 31st
August. Assignments due after then will need to be handed in to building
9, spick and span, to go with the new spick and span surroundings. (You
may have to proceed down a decontamination chamber to get to the
Assignment Box.)
I think my new office is going to be 9.4.20 * take a note of it.
_________
Journals. It would be good to have them in before this jump takes
place, so I can place them safely inside a force field, and so your
tutor can read them during the vacation week when everyone else is
having fun. So bring them to the tutorials next week and hand them in to
your tutor in person. Your tutor will endeavour to be in person as well.
________
While cruising the strip joints of King Street at the weekend (King
Street, Alpha Centauri system) I nipped down an alley to avoid the
transcendental mind police and their cognitive tasers (I’ve spent too
many nights in their nitrogen coolers to relish another: they don’t
appreciate freelance intergalactic holistic private detectives on their
turf * take it from me) and suddenly bumped into a sexy Vegan
quadruped friend of mine (yeah, that’s right, a blade runner from the
Vega system: goes by the alias Diotima and sometimes Sugarbaby). After
playing a couple of rounds of multidimensional poker (in which I lost
not only my shirt) and downing a couple of gargleblasters with whisky
chasers (yeah, that’s right, I’m talking Vat 69, cosmic export
strength) she waxed lyrical about the increasing number of Vegan
restaurants being opened by her compatriots in Melbourne. (Check it out:
the lentils spins on the plate in accordance with their twin particles
at the other end of the universe * see week 6.)
Then she communicated the following supplement to me through her
shimmering blue tentacles and suggested I add it (this being a good
thing to do with a supplement). As I have found in the past on many a
double moon lit evening on the undulating purple beaches of K-Pax 5, she
can be subtly persuasive with her shimmering blue tentacles*
She spoke of how phenomena in the space-time continuum are interlinked
together in an orderly and regular connection. Science throughout the
known universe can make good headway in studying the order and making
predictions. In other words cause-and-effect (or the principle of
sequential causality) seems to apply everywhere in the matrix, even on
King Street, even to human beings (which is bad news for the freewill
believers and their assorted judgmental gods).
Given this sequential causal order, the question remains: Is causality
a primary or secondary quality?
“Most life forms assume,” she said, “that it is a primary quality
out there in itself like space and time. However, as all well educated
life forms know, the plump Scottish philosopher David Hume, despite his
mouth being full of haggis pudding at the time, pointed out that we have
never perceived causality (the actual causal power in itself) only the
recurring regular connections in the sequence of phenomena. We assume
“something” is holding them together in this orderly way.
However, the “something” need not be causality “out there” in
itself as a primary quality. For it could just as soon be the mental
glue, the cohesive power, of the mind.”
(This could explain why they often fail to hold together when you have
been out drinking gargleblasters and whisky chasers (Vat 69, Glasgow
strength) as anyone from Glasgow will tell you.)
Moreover, if we suppose that causality is real in itself we generate
the same kind of contradictions we generate if we suppose that space and
time are real in themselves. For the principle of sequential causality
is this: for every event there must be a preceding cause in the series
to account for it, and then this cause must have a preceding cause to
account for it, and so on back and back in an infinite regress, i.e.,
without end. Or more precisely in this case, without a beginning: for no
beginning cause can be specified that would not itself require a
preceding cause * etc, etc. If so, the series has no beginning in
time, and so cannot actually get underway.
(If your next P&O spaceship cruise fails to take off, and management
claim the delay was beyond their control because it was brought about by
an infinite regress of causes in the ignition procedure, your may not be
able to get your money back.)
“How can the temporal series of causes exist if it cannot get
started?” I asked.
“Good question,” she said, and smiled with triangular starlit
obsidian eyes.
Picking up on this clue, and snubbing their collective noses at the
transcendental mind police, idealists in the universe (not to mention
sundry holistic private detectives) argue that the temporal series of
cause-and-effect cannot be real out there in itself. It can only be an
inside con job, i.e., a mental projection, akin to an optical illusion
or a dreamscape, as is the space-time continuum with which it is
inexorably linked. In which case the whole interconnected package deal
(space, time, sequential causality, speakeasies) is entirely mental (as
is, eg, colour, loudness, taste, hangovers, etc) although, nevertheless,
vividly “real” for us experientially (especially the hangovers).
“If so”, she said, “then causality too is a secondary quality.
And indeed it now seems that there is no good reason to suppose there
are any so-called primary qualities out there in themselves independent
of mind.”
Then she passed out.
___________
A student, who goes by the alias Tess, recommended the movie, The
Nines. Today I seem to have a memory of watching the DVD the other night
and I seem to want to recommend it for this course. Bear it in mind
though that, on a scale of gods from 1 to 10, the Transpersonal Self is
not a 9, not even a 9.99999999999, but a full-on and complete 10 (than
which there is none tenner). There could of course be other 10s * if,
for instance, there are other universes parallel to this one. (Would
“parallel” apply if there is no space between universes?)
Another student, who goes by the alias Alicia, recommended Synecdoche
New York. Everyone is everyone, etc. Yes, it can be recommended too,
even if just for the brilliant title. Many would argue that Charlie
Kaufman is the greatest screenwriter this side of the Milky Way.
__________
Some of you may need to be reminded of this from the Assessment
Requirement sheet:
The journal entry must be dated (star date such-and-such etc) to
pinpoint the exact lecture/topic to which you refer. Base it more on the
lecture than tute and start off from an issue or argument in the
lecture. Exhibit your understanding and weigh up pros and cons of the
issues involved.
And this:
If you have to leave a tute early be sure to clear this with me at the
start of the tute else we’ll think * How rude! * and marks will be
lost.
And that you need at least a Pass for tutorial participation in order
to pass the course: otherwise any half-assed efforts will have been in
vain.
July 28th, 2009
I'll probably get all fucked up by my philosophy class tomorrow
but for now
this is reality enough for me.
but for now
this is reality enough for me.
July 23rd, 2009
This poem is how I feel at the moment:
it is from a website called Gloom Cupboard.
Lindsea Kemp
Ending, this week
This week has been nothing but endings.
Sticky endings, pulled apart with little
mucus ropes hanging together.
Clean endings, one schwap
of the axe and cut.
Mixed up endings, where
goodbye sounds like hello coming
from a pair of red Rocky Horror lips
that you later find out
is your sphincter.
This week I realized I am dying.
And for some reason all I want
is a hamburger, greasy.
I want to shove the thin
ground beef patty into my
open mouth. Squeeze a couple
ketchup covered fries in.
Suck frantically at the straw of my Coke
like it is life’s elixir.
My hands are covered
in grease, and I have a
funny feeling my soul is drenched.
Smeared shiny and sticky, I roll
in Hiroshima ash and curl.
I am a sugar covered donut.
This week I haven’t showered,
only spun in my own
fevered nightmares, my sweaty
sheets heavy as a lecher’s kiss—
an executioner’s axe—
the 1.65 ounces of metal
that it takes to put a bullet through
another human’s head.
This week I found the fear of death
hidden behind my puckering
navel. It was hard to find, because
it’s fear of life’s conjoined, bloody fetus.
So ugly, but I can’t turn my Oreo eyes
away. They’re now shrink wrapped and
labeled for resale ease.
This week I knew everything.
The first kiss of a dying couple, Osama Bin Laden’s underwear brand, your mother, the white and yellow Rx bottle used as a teddy bear, the space between the boot and the landmine, the dash in between the dates on the gravestone, a cheap hooker’s retarded brother, the wind on an Ugandan’s face, multiple orgasms, a dying pigeon’s final breath ignored, empty buses, cloudy sunsets, chewed bubble gum, the reason you need to pray.
It’s commonplace, really.
I am nothing. I am everything. I am ending.
it is from a website called Gloom Cupboard.
Lindsea Kemp
Ending, this week
This week has been nothing but endings.
Sticky endings, pulled apart with little
mucus ropes hanging together.
Clean endings, one schwap
of the axe and cut.
Mixed up endings, where
goodbye sounds like hello coming
from a pair of red Rocky Horror lips
that you later find out
is your sphincter.
This week I realized I am dying.
And for some reason all I want
is a hamburger, greasy.
I want to shove the thin
ground beef patty into my
open mouth. Squeeze a couple
ketchup covered fries in.
Suck frantically at the straw of my Coke
like it is life’s elixir.
My hands are covered
in grease, and I have a
funny feeling my soul is drenched.
Smeared shiny and sticky, I roll
in Hiroshima ash and curl.
I am a sugar covered donut.
This week I haven’t showered,
only spun in my own
fevered nightmares, my sweaty
sheets heavy as a lecher’s kiss—
an executioner’s axe—
the 1.65 ounces of metal
that it takes to put a bullet through
another human’s head.
This week I found the fear of death
hidden behind my puckering
navel. It was hard to find, because
it’s fear of life’s conjoined, bloody fetus.
So ugly, but I can’t turn my Oreo eyes
away. They’re now shrink wrapped and
labeled for resale ease.
This week I knew everything.
The first kiss of a dying couple, Osama Bin Laden’s underwear brand, your mother, the white and yellow Rx bottle used as a teddy bear, the space between the boot and the landmine, the dash in between the dates on the gravestone, a cheap hooker’s retarded brother, the wind on an Ugandan’s face, multiple orgasms, a dying pigeon’s final breath ignored, empty buses, cloudy sunsets, chewed bubble gum, the reason you need to pray.
It’s commonplace, really.
I am nothing. I am everything. I am ending.
I need something to stop me thinking about death.
Ever since I got back from New Zealand I've been feeling really pointless. Linear. Meaningless. Insignificant. But you know how usually you just tell yourself you're not and that's enough to keep you sane; you forget about it and continue along? Well I am having real trouble doing that. I think writing about it helps. It helps more than gouging chunks out of my legs. Today I rang my mum and she told me my aunt died, this really old auntie of mine, like the oldest person in our family. And then I said, as we both sighed about how old she was, well I guess that's life. And mum said, yes, the one thing you can be sure of. Which should be comforting right? But I just feel alarmed.
Then in my philosophy class our teacher with mobile eyes jauntily informed us we were all going to die and I felt like the air in the room had been chewed up and spat out by some primordial vacuum (what the hell does that even mean? I just felt like everything was going really slow and things were clean and new). And he said that everything was mysterious and I concurred and said to my group that we should just make everything simple and I honestly think I've been looking at the world with wonder this week. But it doesn't matter, because nobody's marking you at life. We shouldn't be marked in philosophy class: nobody's righter than anybody else.
Finally, I worked tonight at the student film awards. There was this documentary about Broken Hill, interviews with locals. One of the interviews was with this lady who worked as a missionary all over the place but had come to Broken Hill to die. She kept repeating things like, if you wake up again.. speaking like it was a great chance to see another day. Everyone laughed at how she revered just being alive another day and having the task of finding things to fill that day up with, but I just thought it was quite beautiful. It didn't get an award.
This is some really convincing nihilism. On the one hand, it's good to be so filled with wonder about everything. On the other hand, I find myself all too preoccupied about the unjust nature of life. How is it that I came into being? Why? I didn't even get a say! Of course, I know no alternative. But I don't like what "it" actually is.
I am going to go to some yoga and/or meditation classes because I really need to find a way to control myself. I literally can't change my situation - and of course there are some wonderful things about life - so I will do what I must to fix my mind.
Then sometimes I think about what it would be like to not have these thoughts at all, about the kind of people who just float around, float through life without thinking things such as this. Although I actually can't comprehend my life without these episodes. Even though they are fucking scary (and a lot more frequent these days - today is not an isolated incident), I eventually reach a point where I know I can't change anything and I return to the safe part of existing for a while. Like for now.
Ever since I got back from New Zealand I've been feeling really pointless. Linear. Meaningless. Insignificant. But you know how usually you just tell yourself you're not and that's enough to keep you sane; you forget about it and continue along? Well I am having real trouble doing that. I think writing about it helps. It helps more than gouging chunks out of my legs. Today I rang my mum and she told me my aunt died, this really old auntie of mine, like the oldest person in our family. And then I said, as we both sighed about how old she was, well I guess that's life. And mum said, yes, the one thing you can be sure of. Which should be comforting right? But I just feel alarmed.
Then in my philosophy class our teacher with mobile eyes jauntily informed us we were all going to die and I felt like the air in the room had been chewed up and spat out by some primordial vacuum (what the hell does that even mean? I just felt like everything was going really slow and things were clean and new). And he said that everything was mysterious and I concurred and said to my group that we should just make everything simple and I honestly think I've been looking at the world with wonder this week. But it doesn't matter, because nobody's marking you at life. We shouldn't be marked in philosophy class: nobody's righter than anybody else.
Finally, I worked tonight at the student film awards. There was this documentary about Broken Hill, interviews with locals. One of the interviews was with this lady who worked as a missionary all over the place but had come to Broken Hill to die. She kept repeating things like, if you wake up again.. speaking like it was a great chance to see another day. Everyone laughed at how she revered just being alive another day and having the task of finding things to fill that day up with, but I just thought it was quite beautiful. It didn't get an award.
This is some really convincing nihilism. On the one hand, it's good to be so filled with wonder about everything. On the other hand, I find myself all too preoccupied about the unjust nature of life. How is it that I came into being? Why? I didn't even get a say! Of course, I know no alternative. But I don't like what "it" actually is.
I am going to go to some yoga and/or meditation classes because I really need to find a way to control myself. I literally can't change my situation - and of course there are some wonderful things about life - so I will do what I must to fix my mind.
Then sometimes I think about what it would be like to not have these thoughts at all, about the kind of people who just float around, float through life without thinking things such as this. Although I actually can't comprehend my life without these episodes. Even though they are fucking scary (and a lot more frequent these days - today is not an isolated incident), I eventually reach a point where I know I can't change anything and I return to the safe part of existing for a while. Like for now.
July 11th, 2009
I always paraphrase this bit from Lady Chatterley's Lover (a book I confess I did not finish, along with Jane Eyre)
“She did not understand the beauty he found in her, through touch upon her living secret body, almost the ecstasy of beauty. For passion alone is to awake to it. And when passion is dead, or absent, then the magnificent throb of beauty is and even a little despicable: live, warm beauty of contact, so much deeper than the beauty of vision. She felt the glide of his cheek.…Far down in her she felt a new stirring, a new nakedness emerging.”
“She did not understand the beauty he found in her, through touch upon her living secret body, almost the ecstasy of beauty. For passion alone is to awake to it. And when passion is dead, or absent, then the magnificent throb of beauty is and even a little despicable: live, warm beauty of contact, so much deeper than the beauty of vision. She felt the glide of his cheek.…Far down in her she felt a new stirring, a new nakedness emerging.”