Dandy Lions

It was the best of times, it was the blog of times.

2011-01-11T17:31:00.004+11:00

I cant decide on a platitude to summarize my ironic and well overdue shift to a new medium. Something about a better ship and a sinking late than never or a house made out of rocks. Anyway, hop aboard the misery train haters.
TUMBLR THIS

2011-01-10T00:12:00.006+11:00

The depth of your cuntfuckery are astounding. But then again, so was that one episode of Futurama, and its not like I hold it against Matt Groening.
Things I will hold against Matt Groening:
1. Making me cry in Jurassic Bark.
2. My body.

EDIT:

I can neither confirm nor deny that I wish to retract my last statement.

2011-01-09T16:49:00.014+11:00

For a little while there I was concerned that I had lost the fury which constitutes 72% of my existence. For a moment I was afraid I had joined much of the populace in simply experiencing bouts of mild irritation, and lingering harmlessly around the 'somewhat peeved' end of the anger spectrum. Alas, a quick shuffle through cyberspace and a moment in retrospect have catapulted me right back here to realm of unfathomable rage. With my shaky hands, clenched jaw and tensed muscles I now feel right at home. But I'm torn between venting some of this anger because I read something, somewhere once about how being mad as fuck all the time can give you cancer. And with all the smoking and drinking and talking on the phone and standing in front of microwaves and laying in the sun that I do, I can already hear that slimy fuck building a case against me. So maybe I let some of my fury ease out my fingertips and take refuge on this page, but the thing is, Ive fallen for that trap before. The blank screen offers the promise of catharsis but no matter how ambiguous and surreal, how heavily laden with metaphors or how many dark images of red wine and smoke I use in my self-indulgent dribble which helps me feel just that little bit lighter, there is always someone narcissistic enough to see themselves in whatever I write and tear me apart for it. Narcissistic and vindictive and nasty as fuck remain the elusive and collective someone. Apparently the blogosphere is now the territory of titty photos, pseudo-friendships, passive aggressive or just plane aggressive outburst and spite. Its omniscient and malevolent ruler is a King named Arrogance and goddamned I try like hell not to bow to him.

2011-01-05T16:44:00.001+11:00

Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.

2010-12-30T12:48:00.000+11:00

"Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly thin line near the corner of your mouth indicating something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share."
— Mark Z. Danielewski (House of Leaves)

This Guy

2010-11-24T23:36:00.002+11:00

Holy Motherfucking Christ

2010-11-19T13:35:00.003+11:00

I took this on Monday coming over the Blue Mountains at about 7 o'clock. It was stunning driving through the fog and watching the sky transform. Dad and I were headed to Orange for a funeral, under different circumstances it would have been a really beautiful trip. The only time I ever go to Church these days is for funerals, fortunately until Tuesday I hadn't been for nearly four years. I went to Mass every Sunday for 14 years and then nominally for another 4. I knew every hymn and prayer and when to sit, stand or kneel. I would sit in reverie and pray during the silent moments and take communion like it actually meant something. But I found myself sitting in the pew on Tuesday forgetting which direction the sign of the cross went in, I mumbled through all the responses and remained clueless as to when to sit, stand or kneel. I stopped taking communion years ago, so I sat awkwardly during the procession and realised that I truly believe in nothing. A big, Nietzsche-shaped nothing. I had gone from a child who prayed every single night and truly celebrated the birth of Christ every Christmas,to a blaspheming, sacrilegious atheist. I suppose it happened gradually, but up until Tuesday I had never really mourned my loss of faith. I have been through tough times and never one felt like calling on an intangible spirit for strength. Ive done unimaginable things and not thought about hell fires as a consequence. I don't know, maybe I have been right to celebrate my loss of faith rather than mourn it. But sometimes, just sometimes, I get into bed and unconsciously begin the Our Father before remembering the words don't mean a damned thing to me anymore.

Vonnegut: 8 basics of creative writing.

2010-11-14T23:20:00.001+11:00

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things—reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them—in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To hell with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

Fuck yeah summer reading!!

2010-11-13T23:16:00.003+11:00

Just started House of Leaves despite promising myself I wouldnt touch any of my birthday books until I had adequately destroyed University with my sub-par knowledge. But I blew my figurative load all over the first page of this book and now I'm struggling to put it down. Bookdepository.com.uk is like porn for the literate.

2010-11-11T22:10:00.002+11:00

Maybe its the red wine talking, or maybe its the ability to finally eat and sleep again or maybe Ive finally found the right combination of chemicals or maybe it's you. But whatever the case, I've got a feeling I'm going to be just fine. To borrow a phrase from Blake Schwarzenbach, 'Its like they handed me my life, for the first time it felt right'.

2010-11-02T22:19:00.002+11:00

I finally feel like things might be right. I feel fine.

2010-10-13T19:09:00.002+11:00

"But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o'clock in the morning."
— Haruki Murakami (The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle)

2010-10-07T19:17:00.002+11:00

Ive had a few ideas lately, and nothing makes me happier than the formation of a new idea in the quagmire of my mind.

2010-10-03T12:42:00.003+11:00

This was on Friday or maybe Thursday but probably Friday. I spent the best part of the day tucked behind a rock and out of the wind, I packed myself a picnic, including some VB and a perfectly rolled, albeit very small joint. I have some fucked up form of arthritis at the moment so it was purely medicinal. Along with the perfectly compiled playlist and a new book I settled into the sand and eased myself into the afternoon watching the sun dawdle across the sky. At some point, just before drifting off to sleep I remember thinking to myself 'shit yeah' and smiling ever so slightly.

2010-09-14T22:33:00.008+10:00

I obviously take issue with 99% of things I encounter on a daily basis, BECAUSE I AM AN ANGRY CUNT. But if you* really want to hear about (which you probably don't) my biggest issue of late is the proliferation of meaningless pop culture references and naked, overly sexualized women on so many tumblr's I see. What I just don't get is how those embracing the tumblr phenomenon generally subscribe to leftist ideologies of equal rights and independent thought, yet so frequently reproduce standardized forms of popular culture, and reinforce dangerous sexist ideologies. Yeah, yeah, I'm a self righteous, elitist bitch, but I'm surprisingly ok with that. My point is, that no one seems to have anything unique to say, instead there is an entire culture built around reblogging scenes from movies, TV shows, quotes from authors, musicians etc. This pseudo-creativity is dangerous because it distracts everyone from saying what they really want to say. Independent and oppositional ways of thinking are replaced by aesthetically pleasing yet completely meaningless images which reinforce what mainstream culture has already told us to think.

Which brings me to my second privileged white girl rant, I find the constant stream of naked, skinny women in every corner of the blogosphre to be pretty despicable, mostly because it is always done under the guise of art or creative expression. A photo of a naked woman with her breasts brushing up against a table and her legs spread out behind her is there to be looked at, to be desired, to be craved. Not to be valued and engaged with. So what if the image is in black and white and shot in some 'artistic' manner, the woman is the object of nothing but sexual desire. Her value is her breasts or butt and she is minimized to her body parts, fragmented and in turn dehumanized. She is positioned for the male gaze and constructed as an object, an 'other'. All this does is reinforce dominant power structures such as the dominance of males and the exploitation of women.

I already know how my observations will be received, I mean a girl on the internet having an opinion? She must be a fat, jealous wench. But maybe just think about it for a moment. Or dont. I dont mind.

* The collective you. Calm down ya'll.

Legalize Gay.

2010-09-12T18:53:00.003+10:00

Me and my wife gun get so married when that shit is legal. She obviously wears the pants and she is also an unfaithful whore and last night she got all domestic violence in my grill (its ok guys I deserved it) but we are going to live out a long, sexless marriage for the rest of our days. Im excited for our enGAYment party, and brawls in Ikea and life as a second class citizen.

2010-09-12T02:26:00.003+10:00

I have so, so much anger. At you, every single cock sucker looking at this right now and laughing at me. BUT do you want to know why I am so much better than you? Because I spend every day of my life trying to be a better person. Because I learn as much as I can and not to flaunt it on the internet as some form of pseudo intellectual bullshit, but because learning is the best way to understand and contribute to a culture you may otherwise hate. AND because I am helping to raise a child with severe learning disabilities, I, along with his Mum and teachers am half the reason he can walk, and communicate the way he does right now. I spend the best part of my day loving and teaching a small and very special child. Because there is shit out there much more important than internet cred and meaningless photos on a tumblr (which in my opinion is the lowest form of pop culture, which glorifies the meaningless repetition of worthless and dangerous cultural artifacts BTW.)Because I love and hate the way any human should, kick me while I am down, BUT I AM FUCKING RAD

PS I hear grammar is primarily for the sober person, one of which I am not.

2010-09-10T14:29:00.005+10:00

OH NO IM PROBABLY GOING TO KILL MYSELF BECAUSE I MISS YOU SO SO SO SOS SO SOS SOSOOS MUCH.

Listen, they say write what you know. Thats what I do. Everything I write on here is for me. No one else. If you are here because you think its hilarious for Dane Cottee to humiliate me like this, then please leave. Im sure there are some naked, anorexic girls on a tumblr somewhere waiting for you to viddy them.

Yeah, google stats is a hell of an app.

2010-09-10T11:46:00.002+10:00

"What about little microphones? What if everyone swallowed them, and they played the sounds of our hearts through little speakers, which could be in the pouches of our overalls? When you skateboarded down the street at night you could hear everyone's heartbeat, and they could hear yours, sort of like sonar. One weird thing is, I wonder if everyone's hearts would start to beat at the same time, like how women who live together have their menstrual periods at the same time, which I know about, but don't really want to know about. That would be so weird, except that the place in the hospital where babies are born would sound like a crystal chandelier in a houseboat, because the babies wouldn't have had time to match up their heartbeats yet. And at the finish line at the end of the New York City Marathon it would sound like war."

Easily the most amazing book I have read all year.

For Me

2010-09-09T23:30:00.005+10:00

Ive spent the last year and more trying to rebuild myself from where I was when I last saw you. That equaled a googolplex bottles of vodka and however much weed my money could buy and any, I mean any other drug which would pump serotonin through my brain. It hasnt been easy, in fact its been the hardest year of my life. I had everything about myself that I once valued torn away from the bones they were tangled around. For a while there I had nothing, I mean nothing left inside me to value, to justify my existence. One night I ended up in hospital after eating every single drug I could find in the house, all because some girl I had never seen in my life yelled at me in the toilets of the pub because I was the 'ex girlfriend'. Since then Ive taken everything the doctors have told me to, Ive become so incapable of feeling that I take drugs on top of my drugs just to remember how happiness feels. I have sex with men who treat me like shit just to remember what it feels like to really hurt. Here it is, here are the humiliating details which constitute who I am today. Do you want to know more? Do you want to know about the time I slept with someone 10+ my senior because I was coked outta my mind and wanted to remember how it felt to feel anything. Humiliation, disgust, pleasure, anything. Well you'll be happy to know that I felt nothing but humiliation and disgust when he wanted to cum on my feet and how I said no but let him fuck me 3...maybe 4 times after that. You want more? I always do. Well I sometimes think when Im drunk that someone is bound to fall in love with me and all I have to do is put out. You want to know about the time I nearly choked on my own vomit in the bath tub? Or how I swam so far out to sea, drunk in the middle of the night and and hoped to drift away. No? Of course you don't. Because these are my stories, but they are here because of you. They are here because you want them to be. You want me to feel all this hurt and pain and disgust. I know you do, otherwise you wouldn't say or type or write the things you do. Please, just let me be, these are mine.

2010-09-06T06:02:00.003+10:00

Eat my dick, Junkie VonCuntface. Although your vapid narcissism would have you assume everything I write is a heart wrenching portrayal of my unequivocal lust for you, truth is I was writing to a criteria. And seeing as your'e still probably the most fucked up thing that's happened to me, a nonlinear, self reflexive piece about dating an emotionally abusive junkie makes for a delightful HD.

Spring

2010-09-05T05:52:00.003+10:00

Its Sunday evening and I haven't slept since Thursday night. Instead, Ive been a dead Asian school girl pill'd to the gills, covered in blood and playing in the rain with a magician. My life could make more sense, but I probably wouldn't change a thing.

2010-08-24T23:35:00.002+10:00

Things Which Did Not Happen.

The bedroom falls silent and the fury which holds our spines so taut eases and then subsides. We bend a little but dont break. We speak in whispers and in the gentle tones reserved for those we love. The book you didnt throw is still beside my bed and page 98 is still doggy eared and halfway down the page there’s a a sentance I never underlined. You move to the door which I didnt slam and you dont leave, not just now, but you close it and move towards me. Im on the floor with my knees tucked under my chin and Im not crying and Im not shaking and Im not thinking about a hundred differant things and ninety nine of them aweful. When you sit across from me you tuck your knees under your chin just the same as me. Our shins are touching, our sad pale legs are bony and bruised. Your leg hairs and mine tangle a little and its the last time we touch, I say goodbye and the words hang around my mouth like flies before landing on your potruding bottom lip.

Things Which Were Not Said

I said,‘Does it hurt?’
‘Very much so.’
‘Will it always hurt?’
‘Maybe’
‘I loved you, but I dont know where it went. It was here I promise, I felt it in my fingertips and in my eyelashes just before sleep. I loved you more than I hated jelly and reality TV and the sound of car horns, and myself.’
‘I know.’

Things Which May Have Happened

A door was closed. The coffee cup falls from the desk. The book blows open.

Things Which Happened

You take everything you own and tear the room apart. You rip your books from the shelf and clothes from the wardrobe. You dont look at me for a long time. I sit on the bed, then I stand, then I sit agin and I try to speak inbetween the spaces of your screams. You throw a book at the wall where my head was moments ago it flutters to the ground like a shot bird. Its wings are spread apart to the page I’d already read with the sentance ‘Disapear Here’ underlined in lead pencil. I throw a coffee cup and the two day old coffee splashes against the walls and the cup doesnt break although I wanted it to. Then you look at me and the anger you feel which is pulling at every single muscle becomes apparent and I wish you hadnt looked at all. You were hideous when you were angry, so I told you this and you said,

Things Which Were Said

‘You - you are the worst person I have ever met. I never, ever want to see you again.’

Things Which Should Have Been Said

‘Will it always hurt?’
‘Definantely’.

Can't out-hipster me.

2010-06-22T22:45:00.002+10:00

june gloom?

2010-06-04T16:23:00.003+10:00

It is now officially June Gloom, Ive got the scarves and jackets to prove it. Surprisingly though, I haven't had a drink all month. Im knee deep in Uni work and trying like hell to get good marks this semester. Currently rocking some D's and HD's for advanced creative writing. Yeah, thats right I can use my thinky-hole real good (better than any other hole.) So Ive got a feeling this Winter is going to be ok, I mean my Dad bought us a fantastic heater and as far as I'm concerned heaters do keep you warm at night, and from my experience they don't leave you in the morning to find another hole to keep warm in. You know though, my favorite thing about winter is taking off my scarf and running it through my fingers to feel the warmth my neck left on it. Something about it is so comforting, and some days its the best way to realise I'm completely alive.

2010-05-25T20:51:00.002+10:00

"I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside me there'll always be the person I am to-night."
— F. Scott Fitzgerald,Tender Is the Night

Excerpts from Various Notes (stories about hate)

2010-05-18T22:00:00.002+10:00

Casey had just left and in her wake is the sound of traffic, that lonely scream of tyres on asphalt and as always I wait for the crash. Sometimes when the girls leave in the morning I sit against my bed, not on it and wait for the sound of a collision. The intersection outside my house is always busy and the left lane attempts to merge into the right while the defiant cars refuse to offer up any road. The morning’s pass into afternoons and some afternoons while I’m sitting there with my eyes closed remembering the women I hear metal whimper and break. The violent noise sometimes leaves a pain in my gut. I picture myself in the crash, and there I am my flesh is burning and tiny droplets of the windscreen tear my face apart, every useless bone in my body bends and breaks in two, sometimes three. ‘My god’, I think, ‘my god’ I whimper. Mostly it’s the best part of my day.

Evelyn stood at the bar and I wondered about the woman she might once have been. She could hardly stand straight as she ordered her drink, I couldn’t hear what she said but from the looks of her she was aching for a whiskey. Her fingers gave her away, they were shaking a little, then twisting her rings back and forth. She made her way through the crowd and I did my best to stand casually beside her. ‘Nice shoes’ I said looking down. Her feet were perched awkwardly on heels. I didn’t really like them, and she couldn’t really walk in them. But she smiled at me anyway. So we talked for a while about something, maybe something we saw on the news or where she grew up. She drank more whiskey sours and I drank beer until the point where I could stand to touch her. Her hands were surprisingly soft, more aged than I tend to like and yellowed around the tips, but still the softest I’d held in a while. She would laugh at some of the things I said, her hair falling loose around her shoulders and other times she would speak rapidly with sadness between the breaks in her sentences. Finally she couldn’t say much anymore and then she was beautiful. She pulled me out the door and we lit our cigarettes while waiting for a taxi. She stood silently watching something in the distance while the hollow of her cheek bones arranged and rearranged shadows with the movement of her jaw. She turned to me and smiled I smiled back then I don’t think she said a word for quite some time.

Louise was asleep in my bed when I left for a walk. It was still dark, maybe four or five, but I couldn’t sleep with her next to me. She kicked a lot and her hair smelt familiar. I looked back at her from the doorway, she was curled up like a child with her hair wound around her fingers. The streetlights had turned her yellow, she looked sick. She winced in her sleep then rolled over. I wonder if I gave her nightmares.

2010-04-15T22:58:00.002+10:00

Harry woke the tiny woman in his bed just to look at her with disgust,
‘I don’t know your name and I don’t want to’, he told her. She continued to slip in and out of consciousness pulling the sheets tight around her naked thighs, aching with the regret of her last four drinks.
‘It’s Annie,’ she mumbled, more to her dream than to him.
‘I said I don’t care.’
Harry lay on his back watching the morning spread across the ceiling and walls, the light touched the few items placed haphazardly around the room: his mirror, a lamp and a pile of books. A single white canvas broke the empty space on the wall above his bed, it showed one drip of black paint running down the middle. He found its minimalism attractive so he would stare at it before falling asleep some nights, musing over that trail of paint. It came from a dumpster out the back of a cafe down the road, he found it amongst the chicken bones and rotting lettuce leaves. He bought it home and slammed a nail into the wall so it could hang above his bed. One night when the wind was terrible and the walls trembled his painting fell to his bed hitting him in the temple. Well, Harry swore and seethed and got right on out of his bed, picked up the painting and threw it across the room,
‘You motherfucking whore fuck of a fucking thing’
In a rage he rubbed his temple and flicked on the lamp. He grabbed the painting and placed in on the bed beside him, furiously picked up a black marker and scrawled ‘don’t ever do that again’ on the canvas, then hung it neatly back on the wall above him. He didn’t like the painting so much since then.
Now Annie stirred a little in her sleep. Harry whispered to her resting frame
‘Wake up and look at yourself.’
So she lifted her head a little and waited for the room to drift into focus, when it did she wished it hadn’t. Harry’s room gave the impression of life: a few scattered items of clothing and a used coffee mug among other dull insinuations, but a sense of abandon seeped through the stale paint and Annie found herself in a moment of abject loss, desperately lost.
Harry had moved to the other side of the room to sit in the corner and stare at the bed. Annie sat with her knees tucked under her chin trying to occupy as little space as possible.
‘How did I get here?’ she asked timidly.
‘Taxi’ Harry said.
‘Oh right’ She replied. ‘Have you seen my shirt?’
‘No’ Harry said.
‘Well I can’t exactly leave without it.’
‘I suppose not’
The sun was mocking them both, Annie tried to rub it out of her eyes, Harry tried to scratch it off his face.
‘You’re an odd assortment of bones’ Harry told her ‘see, when you sit like that it looks like youre features have been over sharpened, chiselled to violent angles. Has anyone ever told you that?
She shook her head.
‘No, I suppose they wouldn’t. Here have a smoke’
He flicked a cigarette to the bed, it hit Annie between the eyes, she giggled a little out of embarrassment. She managed to catch the box of matches but the draft blowing through the cracks in the window frame made it almost impossible to light.
Harry was a fast smoker, an ugly smoker too. His face twisted with every deep and furious inhalation and his exhalation was low and aggressive. In and out .
Annie found her shirt then placed her burning cigarette under the pool of sheets gathered at the end of the bed. She grabbed her purse and left. She didn’t say goodbye, or maybe she did but Harry didn’t care. He picked up his notebook and began to write the only story he knows how to write, a story about hate.
Stumbling down the autumn street Annie waited for that cocksucker to burn to the ground.

2010-02-22T23:49:00.002+11:00

This was a Saturday night where the sky felt like the slow and flirtations exhalation of a smoker. There were many nights like this but this one in particular felt wicked. I was drinking on the filthy lounge with some of the people I love most. By this stage the room was littered with beer bottles and knocked over ash trays. The house was bound for demolition so in the mean time we drew on the walls painted colours on anything that may have needed it. My wine warmed from my sweaty palms and I don't like my wine like that, but there was nothing left to drink. I spilled some on my stockings after attempts to balance the glass and bottle and cigarette failed. Lucky they were black. The conversation spun towards crude moments from the past like the things we did when we were young and the people we used to know. I suppose at some point my lips became numb and it became harder to control them. This night, like all of those in the past took strange turns in the direction of mistakes. When the house was a mess and the booze was all gone we left. Leaving the smell of ash and desperation behind, but at least the laughter still clung to our cheeks. We all drank some more beers at any place that would serve us. And in the bathrooms behind the graffiti and slander ridden walls (generally which was about ourselves) we rubbed any old thing into our gum's. Pupils widened, hearts, legs and minds too. Adventures sent us through the swirling streets which did their best to forced us to the gutter. Heavy nights with heavier hearts and it takes almost nothing to send us to our knees. Anywhere, with anyone. Driveways and abandoned houses and the gaps left behind in this city. I guess if we could have run we would have but even then we never have anywhere to go.

2010-02-03T17:10:00.003+11:00

Here's how I see it, after months of biting the whore outta my tongue here it is.
Dear you and you and you and you.
I'll admit the terms 'psychotic ex' and ' emotionally unstable' and 'batshit fucking crazy' have been thrown in my direction more times than I care for. And Im not going to lie about it, my last few breakups have left me a little on the Joan Crawford side of the spectrum. I can't say Im ok with it, but I also cant see how anyone could have dealt with these people and situations and come out of it without bearing a slight resemblance to Bertha Mason. From the emotionally abusive to just plain emotionally destructive its safe to say I am far from a great judge of character. Its the old low self esteem cycle, from one douchebag that treats you like shit its so easy to just slide towards the next then the next. That however, is mostly my own fault.

So sit on down now and tell me kid, how was I suppose to come out of this? How does one maintain sanity when every last shred of self respect has been torn apart? When one bad decision leads into the next and eventually there not much left to do but burn bridges and burn out. I tried my best, but madness is better then crippling misery and misery eventually kills you in one way or another. Trust me, I tried.

This city got me beat. These kids got me crushed. Now I drive aimlessly looking for the first sign post that reads 'anywhere but here.'

2010-01-05T22:25:00.009+11:00

I knew this boy who was rotten to the core, 'least he was after meeting me and goddamned I wonder what happened to him. We don't have a story but if we did I'd say it began on a filthy lounge, unfolded over Canadian Club and Coke and ended with four bloodshot eyes and two shaky hands.

What came first, the drugs or the pain? Well I know that he taught me a little about both. Now I miss that kid I knew in those first nights and its been a long time realizing that he's gone. Where do lovers go when love dies?

2000 and whine

2009-12-31T18:59:00.003+11:00

The last few hours of 2009 and I should have something more poignant to say, but I lost too much to know where to even begin. I'll send 2009 off the only way I know how- with a whoreload of booze and somewhat lethal drugs while dancing it off with self loathing and regret.

I miss

2009-12-28T16:37:00.003+11:00

So much. But especially these two.

Things keeping me alive at the moment::

2009-12-21T20:22:00.003+11:00

- Red wine
- The most amazing best friends in the history of best friends
- The Sopranos
- The most beautiful four year old ever.
- The Yeah Yeah Yeah's
- Not much else.

2009-12-15T22:56:00.004+11:00

I was intrigued from that first moment he shuffled down the lecture hall in a faded hoodie of my favorite band. I blushed when he caught me looking but I just wanted to say, 'hey nice hoodie', in that way which signifies mutual appreciation. I heard he was popular with the ladies and I didnt really doubt it. Some time passed before we were actually introduced through mutual friends and the blushing thing never really stopped. I was at a low point in my life that first time he kissed me and the last time he kissed me was probably rock bottom, although I didnt realize it at the time. I had a broken heart which was being held together by not much more than a bottle of wine and cheap necklaces. This night was warm and for the first time I could leave the house without a jacket, something which made me nervous considering the junkie-esqu look I had recently acquired. I checked myself in the mirror and made a note not to stand with a certain posture because my collar bones looked like they could stab eyes out if twisted at the wrong angle. I met up with some friends at the pub and I drank to feel less awkward and to forget just how sad I was. It worked because it always does. We started to talk and the booze bubbling in my belly made me say thoughtless things, flirtatious things and miserable things. When we left I said go back, I said not now, not like this. He walked me home to keep me safe because I was drunk enough and sad enough to not check for traffic or utilize common sense. We walked and every time we were illuminated under street lamps I caught a glimpse of the hideous nature of our actions. In the shadows however it was easy to ignore. We we wired and wasted and lonely in a way that seemed endless. There was a moment under a tree where he said things which made me smile and it was so dark he couldn't see me blush. He doesn't remember what he said, and this is the point where I pretend that neither do I, its just easier that way. Forgetting is a beautiful thing, like forgetting those that we love so momentarily we can be happy, forgetting about a broken heart, forgetting to eat, to sleep, to say 'no more'. There are things which make is easier to forget and Ive been doing a lot of them lately. I seem to have too many of these stories.

2009-12-09T09:31:00.003+11:00

Today the only thing that could possibly get me out of bed and motivate me to take the necessary breaths was the adorable four year old giggling hysterically next to me. I had to sit up and see what was so entertaining. While I personally couldn't figure out what was so funny, It was nice to know that apparently there was something intriguing and joyful about a fucked up morning like this, even if it can only be seen by a small child.

Turpintine

2009-12-01T19:32:00.000+11:00

You still cross my mind from time to time

2009-11-24T12:04:00.003+11:00

And mostly I smile.

I think Ive self destructed enough for now, I think I have punished myself enough too. A leisurely stroll to rock bottom saw days and days of vodka and smoking away the best parts of myself. And I know now, that Im better than that. And I fucked up, and everyone does and now its time to find whats left and hold onto it because it might not last.

Dandelions

2009-11-16T00:09:00.004+11:00

The words she never said to the man asleep in the centre of the room were,
‘It broke me, and I know it broke you too, there is too much poison in this world’
And he was sleeping and not dreaming but he would have said back,
‘I’m sorry I filled your veins and ruined your blood.’
And they moved back to their beds in the earth to lay and try to swallow the stars.
‘I imagine they taste like metal and citrus’ She mumbled then tripped into a dream.
Swallowed back into the womb of the earth, he vomited a little before falling asleep. He was dizzy as hell and the poison formed nightmares.

salty snow

2009-10-05T00:29:00.004+11:00

The most boring of drives back to the most boring place on earth. Its only appropriate that the clouds should be so grey. And tomorrow we wake to the rain and mumble greetings to the grey world and the beaches whimper with abandonment. And everything stays the same. Like always, there's rubbish and surfboard wax and the smell of sunscreen, always. It far from hideous, but more importantly is just how far it is from beautiful. This town gets so dark at night and deathly quiet too.

Childhood was fucking ace

2009-09-29T20:04:00.006+10:00

But I was so fucking sad knowing my toys might somehow die while I was asleep.

2009-09-27T11:09:00.002+10:00

Ive been blog-lazy lately. Too busy doing other things like...and...well, yeah nothing. After spewing my guts up into two plastic bags last night, in true trashbag style, I figured it was an appropiate time to return to the blogosphere. Not that I have anything to write, not that I ever have anything much to write, and now what with the whole being happy thing it makes it hard to maintain sufficient amounts of whine. But I'll do what I can.

cigarette legs

2009-08-31T18:20:00.003+10:00

I haven't felt like this in months. You know what they say, one step froward,ten steps back. If nothing else I have mastered the art of failure, that beautiful art of fucking up and ending up with a mess that cant be washed away. These days my self loathing is too big to even share a bed with, Ill sleep on the floor, you sleep sound. It was a simple mistake, and I know I say sorry like its going out of fashion, but I never meant to hurt you. But I did, and I do, and Im not worth the pain. Sleep soundly.

Dandelions

2009-08-28T21:45:00.002+10:00

I found my muse again.

addicted to bad ideas

2009-07-27T10:07:00.003+10:00

Its hard to write anything when its hard to feel anything. My brain is tucked in with cotton wool and I cant say I mind. Between all the silence and the bad decisions I still wonder how I got to this point. And mostly, wondering is so much worse than knowing.

the recluse

2009-07-17T00:05:00.003+10:00

Going to have to face the real world soon. But for now, its all about addictive TV shows, baking and reading and cigarette breaks and going numb.
Norway will probably have lots of cats soon too, you know the crazy person kind.

bury me

2009-07-13T14:34:00.004+10:00

The only spirit I have left comes in bottles. And I walk in circles around the person I used to be slurring words like 'take this away' and 'throw it to the sea'. Im waiting for time to come to me with a needle and thread to sow this mess back up. Time moves so slowly, I should know I stare at the clock often enough waiting for the day to drown until its time for me to do the same. Im about two glasses and two hours off being an alcoholic. You're about two sentences off being a monster. You made a wreck of my soul and its gone, leaked all over the floors, now these bones are left and they wont forgive you. The moon writes 'failure' all over my face in this silver whisper which feels more like a scream. So I fall into bed and try and tear it off. I speak smoke against the night and if you could read the twist and curl of chemicals it would probably say something like 'my heart would forgive you...if I could find it'

Hey Mexico

2009-07-10T22:58:00.001+10:00

Thanks for the tequila.

You swore you'd never do this

2009-07-09T11:21:00.002+10:00

This moment right here, has me broken. Something about this hangover and this pain in my chest that I cant even cough up and then this ache in the pit of my stomach has got me by the bones and shattered me, right through to the marrow. Everyday is one day less. Everyday is one day less. Sitting up at 3am with Lars drinking, smoking and talking about time travel sure has a funny way of reminding me of just how much I miss you. Maybe its the smell of weed or something. I guess you get to a point where being a cold, jaded, miserable, cunt just isn't fun anymore. There are only so many listless nights to be spent under a wasted moon.

2009-06-30T12:58:00.004+10:00

And the answer comes in the form of a hand written letter from the moon. It says,

"This is brutally beautiful. So are we. This is endless. So are we. We can heal this."
signed,
Crater Face.

June

2009-06-29T11:09:00.006+10:00

For all your brutal winds that wound around our bones like wire and for all your nights which tore us in two, and for the days which did nothing more than leak through the windows in the worst kind of way, we survived you. We drank through the longest nights and smoked away the brightest days and somewhere in between I think we found some remnants of hope. It was small and light but we tucked it into our worn winter jackets, wrapped within numb fingers and carried it around like a lighter we wont leave the house without. I'm not going to miss you, June. You didn't play nice or fair. When every morning I wake up drunk to a scolding sun and a body full of mystery bruises and a self worth torn to shreds, I can never forgive you.

Dear Norway

2009-06-23T13:31:00.001+10:00

While I have really enjoyed the smoking out the window policy that has been implemented in your absence, and I have enjoyed moments of this entire week of wandering around my house in nothing but underwear. And I enjoyed waking up to a morning cigarette and coffee in bed with Ms Whoresome, and playing Good News For People Who Love Bad New really loud every single morning because it seems to the only album which can actually motivate us to get out of bed, put make up on and leave the house. And I have enjoyed being drunk as fuck for 4 days straight and not even having to pretend that I'm doing ok. And the late night wine and Gaslight Anthem nights and the hysterical laughing which somehow leads into crying. And then the playing with crayons and paint and ripping up shirts and making signs. And this feeling, right now of being young.
But come home soon, we are actually going crazy without you.

Enough Guilt

2009-06-23T03:11:00.003+10:00

I sleep with the window open in nothing but underpants and a bra because I deserve the coldest winter night.

And the waiter served my coffee with a consolation sigh

2009-06-23T02:46:00.003+10:00

Life was a lot sweeter before we started to choke in our dreams and before our lungs started to chattered like teeth. I cant breathe so well these days. But I cant do much too well these days. Things like wake up, get dressed, leave the house and function like a normal human being dont come so naturally anymore. Thats sad, but so are a lot of things.
And what's new, pussycat, is that you were once a lioness
They cut your claws out

I look

2009-06-21T23:57:00.004+10:00

at these things, then it hurts then I drink more, then it stops hurting, then I look again, then I drink more. I dont really learn do I? Being masochistic as fuck just doesnt work for me anymore. Plan for tomorrow, no more drinking, no more moping, no more looking, no more anything. We will become surgeons and have children and the world will be wonderful. So it goes.

So,

2009-06-21T16:38:00.002+10:00

Is hurting me this bad as fun as it sounds? Because it sounds like a blast, maybe I'll join you.

See what I did there?

2009-06-21T00:41:00.004+10:00

Its hard to drink and smoke and write. Harder than expected. But, you know what else is hard? Sitting outside smoking alone watching the ambulance take your best friend, then watching you walk home, not alone. It's not enjoyable. Nor is this feeling, or any of this. I'm drinking from my favorite teacup,you know the one, and the vodka helps, because I refuse to go the sleep sober or alone. This sickness and this jealousy will fade away, it will curl back into the pit of my stomach and return to the womb from which it was born. All these words I want to yell will stay perfectly still in my cords and never untie themselves. Its all I can hope for. And it means I choke a lot, but its better than saying a single thing.

Its ladies night, all girls drink for free

2009-06-18T11:46:00.003+10:00

Hottubs, wine, tequila, aquavit, rum and cigarettes FTW. No drama, just vicious inebriation of the most classy kind.
But right now I feel like death, something about the booze and the dehydration and that sadness which creeps up through rainy, hungover days. I want to go away for a while. Real far away. Its 12.30pm, that's too early for more drinking isn't it? Thought so.

I got to you, there was nothing left

2009-06-16T18:10:00.003+10:00

I dont know where to start. I dont know how to put things back together. Its all about picking up the pieces and finding where they fit or where they used to fit. Im starting from scratch. The thing about rock bottom is that that there is nowhere to go but up. The thing about not being able to breathe in the middle of the night when we have nothing left is that we have to find new things, and seek them out from the darkness. Because, the other option, giving up, is not really an option at all. We are too young to think that there is nothing left, and it takes a certain kind of person to think there is nothing left at 20. So I waited out the night, and Ill wait out today too, Ill just wait until it stops hurting, Ill wait until these scars and bruises and burns fade. Because they will. They always do.

You don't get to take anything else from me. Not that there is anything left to take. But Ill put the things I need in a box, in a tiny box hidden in the bottom of a glass and we'll never touch it again. It wont break because I wont let it.

I didnt deserve this. I write it into my sleeves and I read it everyday. Its become a notion now, and the words don't mean a thing. But its better to read it than not.

Souless Whore

2009-06-15T11:11:00.002+10:00

Its sad when this happens and I should know, its happened before. I think maybe I should blame myself because I do something to turn the people I loved into abusive, destructive, monsters. And Ive thought about it so much that I think myself into a state of self loathing and self doubt from which its hard to return.
So I think, who the fuck are you and how did this happen? Map it out, make a list, add it up and multiply, who's wrong and who's right? But nothing makes sense. I cant find a single equation that doesn't leave me to blame. Im not much for maths though, so maybe I'm missing a vital figure. So I turn my brain off because thinking it through is too unbearable. I cant play with this hate anymore, its starting to burn and its going to scar. We have enough of those as it is.

Scrap that,

2009-06-09T21:11:00.001+10:00

You're a cunt.

Perfecting loneliness

2009-06-08T22:02:00.003+10:00

Im not gunna lie about it, Im sitting on my bed drinking wine, listening to Jets to Brazil and smoking out my bedroom window. I know, right?

I still miss you in this way which rips me in two. And I still have this tenderness is my chest which makes it hard to breathe sometimes. And I still pick up things just to see if they smell like you, but they never do, and Ive stopped trying to breathe your shirts back inside me. Actually, I gave them all back today, because they had just started to smell like me. I wonder if...oh nevermind.

Im wearing this new dress called 'fuck it, im happy' but it doesn't fit yet. But then again neither do any of my clothes. I guess I started trying to disappear again. That's another thing.

But at the end of the day I have the bestest friends I could ask for. The kind that I can send ridiculous messages to at any time asking for ridiculous advice. The kind that let me rant until Im blue in the face and then make all kinda jokes about 'Blowing in the face'. I think I missed that, having amazing friends that is. Sometimes its just a matter of saying, 'Hey, look, im fucking miserable, make some jokes Ok? Tell me Im not the worst person you have ever met'

So Im thinking, well fuck it, I can do this. Ive done it before and time's not going to repeat itself, not this time. Ive been broken before and its not nearly as fun as the poets might have us believe. I'm working on not choking on my anger or the pain in my chest. And I haven't even listened to 'Album of the Year' in five weeks. This is me not moping, this is me being awesome and brave and strong. Just like we said.

2009-06-06T16:23:00.003+10:00

The days are getting better. I knew they would, its just a matter of digging your teeth into your hands and waiting for the feelings to pass. Because they do, or so I'm learning. There are things which help but this isn't the time of place to get into that. And even then everything can come crashing down again. But Im trying this new thing called happiness or faking.
The nights are still gutting.

Ouchies

2009-05-17T23:16:00.000+10:00

My anger is a form of madness
but I'd rather have both than the sadness.

love wont steal us from loneliness

2009-05-11T23:14:00.003+10:00

I dont know how I'm going to sleep tonight. I dont have any booze and I spent the better part of my day asleep. Im not tired, but I dont want to be conscious anymore. For the first time in what seems like forever Im lonely as fuck. Heartbreaking lonely, like my bones are hallow. I dont know what to do, so I keep wandering around with this cement in my stomache and trying to find peices to fit back inside me, anythings better than being as empty as this. Tomorrow will be a better day, its just got to be.

Broken

2009-05-10T21:43:00.004+10:00

One week spent laying in bed filling in the blanks. I keep thinking over and over, I keep thinking I cant do this...I cant..oh nevermind. Roll over. Get up. Smoke it off.
Under the grey sky that stretches for miles I sit and smoke and try not to choke on the tenderness in my chest. But I wait for you to come home like things are still the same, like you're just going to walk down the street, smile, tell me you missed me and we'll watch a movies or just sit and do nothing, comfortably, like we could do it forever. The rain falls, Im down to the butt, and I just go back inside and try to sleep it off. Over and over.

2009-05-04T20:55:00.002+10:00

And then there's that feeling like I might just cry hard enough to cough my stomach up. And holding you bones as tight as I can through your shirt. And saying goodbye in this way that means for good.

A stone

2009-04-23T22:17:00.003+10:00

I woke up late today because Dane's bed is comfortable in ways which make getting up impossible. I drove to uni and then sat through a whole class feeling stupid because Im an ignorant cunt who doesnt read the news and is completely useless in a communications course. Im going to start reading the news and shit. Anyway then I drove home and thought about how you told me that I am miserable, and I told you that I wasnt although I wasnt very convincing. And I drove around for a while listening to Okkervil River and trying to light a smoke and I felt strange, and I felt useless and I felt a whole lot of feeling which I didnt really enjoy, like the ones based around worthlessness and directionlesness. They are the worst. And now all I want to do is have a joint in the bath, drink some canadian club and get back into the bed which makes waking up much harder than it already is.

what have we done?

2009-04-20T18:16:00.003+10:00

Sometimes after a cigarette I get this slow and flat feeling which is accompanied by a hideous taste in my mouth. I call it the post cigarette blues and im yet to figure out if it is the sadness of knowing I cant have another one for a while or the self loathing of knowing im doing harmful things to my unsuspecting body. Who cares either way. It keeps raining outside and I cant say I mind. If the rain could get loud enough and heavy enough so I could stand and yell into the night then I might be ok, if it could fill my mouth with water so I choked on my own scream then my anger might finally drown. But as it is my teeth and worn down from clenching them so tight and my fist are painted purple with my own nail marks. How did we get to the point where we talk in a language of slamming doors and 'fuck you's'? And I cough up words like I cant breathe while they're in my lungs and you dont say a fucking thing and again and again. We set our watches to the time of our last fight and I cant breathe anymore.

2009-04-09T12:11:00.001+10:00

You know whats not fun?

2009-03-29T23:38:00.002+11:00

Being so fucking insecure about absolutely everything that it turns you into a right abortion of a human being. Or so I'd imagine anyway. Im in my old bed, in my old room and I can hear the ocean just over the hill and you know what, it sounds real good, better than fucking car alarms and crazy drunks and douchbags with sports exhausts, yeah thats right, fuck you Hamilton. So maybe Im a little drunk and maybe Im a little miserable, but Im working on it, the miserable thing that is. Sorry for failing at life so hard right now. But you know what the really depressing thing is, I saw this guy working at the bottle store tonight, and I went there twice, because clearly one bottle of wine wasnt enough, and this guy behind the counter looks at me like Im a drunk, and the store smelt old and damp and the lighting was dim and grey and there were crumbs and bugs on the ground and it was in a real shoddy part of town, and there wasnt a single person in the store and I got the impression that there hadnt been for a while, and something about his face and the way me moved depressed the hell outta me. Its like he was really old when he really shouldnt have been. And I wondered if Id ever become a guy like that (but clearly not actually a guy) and I wondered if he worried about people thinking that, and maybe he's a real happy guy and just had a bad night and looked really sad for no good reason. I dont know, fuck it. I just felt mighty sad.

Hoplessly so

2009-03-26T22:41:00.002+11:00

I hate the taste of cigarette smoke in my mouth and the smell of it on my hands. Why do I do this shit? Im spaced as fuck from painkillers and something else which I cant put my finger on.

...

2009-03-21T20:23:00.002+11:00

I stood in the cue at the checkout swaying a little and fumbling through my bag for change, this woman in front of me dropped her bread then struggled to pick it up, I hated watching or the way her eyes sat so lifelessly in her head. I scattered my coins on the counter and mumbled ‘Dunil Livers’ which actually meant Dunhill Silvers but a bottle of red makes it real hard to pronounce ‘S’ sounds. I smiled through purple teeth at the man serving me and some words rolled down my black tongue falling limply on the desk between us. I brushed them away and made my way out onto the street and into the night and began to make my way back home. The night felt thick and angry. I lit a smoke as I counted the cracks in the pavement and followed patterns of shattered glass and shit until they led me to the pedestrian crossing which I stumbled onto without glancing up. I waited for the sound of screaming tires and wondered what was supposed to kill me first the impact or internal bleeding but cigarette ash fell like snow down the front of my dress as I tripped up the gutter and back onto the curb; too drunk to be disappointed. I started down my street staring through the city past the flies and street lamps and cement and trash tripping over my feet every few steps and trying to hold in vomit. People emerged out of the darkness and all I wanted to do was stab my cigarette into every single arm I saw and melt away their grey worthless flesh until it was black and scarred and infinitely painful. The night was burning into my bones and I paused for a moment to breathe and swallow a small mouthful of vomit which tasted acidic, the way I imagine burnt flesh would taste. I breathed as deeply as I could but I wasn’t getting enough air. I stood there under hideous stars letting a cigarette burn my fingers while I choked on something cold and sharp and monstrous in my chest. And I stood there for some time, not breathing and not really wanting to until the feeling passed.

I got home and I found you so we sat on the Veranda having another drink and another smoke and I wanted to tell you about this feeling, well these feelings, like the one about wanting to burn people, but I couldn’t form a single sentence that didn’t start with words that sounded like hate. We opted for a seething silence; we do that a lot these days. In the distance we heard sirens then the sound of crickets then nothing but the empty space where our words should have been. I mumbled something stupid because the silence was gutting me and red wine dribbled down my chin, you looked at me in disgust. I wiped it away and tried again, ‘this girl threw herself in front of a train up the road last night’ you didn’t look at me, just said ‘shit’, ‘I’ve been thinking about it all day’, ‘throwing yourself in front of a train?’ ‘I guess’. Then the sky opened up, just a little so the moon could turn everything from black to grey, you were looking at your feet and everything around you had turned silver. You flicked your smoke over the fence and stood up ‘Don’t’ was all you said before you slammed the door behind you and then the moon disappeared into the clouds.

Ah fuck.

2009-03-19T11:10:00.002+11:00

My legs ache alot, the way they tend to after I have drunkenly walked all round the city in shitty shoes. Im hung over as fuck and yet again missed my Media Structures lecture meaning I have yet to attend a single one. Fuck Im a lazy, worthless drunk. But hey Im back at Uni and using my brain again and funcioning as an almost normal member of society who works and it trusted with small children. Babysitting is fun. I want babies, thousands of them. But not the kind thats gunna like cry and poop and stuff. Anyway I need to showerz and stuff feed a baby and quit being a lazy whore and attempt to make it to my 1pm tutorial.

Dear University

2009-03-17T14:01:00.000+11:00

Stop stealing my money you filthy whore.

What have I done?

2009-03-09T20:41:00.004+11:00

This was meant to be my great escape
But, I got lost along the way
Amongst free HBO and take-out
Going to write my Moby Dicks
More like scratching lyrics on paper plates
I spent the best years of my life
Waiting on the best years of my life
So what's there to write about?
What have I done?

This is the most brutal and tragically self deprecating song Tim Kasher has ever written and it really rips my heart right out. But I am a total Saddle Creek douche so thats to be expected. New Cursive album Mamma, Im Swollen is out tomorrow, and my god im excited.

Things which happened yesterday which made die a little inside:

2009-03-09T12:53:00.005+11:00

1. Discovered approximately 10 gray hairs.
2. Discovered large varicose vein in leg.
3. Suspected wrinkles emerging around eyes.
4. Ran out of red wine.

Life's fucking tough hey?

Night Windows

2009-03-08T00:05:00.001+11:00

Im sitting in my backyard freezing like hell under a night sky which seems darker than usual and is void of stars in a way which makes the whole world seem empty. I dont move for a little while and I just sit shivering and then not shivering, looking right up into the blackness and wondering what it is about a night sky that sometimes rips my heart right out. Im breathing in black and brushing mosquitoes off my legs while all around me tree's stand alarmingly still. Its not the loneliness of a night sky that gets to me, there are much lonelier things in the world, like old people and the way the world smells at quarter to six in the morning. Somehow tonight makes me feel old. My skin looks metallic under the moon and Im resisting the urge to light a smoke. At my foot a cockroach scurries away then I notice weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement like misplaced tuffs of hair, then my bones creak, it all hurts in tiny insignificant ways. I run my fingers through my hair which looks and smells like smoke and squint into the darkness for a little while before I see a star, or a plane, it doesnt matter much anyway.

blanks.

2009-02-27T21:40:00.003+11:00

I really want to say that I have been too busy to write latley but that would be a flacid lie. I guess I have just been drunk and lazy and uninspired, and more so than usual. I cant guarantee Ill write anything decent anytime soon but here's to hoping.

You sound pretty on my windows

2009-02-14T22:28:00.003+11:00

I love this weather, it matches perfectly my lazy and miserable as fuck mood, aside from the miserable part, because Im not really. Im drinking vodka because it is a wonderful beverage which makes my tummy warm and my head happy. Dane said it was too strong, but I think its just fine. I dont really have any interesting words to produce, but my dermal scars are fading which is lovely, although I miss my stupid metal things. And I cant stop loving the sound of rain.

Everything is illuminated.

2009-02-14T21:40:00.005+11:00

"If there is no love in the world, we will make a new world, and we will give it heavy walls, and we will furnish it with soft red interiors, from the inside out, and give it a knocker that resonates like a diamond falling to a jeweler’s felt so that we should never hear it. Love me, because love doesn’t exist, and I have tried everything that does."

2009-02-13T13:26:00.002+11:00

I pass up on doing anything these days in favour of sitting alone in the house in a shirt that smells like you as I fumble through junk in my room trying to fit everything into place so I cant see that something is missing. I found you sometime ago, somewhere between a bourbon&coke and a cigarette. I think you offered me a light, I think I giggled alot, it seems like something I would do. I was a fucking mess, but you pretended not to notice and I pretended not to mind. We fell between bottles of wine and canadian club, down stairs and in love. Now you breath for me when I forget how and you're collerbone has grown to be the perfect shape for my head. You yell at me when I start trying to disapear again and you save the last draw of your smoke for me. You tell me I look beautiful even on days when I dont. Im doing my best right now, but I dont want to leave the house, and I dont want to talk and this lump in my chest keeps growing, I hope Im not letting you down. You have to know you have my heart

SEX

2009-02-12T15:21:00.004+11:00

I make sex with Deegs and Court.

Untitled 2

2009-02-11T14:12:00.005+11:00

I left the bottle store with red wine balancing on my hip like a small child. I flicked my lighter against my half bent cigarette. Once. Twice. It wouldnt catch through the wind. Three. I stumbled through the abandoned car park, wading through leaves, cigarette butts, broken glass and mice. The wind blew through my veins. The night spilt like dye across my skin. I watched street lights burn holes into the sky, aware that they would never seem as beautiful as stars. I dont like stars anyway. I waited for my lift, lighting another smoke. Failing at lighting another smoke. Giving up. Plastic bags circled the asphalt like vultures, weaving across the cemented sky, swooping towards the rotten ground. I never understood this city with its crooked houses, weeping lights and roads that just lead back to themselves. I cough through the tar in my lungs, it comes out like a whimper. Buildings look away. I crack open my wine because there was nothing else to do. Beneth a street light which paints me orange I stand freezing to death, tremering like a poorly formed note. I could have sworn I called this city home once, but every single bus following every single exit sign leaves me feeling jealous. I light up again and walk it off. I cant forgive this city.

Ruins

2009-02-10T01:12:00.003+11:00

Somewhere across the bar I hear an old man order his drink
‘Scotch, on the rocks.’
He stumbles over the words. I look up from my drink.
In the darkest corner of the bar he sat awkwardly, dressed in faded colours that hung loosely off the sharp edges of his bones. His flesh was grey, cracked and dry like a picture of age painted miserably by time. He sipped frequently at the drink before him, as though he might find hope at the bottom of the glass. He was wrapped in smoke, blurred, slow, distant and looked like a dream, only the sort that one never really remembers, but can almost taste on the tip of the tongue and the rounds of the fingertips.

In the dimly lit bar he barely cast a shadow. He gripped a cigarette between stained fingers and I caught him tremble a little from the cold, or the sudden awareness of his own isolation. It was a tiny and horrifying movement not meant to be seen by anyone. I watched him turn his hands over and over again trying to read memories written in scars and creases. I wondered if he did this everyday just to remember who he was. He shook more and more with every movement of his glass, pathetically, painfully. When people walked past the mumbled their aspersions, ‘look at that worthless old man’, ‘look at that drunken fool’, look at the way time has destroyed him.
His skin clung too tightly to his skeleton revealing the damaged and misshaped patterns of cartilage and bones. There was no secret in the death pumping behind his paper ribs. He was naked and humiliated.
I looked away.

Ode to Clementine

2009-02-06T20:24:00.004+11:00

Apparently my car has spent too much time with me and my whiney self-destuctive ways have rubbed off. Like an angsty teenager listeing to far too much Bright eyes it made a pathetic plea for help and threw itself into a tree. Mad life skillz Car. Fuck.
Its all damaged and punkrock now.

Choke

2009-02-04T18:02:00.005+11:00

Breathing didn’t feel right today. I woke up heavy and dim, still tasting sleep on the tip of my tongue. I haven’t been feeling anything other than angry lately, its hopeless to wake up and have to swallow a lump of hate just to make it through the day. That shit is worse for the stomach lining than 10 Ibuprofen without food. And it burns a bigger hole.
Hate tastes acidic and cold. Hate is hard to chew and harder to keep down. Its raw and seething with bacteria.
I have a black tongue.

2009-01-30T10:59:00.002+11:00

Im siting up in bed with the beginning of a shitty cold trying to decide weather im going to get up make a cup of tea and exchange pleasantries with the housemates or just be a lazy fuck and go back to sleep. So yeah, my nose is runny and annoying but on the bright side I have had a succession of heartfelt sneezes and I am of the opinion that a few good sneezes can really brighten ones day. On a slightly more interesting note Im compiling a list of my all time top25 favourite songs. It should be done soon.

Untitled

2009-01-29T23:59:00.004+11:00

This woman sits across from me in a café, I watch her while she cautiously sips at her coffee, slowly and at perfect intervals. Her downcast eyes are dim and heavy, weighed down by an infinite cynicism. Her shoulders hang low and loose, dripping awkwardly from her head. It was clear that life not only displeased her, it devastated her. With arms and legs tucked as tightly into the seat as possible she attempted to occupy as little space as she could, as if this space didn’t belong to her and never would. I watched her while she read her book, while her eyes couldn’t possibly catch mine. Dark hairs fell around the edges of her face, like a frame for a painting that was almost too insipid and subtle to exist. She resided quaintly between her coffee and book, all bones and jagged edges which flickered and twisted nervously. When approached by a waitress she jumped out of surprise, I saw her look up for the first time as the cafe lights swirled across her pale face. She was older than I thought, or maybe just looked older sitting there trapped under the lights. Dark circles surrounded darker eyes while her cheeks sat like knots under her skin. She forced a smile which was all lips and no teeth and somehow every other feature and expression dripped away like wax until nothing was left on her face but the twitch of a muscle and a collection of bones. She smiled the way emptiness would smile.

Schmigger dere brere?

2009-01-27T10:06:00.002+11:00

Head over to Sheriffs and Schmiggers to check out some cool shit by cool people.

Scheriffs and Schmiggers

Slide

2009-01-23T10:52:00.002+11:00

I cant seem to wake up right today. I have a cold and Im all stressed about pointless shit. Anyway, Im trying to make a lamp out of slides. Its kinda fun, and kinda very tedious. I have mad skills and by that I mean I have stabbed myself with a needle like 11 times already. I also go cross eyed when I concentrate on things for too long, this happens a lot when I paint. Its pretty retarded really.

Too Heavy To Float Away

2009-01-21T16:03:00.004+11:00

So I did like, drawing and stuff last night. Its not great, but Im getting back into it.

Ex Nuns

2009-01-17T22:25:00.006+11:00

Last night was all about the fucking sass. Best night out in so long. So lucky the D.M was such a tight driver and actually managed to save our fucking lives so we could get there in one piece and party on as we were destined. I got my drunken, high-pitch, over excited slurr talk on. Gutter vodka hangs, and shirtless dancing was had by all. We pee'd on a roundabout or a garden or whatever the fuck it was and got mauled by cactus'. I hop scotched with the Awesome all the way back to the car and had hands down the most amazing bust-out to This Could Be Love on the street at 6am. Life is good in mind altered states with amazing, amazing humans and sweet tunes.

Red Whine

2009-01-15T22:11:00.002+11:00

I've been finding it hard to write anything lately and its not that I cant find the words to express the things I'm thinking of feeling, its more like I cant find the feelings in the first place. I guess this is not as scary as Im having myself think it is. Indifference is ok, or whatever. I think there is a problem. I just dont know what it is. But I dont like this stupid thing my brain is doing where all human interactions make me really anxious. I dont like my apathy. I dont like my coldness. And I dont like where this is all taking me.

'"The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole god-damned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidates who reminded them most of themselves. I had no interests. I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn't understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go."

Ok, so Im reading Bukowski, wanna fight about it? Apparently Im a douche.

On that note though, more than anything Im an ungrateful douche. I can never seem to focus on the things I have, its a basic human flaw, but Im especially guilty, its the whole tortured artist, misunderstood-soul thing I never grew out of after high school. Its funny how we never seem to write about things when we are happy. Its like its almost not even worth capturing these moments, living them is enough. Sadness though, we have to make it seem worthwhile, transform it into something different. Humans are kinda fucked like that. Anyway, what I was initially getting at is that I am hopelessly in love and have the most amazing, understanding and patient boyfriend ever. But you dont hear much about that in this whiney, self indulgent blog.

Skin cells in trauma

2009-01-13T17:02:00.006+11:00

This place has its moments. I guess. I mean the beach was amazing today and I swam for ages, but this really is tool city. People kept giving my dirty looks because I have some stupid pointless piercings in my chest, and yeah I know they are stupid and people are obviously going to look at the shinny metal things protruding from my chest, but like, ease up on the dirty looks you close minded, painfully tanned, sea salt smelling, slow talking douche's.

This spot, just here

2009-01-12T18:02:00.004+11:00

Is possibly my favourite.
Ever.
But dont get me wrong, I fucking hate this town.

Yeah ok

2009-01-06T20:42:00.003+11:00

I am aware of the fact that I have become a heinous fucking bitch and every second word that spills out of my mouth is some judgemental, self righteous vile. And I do care, but I cant make it stop. Anger doesnt suit me, I wear it like a dress thats too tight and short and obvious and shows up bumps and lumps that arent normally there. If I think about it, I know my anger is misdirected almost 100% of the time,but fuck,I just dont know where to put it all. Im sure the only person Im really angry at is myself, I mean Im insecure as fuck and that doesnt really help either but I just want to stop feeling this way all the time. I wish I could like people again.

Jet black new year

2009-01-01T17:58:00.004+11:00

I feel like maybe I should write a blog regarding the New Year, some sort of recap, maybe some highlights and life lessons, exploration of my own growth and personal development, important people or something, anything to at least acknowledge the passing of another year. 2008 played out like a bad teen drama, a stupid stoner movie and a dark, obscure foreign film, all with a Tegan and Sara soundtrack. Too much time was spent in a hottub, a seedy pub and a haze of booze and self loathing. In the end though, it all worked out for the best, I never became a better person during 2008,just a fuckload more angry and cynical. I think maybe now, I have stopped growing up and begun the long process of just growing old. Whatever, as long as Im drunk.

Currently

2008-12-30T10:15:00.002+11:00

Perched on the laptop, listening to sweet tunes and drinking slightly cold tea while my delightful boyfriend makes me breakfast. Im totally spoiled like that. Anyway Im trying to ease myself gently into the day, because quite frankly I dont much care for these days sometimes.

Seriously

2008-12-20T10:33:00.000+11:00

Being angry and bitter as fuck just aint fun anymore.