the big empty

My head hangs heavy. Perhaps from the touch of cold I have developed, or perhaps due to the fact that I can't bring myself to admit how tediously mollified I am. Neither ecstatic nor dissatisfied, getting by with just... getting by. Sometimes I wonder if I willingly fall into trouble just to inject some drama into this little life. Pain feels just as much like living as pleasure, sometimes it's more reassuring when it brings you so startlingly down to the ground, hammering at your core than the full flight of a dream. My lazy bones prevent me from any actual doing. Even when I know it's a fault, I can't seem to correct this. My chiropractor from Melbourne called me yesterday, perhaps I do need a realignment.

I crave for something visceral.

I want to go back to that summer of dreams, tregsie, carilious. I want to bring you to all my awkward dates, and choke on our lollipop juices, drink slurpees, eat pancakes, play stacko/pictionary/scrabble and run a muck in our city. I want to go to trashy bars because girls get free drinks, and have drunk airmen stick their tongues down our throats on the dance floor. Become promoters for some Asian club and fail miserably at making any money. Constantly looking for a job but never doing any work. Stuffing our faces with marshmellows in the middle of Village Bourke St Mall and ruining Keanu Reeves forever. Going to Fed Square because it was new, and getting the crap scared out of us walking around the ACMI exhibits inside the ghost ship. Asian clubbing and shit music. Running through town with Magic Balloons and chomping on smxl sandwiches because a cute boy works there. I want to laugh because we all hated the same movie, and cry over some stupid argument in a car park. It was a beautiful, sticky mess.

I want to chop my hair off again. Sorry to be bringing up something so trivial, but there really isn't anything too interesting happening in my noggin. Yes I want to cut most of my hair off, a cute little cut, something easier to manage. Or a fringe (or bangs for you yanks). Although I'm sure the moment I make any change I would immediately regret it and want it all back. My hair has been a mess since Janice decided she needed more of an education than just being the damn finest hairdresser I've ever had.

Oh man this has been a sucky post. I'm terribly sorry. Perhaps I should bring back my lists. At least then you can pretend to be entertained when you read these things.

List of 5 Burlesque Acts

- The Cocky Tail Shakers. The entire act would be girls in corsets and feathers on their derriere, making beautiful cocktails and handing them out to audiences.

- The Honey Mooners. Not a lot of thought has been put into this. It would involve mooning, and honey, obviously.

- The Puss in Boots. A feline dance in thigh high shiny lace-up boots and cat ears.

- Operation. A game of operation on a real girl, the organs are stuck on her body to be removed by girl in a nurse outfit.

- Powder Puffs. It's like the fan dance, except with giant powder puffs and confetti thrown everywhere!

Now who wants to start rehearsal with me?

also. I miss my pug. I miss driving. I miss my kitties. I miss waking up with a furball licking my face. I miss good coffee. I miss conversations. I miss the como bar. I miss sneaking popcorn into my free movies. I miss the sun. I miss wrapping my arms around my friends who want nothing more than just lazing around with me. I miss the gent who owns soda rock and yells at me for not going to visit him often enough. I miss the sushi from that place downstairs from work that's deliciously inauthentic. I miss shooting silly videos, and planning the lesbian road trip film with rizzle razzle. I miss pretending to be conversing at the same level as ant. I miss snuggling in maya maya papaya's cleavage. I miss all of deano's stupid jokes. I miss guitar hero world tour at sueballs' residence. I miss midnight maccas drive throughs and regretting it immediately afterward. I miss listening to triple j's hack program and pretending I care about the news. I miss backyard bbq's. I miss getting sunburns in inconvenient places because I didn't want the sand to stick to my sunscreen. I miss lucky coq's $4 pizzas. I miss the gin soaked grins of the people who surrounded me only a month ago. COME TO NEW YORK DAMMIT.

jump for more......

trip

Alright, so this is how it works right? I say "go", and you just come with me. Whoosh. No questions asked.


Are you ready?



GO!


We're running along the subway station, keep up with me now, our train line isn't running today because they have to do all their fucking construction work on weekends, and we have to have fucking class on Saturday mornings. So we're running, through the platform, up the stairs, into the adjacent station with some other lines that would take us as far as Manhattan. We'll have to change trains in a bit, but we'll deal with that later. Our legs are still sore from doing that stupid task in class two days ago, remember? When we curled over and couldn't move? We vow to hit the gym when there's a smidgen of free time, but too late for that now, we're running. The 3/4 hour we set aside for getting to school today is fast running out, and there's a test this morning. A test we didn't study for, hoping that the remnants of our high school smarts would stick, hoping that there's enough of first year linguistics knowledge from five years ago rattling around in there to tide you over until it's done. The 4 train is awfully cozy, we can feel the man behind us softly pressing his hand into our thigh. Shakes it off, shake it off. It's the subway squeeze, we've dealt with much worse. It's an express train and it won't take us where we want it to. Shit, fuck, fuck. Change tracks. More running. Wish we could just stick some fucking vurt feather down our throat and ride it out. Some sexy pink pornovurt. And then we're gone.

We start with a smell. It's dark and you can sense a body lying near you. Soap and toothpaste. There's the faint warmth of the skin but there's still a lot of distance, fingertip to fingertip. We're waiting for a cue, not sure where to begin. The stench of old pain weighs heavy. Our eyes adjust to the darkness, we can make out shapes under the covers. It's a cold night, but funny, we've sweated through. There is movement towards us. The sleeping form inches closer by minute degrees. We're bracing ourselves, letting the tingling in our lips and fingers build up to that old warm fuzzy. The sheets are twisting under maneuvering limbs and torsos. The clamping of jaws, the smacking of saliva. We connect hungrily trying to take something, anything to fill a gap somewhere between our ribs.

We're back in that subway station, crossing platforms, bypassing buskers. The sounds of some Mexican mariachi band clashing with a lone Er-Hu. A bouquet of noise combined with the screeching of wheels on tracks creates a constant buzz around our heads. We're seriously running late now, and we're one more train and two stops away. There's a missed call on our mobile from another girl in our class, oh good, she must be late too. The smell of street vended coffee slaps us in the face as we step out onto the street. Fumbling into our bags looking for our ID tag, cursing the over sized handbag for swallowing all its contents so completely. Right. Breathe. We slip into the stream of the day. The hollowness follows us around, class to class, room to room. But we're alright, the safety of routine covers up our bloodshot eyes and the cloud of complaints above our heads. Ride it out, just make it to the other end of the day and we're home safe.

jump for more......

pomp and lustre

It is still freezing. Which is why I'm still not blogging the way I'm supposed to. I still don't have a roommate, so my room is slowly degrading into a slum of nuclear proportions. I should have cleaned it up a little today it's my day off, but the rest of me wanted a day off too.

I got a friend request the other day on facebook, apparently he's a fan of my blog.



I'm sorry Jimmy that I couldn't add you. Because of the amount of information I give out on my facebook I do have a "people I've actually met" policy. Plus then you'll see all the classy(crass) photos and that would tarnish your glowing image of me.

--------------------------------

The following is a muddled jumble of fly-by self pity party, proceed with care:

--------------------------------

The numbness I'd been feeling in the last year or so is shedding away little by little. It's mostly uncomfortable, but nice to know that within these frozen limbs, emotions still dwell. The last six months especially has been an exercise in loneliness as a crowd experience. Slowly grasping at, and fingering, feeling my way through the parameters of my comfort zone. Rediscovering that I'm not just a set of digestive and sexual organs, that I can feel things as myself, and not some version that I'd like others to see.

Hopefully this signals a return to form. Over the years, even my prose has turned far more direct, sharp, bitter, and all that is left of the humour, biting. Meanwhile my head had become a bag of jelly, the mushy Aeroplane kind. If it is not aesthetics analysis, it refused to produce an opinion. A vessel of receptors waiting for that instant gratification, shameless contradictions of moral values, and self indulgence. Repetition, repetition, repetition, never letting the senses rest. Videos, sounds, music, movies, images, just don't let it stop, play several at once, I know everything backwards already but just don't let it stop, let my mind shut out any thought that needs to be dealt with, just don't let it stop. Relentless saturation of anything devoid of neurological nourishment. I reach out my hand for anything that is safe, old ideas, old conversations, old encouragements. It's an easy high, you ride it fast and it fizzles out, that's why you need the constant injection. Simulated emotions, play acting, anyone could do this, anyone could be me.

One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi... The constant frustration, over the past, the future, regrets, helplessness, my life, all collapsing on me in spasms tightening my entire body. My hands were clamped, my feet jerked the way they do when I come. I couldn't move or breathe, I could only laugh because suddenly I was not doing a Meisner exercise in class anymore, I was fucking my last two years of existence into the ground. Was I okay? Well I needed more than just a drink of fucking water that's for sure. I want a re-write.

But at least I author my own disaster

Back to the point I was making, I can feel flickerings of past excitements, before I became a shell of external gestures. It's an embarrassingly small shift, coming from the least likely of experiences, but it's hopeful. I can choose to nurture this into a healthy flame and try and steer it away from the madwoman in the attic territory, or just let it go because it would be nice to see the fire before the house burns down. This could mean more shockingly revealing blog posts that are basically romanticised graphic self portraits of wrist slitting. This could be embarrassing for everyone around me. I will try to use pseudonyms wherever possible, (past pseudonyms have included G, Sandwich boy, and Damian Assface. THIS COULD BE YOU!!) but basically anything that you have said, related, showed, or done to me is fair game. I will attempt to be as raw as my dwindling work ethic allows. This is merely a warning, I am giving everyone a week to front up and submit censorship applications. That being said, I change my mind so freaking much that by this time tomorrow I could be off this idea entirely. My Fuck-It Manifesto never took off, but this is an extension. Feel free to express your opinions below, whether on the facebook copy or the original blog.

theme music of this post: The Past Is A Grotesque Animal - Of Montreal

jump for more......