It's been a while

Part of me wishes I would never see your face again, 

And the other part just wants you back in my arms, cuddling me like you cared.

It's silly, really.

Being brutally dumped in one of the most romantic cities in the world, fittingly with none of your closest friends around to protect your completely massacred heart, and I'm alone and snuggleless, just in time for winter.

It's times like this when I believe there truly is a God, who hates the fuck out of me. 

So the point of this? Well, hate to disappoint but there isn't one.
I'm beginning, or continuing depending on how you see it, to not give a fuck about anything. 

I'm doing well in one thing I hope to achieve in life, I'm failing maths, I'm still having trouble deciphering the hidden meaning to English assessment notifications, I still fail to make time for my most beloved best friends, my mother befits the definition of menopause, my father is completely passive aggressive, much like me, I'm still a terrible speller, my sister suffers constant PMS-syndrome, I'm nursing a broken heart, and blah, this list is getting so boring I can't handle finishin

Eighteen Apologies

[Written from Tuesday the 14th of December - Friday the 31st of December]

To conclude this horrendous, intense, frivolous, idle, groovy, compulsive, mellifluous, dandy, swell and overall tiptop year, i have decided to formally apologise for some kind of wrong doing, or unkind behavior, once every day for the next Eighteen Days. How exciting. And every day report on the difficulty/awkwarditiy/gratification/comfort associated with these apologise, at the attempt of making an interesting and real blog. So, here i go.
Day 1: Sisterly Avocations
It was simple, clear, direct. And, as always, filled with untied ends and disillusionment.
"I apologise for yesterday," Cordially refraining a faint "sister, dear." As if I require the lack of almost forcefulness in order to achieve sincerity. Regardless, an apology, apologised, and formally accepted.

*side-note*: In reading a few words on "Nippy Hug Day" an English holiday were boys are allowed to ask a girl of their fancy for a kiss, and if they decline are permitted to pinch their bums (which is on the 11th of March, by the way). I reminisced on an awkward, pimply year 7 day, when in maths a boy pinched my bum, leading to much angst, confusion and disgust (IE, ew boys), and had an epiphinal thought, one of those great moments when you bring two things together, the second being; my friend recently informing me that "he (the bum pincher) was heaps devo that you left IGS, and i was like 'er, why?' and he was like 'she had a great ass...' " So, there's something to add to my confident points. 

Day 2: flanflan
"sorry, but i do not speak cat"

Day 3: A start
So, I apologised for my inability to be with someone who really needed me.
Something along the lines of "I'm so sorry"
But, there's so much more I want, no, need to say.
It's hard when you love someone so much, that you know they forgive you, weather you apologise or not, and so you need to apologise, but you can never find the write words. Or at least I can't, I can write my words in perfect concise precision, but speaking...

Day 4: Fisk
"I apologise for being a moody bitch"
"It's OK, I love you."
"I love you too."
Nothing out of the ordinary, something i say nearly every day.

Day 5: Mother Dearest
I actually am sorry for having a mental breakdown on the way home in the rain, and not replying to your texts because I couldn't hear my phone, and other such.. things.

Day 6: Virusing
So, my facebook got a virus, and sent it to everyone, and then I apologised. Cool story, i know.

Deemed this an inadequate apology,
(as it was not whole hearted, sincere, nor did I care)
I looked down upon my feet and minutely throbbing ankles and whispered; "Sorry for wearing my boots with the laces purposely undone, feet." [hardxcore, I know.]
^ shortly after attempting to look upon my gruesomely obtuse nose and replying; "I apologise for scratching you and beseeching you with a lovely red bump" (which I also deemed inadequate)

Day 7: An old friend
Boy do i have a story for you, my apt and eager blog readers (OK, so you don't exist, what of it?)
It begins with the story of two best friends in year seven, one happens to be rather shy and enjoys yelling obscenities (IE. penis, vagina, paginis.. etc) and the other, a manipulative little girl, writhing in power and control. But, this will remain the only bitchy comment in the story, as I would rather not be rude. Anywho, these best friends were often in a trio, the first one disappeared to Europe after being emotionally abused and rejected by the pair, the second also happened to move to Europe much after the rejection of person 2. Anywho, the point I'm getting at is, these girls were fantastic friends, they had lots of memories and impacted each others lives greatly. However, one of them left the other, for new and open prospects for the future, which, looking back seems like the cause for their initial disagreement/unfriendship. But, really, she was slowly being beaten and pushed away long before she even thought of leaving.
Me, being the shy, obscene child, apologised today to said bitch friend, or at least attempted to. I apologised for an alleged wrong doing, which not until after I apologised realised the implications of my misdeed, which involved locking lips with a certain boy, who my friend happened to be besotted with. The problem was, he had asked her out that same day, and she believed I did this in spite of her because apparently I'm a crazy bitch. The facts are, I was not aware of any such connection between them, we were both under the influence, I was a poor, misguided and horny young sheila, and I cried shortly after the incident because I felt guilty.
So, I apologised, with her back turned to my while she was walking away. I didn't hear what she said, if anything, so I said "do you hate me?" and was presented with the reply "I don't hate anyone." She continued to walk away.

I'm not really sure whether this is me being insensitive, or her being immature, or a combination, or just complete fuckedupity stupidity. Either way, after this apology she informed my friends that I "should have apologised two years ago." (though it was actually less than 1 year ago), and that I've changed.
So, I must apologise again, for your misinterpretation of my identity, as I am still the same person, and will always be forever and ever, I may be slightly more confident, due to lack of being cut down so frequently by class mates, and wear different clothes as with changing trends which i may or may not follow, and be generally happier. But, babe, that's probably because I don't have to put up with this crap anymore, and I'd like to keep it that way, call me when your grudge is over.

Day 8 A biff
"I'm sorry for not seeing you ever and being busy all the time"

Day 9 Red, Hot Thighs
Dear Thighs,
I'm sorry for not putting enough sunscreen on you yesterday, and thus turning half of you pink :s
I promise I'll take more care next time and not get skin cancer.
Love, your heart.

Side Note: Recently I've been thinking/noticing/aimlessly wondering, as to the sincerity of my apologies. See, It's one thing to apologise for things that ought to be apologised, but does my frequent cycle of apologise detract from the validity? It seems to be a problem, sometimes I apologise too little, leaving loose ends for me to attempt to sew up later, too late even (see Day 7) and other times I apologise much too frequently causing for people to react aggressively, violently even, which has not occurred in the past 9 days. Regardless, it seems as though, sometimes I don't need to apologise for everything which I have, I just feel obliged to apologise in some form each day (see Day 9). Regretfully, I am only half way through this shit, but intend to reach the end of this, because, well, I've gone this far, haven't I?

Day 10 Written Formal Apology

WFA written formal apology, white from aging, willow falls again, want four apples. blablablah.
A christmas card for a friend, who deserved some kind of apology, rejoiced in the closure of two tightly knotted strings, that is our loving friendship. He laughed at most of what I wrote, it being insatiably witty and all, and that made me happy.

Day 11 Facebookchat (ok, so i did a spell check on this and it came up with "Fussbudget", I laughed at the time...)

"I'm sorry that I wasn't there 20 minutes later, and I'm sorry that I always ditch my beloved friends like you for other people, and I'm sorry for being generally shit sometimes, but I love you :)"

:)

Day 12 Christmas Day

"Sorry Christmas, but this year, I really don't want you."
I hate Christmas

"Sorry TREW necklace, for not wearing you"
I wore it all day boxing day

-I said these both out loud while innocent bystanders looked over curiously-

Day 13 Ex-Husband

"I'm sorry, Jack D'Arcy, I just.. Don't love you...."
Hence the divorce, and lack of his ability to look at me when the store clerk assistant practically forced us into the same change room. :)

Day 14 Exercise

"I'm sorry legs for making you run."
I actually left the house for an hour (and 2 minutes) today, just to run, and now my legs hurt.

Day 15 Various Rampant Acts of Love, from the heart, of course

" 22:56 ps. sorry but nipple nibbling? I think that's on a higher notch than face-rape."

A harmless apology whilst in deep, yet subtle, shock.

Day 16 Formspring

"Sorry, but we hold hands because we're best friends"

I'm becoming less and less inventive, and loosing reasons to apologise.
Two days to go, I cannot fathom the pleasure resultant of the ending of this tormentuous year.

Day 17

8:31, just after a horrendously annoying alarm went off, a call from someone absolutely amazing came.
Obviously, I had to ruin the greatness by being me;
"bah, I'm so sorry, but I'm so tired, I'm sorry, I love you, call me later, I'm so sorry, bye."

cool story.

Day 18

It's finally the last day, and I'm so stoked, not so much for fireworks, NYE and all, mainly for the fact that this blog will be over, and I won't have to apologise anymore. Lets face it, it's shithouse and solves nothing, a blatant waste of time, and has probably bored whoever bothered to read this. But I kind of enjoyed it, secretly.

So, in the spirit of things, my one last apology I'm hoping, will go something along the lines of;
"Sorry, I couldn't wait for the fireworks." *rampant facerape*
Or better,
"Sorry, I just want to see some fireworks again ;)" *more of that*
Or better still,
"Sorry, I just want to see the fireworks." *awkward turtle*

Although, it hasn't happened yet and rahrahrah I'm getting bored of my own voice in my head reading out the words I'm writing, my voice is so whiny :/
So, Happy New Year, all the best to my faithful readers, and um, one more thing,
Remember,
What doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger
nah, that's cracked, I'll just stick with
Happy Holidays

In the style of someone I love and dearly miss.

listening to: Spanish Temper - Washington
reading: facebook chat messages.
watching: my finger as it presses my tight-printed sunburn.
eating: salivation.
drinking: orange juice.

I carefully peel away the scars,

which lace my arm in memories

of your sweetness and lovely attire.

I sit and wait upon your return, which I am aware will be in two weeks minus one day's time. I think of calling you, sharing with you my news of insecurities and uncertainty. But I drop my hand and think instead. I feel your necklace imprinted kindly on my chest and supple clevage, and retain my inability to spell without you around. However, I may still write, and that I will, with new pens matching for me and you.

It suddenly occurrs to me my tone of pure ambience, and regretfully, lameness. Apologies...

This is in pure announcement of my upcoming post, it will cloud your eyes, and surface on this blog in no less than 5 days, marking the last day of the year, and a steady conclusion to my rampant bloging.

Stay tuned folks.

Some useless things

my computer lives on my floor
sometimes i step on it
it has very old five gum stuck on the tippy top
sometimes my school work gets stuck to it
because it melts and my room has a lingering tropical aroma
so my window's open
once it was really hot
and someone really lovely was here
and it was too hot
but it didn't matter
so now my window is open, and my fan is on
it has electronic control of everything
conveniently with a remote control
just like my CD player
which i am yet to introduce to it my new Cd's
sia and maroon 5
maybe a bit lame, but groovy
and there's this one song
which i always listen to
it cheers me up every day
because it is about my favourite day
and even when it is not my favourite day
it feels almost the same, thinking about it nearly being that day
that idle, comfortable morning
beautifully and sunny
or perfect and raining
or some whether, it needn't matter
Sunday morning,
the day six months from her 17th birthday,
and her life disapparated,
taking part of every one's souls and hearts with it.
;that part wasn't useless
just sad,
and lonely,
and helpless.
but mostly, a beacon of memories
seeping from the corners of my eyes,
in love
always.

For a Moment

I am a child. An infant at best.

But, for a moment,

Forget that we exist.

There is a cloud, which does exist, floating surrendorously from the depths of some long, thick pipe, extracting itself from some building, some factory, of sorts. It is floating, carefully, but surely to the bottom of some region that we have not yet discovered, which lies plainly above our universe, dully twinkling in an invisible hum.

The cloud swells amongst the laughing children, and barking dogs, and screaming women, and shouting men, and illicit drug influenced inbetweens. And over a monotonously long time, too long to begin to conceive, but miraculously occurring in an instant, a millisecond, a flicker, a moment of time. Much like this year has progressed, dubiously slowly, but we've found ourselves recklessly tossed from the beginning to now, almost the end, at the click of some sweaty, disproportionate fingers.

This moment brings a cloud, the cloud, our cloud, to the cusp. This consequential cusp between continuity and predeceasing. That is to say, the universe, and some other land. In this cusp is a firm crust resembling the sweet texture of golden waffles, as the cloud begins to penetrate such force, it is pushed away by some inconceivable force. A spray of sorts, as if a can of whipped cream were exploded through a minuscule point.

The puffy cloud, diluted between dark matter, waffle crust cusp and whipped cream. The confusion heightens, along with the immense desire and yearn for waffles that some child or infant may experience daily. And so begins the start of something that is yet to begin and sises to start. Thumbs twiddle, and minds numb, and a melody hums lightly in the background. A moment passes. A few others stumble by. Before a crashing wave of insomnia and unsubtle convulsions stutter through space, and swirl in to a large black space.
Which is a hole, open mouthed, teeth beared waiting to swallow us whole, but on our approach, on our clouds approach, it's eyebrows furrow and are raised magically in correlation with some child, some infant, pressing their lips to a beacon of swell cuteness.

Not.

Collect my tears,
catch them in your hands,
feel them seep through your fingers-
don't
stop them falling.

Watch my eyes,
envelope them with your own,
swallow my sorrow
and forget

Laugh at me,
laughing at you-
to mask my need;
to protect my heart;
to ignore your unreciprocation.

Follow my toes,
crinkle your nose,
curl your fingers like a rose
thorn weaving through mine.
our eyes can close.

You are perfectly able,
to ignore what isn't there,
as i am,
to ignore what is.

So, what,
what is it?
something i can see
now
but i pretend to not.

Little wet tears on my baby's shoulder

I hear a cry of incredible pain. A shrill scream of uncomfortable frustration, with such immensity I can hardly resist the silent surrender to my curiosity. I see a face of pure emotion, mouth open wide, stretching the soft skin, leaving subtle creases of intense anger. Eyes sealed tightly with a tear welled up in each, and that button nose scrunched up, caught in the moment. The minute fingers a crushed in balls, dangling ferociously on the ends of restless, belting arms. His hands rub his ruby red cheeks and press awkwardly into his nose.

Then he is in my arms. I think of feelings similar; A girl, the other half of me, scrunched up to my chest, heart throbbing against my bosom, my arm tracing love hearts in her back, warm kisses on her forhead. A boy, kissing my shoulder and reminding me how much he loves me, heart joltingly revoltingly lovely, a hand on my neck and a hand on his belly, extended cuddles. A girl, sitting beside me, just existing and appreciating and loving and living, but being together, belonging, caring, staring, wearing eachothers hearts on our engagement fingers, effervescent smiles. A boy, prancing around like a fisk bitch, but caring through loving eyes, and being on the otherside of my fogged up window of confusion with a steelcapped hammer and some chocolate coated strawberries, lingering laughter.

But this, carried my heart hight, with much more intensity, through clouds of thunder, lightening and hail, with the burn of something mightier than a pen or a sword. Thin hair of such perfection, an object of beauty, combined with a soul of perfection, and outrageous screams. So I rock. Slowly upward, and down, from left to right, whichever way feels comfortable for him. Tiny fingers trace circles, and spirals around my neck, and grab for a clinging pinch in moments of hostile shreiks.

I feel as though I'm dancing, as a newly bloomed rose may dance in the calm summer wind, to the tune of my own heart beat, intertwined with his. I am alone, but accompanied by my own solace and a soul which I do not understand, and may not begin to comprehend it's great complex simplicities. I begin to hum. A tune to which becomes forgotten after songs of folding chairs, broken hearts, leaning on some other, and silent nights. His cheek falls upon mine, and I watch his eyelashes close softly in tired complacency. I stroke his flushing cheek tenderly and close my eyes in fine contentment.

His head slowly drops to the left, as his left hand clutches desperately at some finger. His breath is silent, and his lips pure comfortably to drool on my shoulder. I feel his legs slacken their grip, his muscles relax and his soul drift to a dreamlike state. I hum on.

It is time to farewell my new friend. I wipe away the tears and salivations from my shoulder and drift like a small lonely cloud to a place where I belong. My bed, full of pillows, soft blankets and dreams. Dreams that maybe someday I will hold something so closely sometime again, and feel such warmth and affection that I feel like crying and screaming just like him.

Dearest Morgan Rose Duhig,

Evenin' ButterRollz, the shit to my fat dog, moomoo-cah-choo, morgz, morgatron, biff, otherwise known as Sinden. Before I start talking deep shit and the like, I'd just like to take a moment to laugh out loud, not just at the hilarious shamrocktitteh comments of your messages, but at the intense irony that said cuntsmear happened to telephone me at the exact time that I was reading your message, I got the familiar scooped "heee-llo?" and replied "hey, it's mary" in a confused sort of way, to which I was responded with comforting beeping.
heh.
So, anyway.
There appears to be a lot more important things in my life and your life, our lives, or just a single life that happens to have two little heads, with unknown contents of things inside. I'd like to start by saying:
"I've always wondered what might happen if the sun exploded and sent our nine tiny planets flying accross the infinate universe like a humungous firework, possibly similar to the illicit chinese variety of minature explosive..." (1/2/10 ~ quote a-la my amelay diary)
At the time, I though that's how it would feel to be "in love." But now I know, that it is takes more of a resemblance to the feeling of missing you, my andere halb, but a more prolonged version, like, if the solar system exploded in 12 days.
So, my point here is, well I'm not entirely sure. I guess you just sort of mean more than the world to me, because if I write a list of things I missed in china:
my saxamaphone(s)
phonie
ipod
facebook
cereal
REAL bread (without excess sugar)
real milk, that didn't taste like gruel
baked beans
vegemite
Boost
WAFFLES
my dogs
Max Brenner
movies in english
not being constantly stared at
oporto chips
COFFEE
my bed
shower

if I think about how much I miss my friends, I could slot some of them in to this list, with most toward the top. But I missed you more than all of the missage of each thing put together is, times-d by infinity, plus 7.

So, enough of seedy mcseedatron marebear,
I have to tell you, I HAVE THE BEST PRESENT YOU WILL EVER RECIEVE, ever. [well maybe not..]
waiting in my bedroom, so call me to get it, yus?
and I have your clothes which you left her 3 weeks ago.
and I have a hug, waiting to embrace my sweet sweet moopoo.

I'm not sure what else to say, because I will ramble for months about the insane events of china, like seeing a small girl take her pants of and pee on the floor while waiting in a 2 and a half hour que which we were also standing in, and walking casually past a cage stuffed to the brim with chickens/pidgeons, and being stared at and photographed by random chinese people as if we were celebrities, and taking a dump in a squat toilet.

That is all, so until I see you next, here is my heart, handle it with care, and as it floats towards you I will say "be still my heart." Because that's a pretty lame injoke of ours, and GET IN MY BELLY.
<3 forever yours,
mary winifred osborn

Just.

There's nothing that makes less sense. Weather written in perfect grammar, with adjectives describing details with precice precision, sealed with no blemishes. Nothing could make less sense. How do you suppose I might understand, with a hand covering your mouth, rabens shading your eyes, your legs crossed, staring ahead. The impossibility is impossible, everything is paradoxal, and you sit there, unaware, calm, collected and alone.

Time floats around you, like a hot air balloon dwindling in the breeze, so much hot air and energy enfusing to power it, yet it just floats effortlessly. Taking all for granted, a great trait of yours, but you don't even know. It's ridiculous, because it's not. I try to understand, but I'm not sure if there is anything to understand.

So why do I write? Why do I think? Why do I type? Why do I sing? Why do I wait?

Confusion has always been complacent in my life, but never so overwhelming. It pours over the edges with subtlety, so subtle that it's evidently obvious, just like overfilled chocolate licks, waiting to be licked. But for some reason, I can't taste an creamy chocolate on my tongue, or endulge in sugary goodness. Help me understand.

Insomnia, but I'm fine. A plane trip ought to do, but how would I know. Relax. I breathe and melt, my hands twitching to the clicks of my trecherous mind. I think, tensely. I hope, tenderly. I find a path, of soil and crunchy grey leaves, the tips of short strands of grass tangled in my toes, and the white clouds so bright my eyes hurt. I can't walk, or run, or move, until you link my arm and we skip.

We are lame, but not lame enough it seems. There is nothing perfect about anything, but at the same time there is. No heart is being crumpled or torn or shredded or crushed beneath reckless feet, because your heart is playing hide and seek with itself, while mine dances to the sound of my song, with no chorus, and no direction, just the same three simple verses about a bird and a dog and a boy.

But, It's confused, like me. The final verse, it is never complete, and my heart, pauses awkwardly and cringes, embarassed. And then she cries, just like me, crying in embarassment, and crying more in further embarassment. It's too far away from the end, and too close to a misleading path. So it cries until it is dry and baren, and I hold her between my thumbs an hum the final bars, quietly.

"Somewhat Beautiful"

I would write a blog about you, as the title references a referenced quote from me to you (ps. with love from me to you, beatles are mai life), but I'm pretty certain that I'm not stupid enough NOT to notice that you're actually a lot more than somewhat beautiful. You, are kind of my everything, and an entrancingly beautiful face to accompany it. *hums saxophone duo music in head*

So, this is a blog, for someone anonymous, so anonymous that we don't know eachothers name's apparently, and I have no idea who you are. None the less, this is for you, sir.

A small girl walks, in a that tempting way that drives you crazy. You love the way her shoes move accross the floor, like a puffy cloud, gliding sweetly accross the morning sky, as she walks past you. You can't take your eyes off her, the most perfect thing you have ever seen, it seems.

The glint in your eye travels discreetly up her long, perfectly slender legs, over her rippling skirt, only to rest gazing at her waist, wondering how you could hold something so beautiful in your hands, how you would protect it with all your power. You watch her shake her hair out of her eyes, and love how pefectly it rests on her neck, and you yearn to see her face.

You spend what feels like years imagining what her face might look like, hoping that it belongs with the beauty of the rest of her. Untill finally you hear a familiar clicking of heals, and a laugh that melts with the wind and gives you a rush of, something beautiful. You turn to see her smiling at friends. The most perfect teeth glittering in the sun, lips of the sweetest kind lifting rosy cheeks.

Then, you are almost shocked at the intensity of her glowing eyes, the deepth of happiness to which is displayed as she is hugged by her friend. You watch her fingers squeeze tightly into anothers back, and wish she would hug you too. You feel faint, like you're on some acid trip.

Out of the blue, she walks again, in that amazing way. And as she walks by, she clicks her heels, and rests her eyes upon you, smiling politely and continuing on. You stop breathing in fear, regain composure, and smile back, but by then she is gone.

You think about her, and lust over her. And she remembers you.
It is somewhat beautiful, one might say.

erk's adventure

I am here, and here is me.
Just sitting, just being.
I like to think that I'm something out of the ordinary, something unforgetable, somethinig perfectly imperfect.
So I sit, and feel.

An explosion, like a rushing cloud of cigarette smoke, flattens my mind for a moment, and leaves me distorted. The feeling of a piece of glass being wedged into your big toe, your fumbling steps of mindless pain, the short, quick expression of that slight hurt, rippling up your ankle, curling around your knees and accross even your belly button. A second and it's gone. But for me it lingers, flowing through quick jolts and twitches in elbows and tired shoulders, and I feel isolated.

This seperation is somewhat beautiful, in the same way that old, pretentious women find souless "art" beautiful, or the same way that a plastic bag caught in the wind is said to be. However, it is not aloneness or solitude I feel. Just lack of, anything but myself.

I cringe as the circles under my eyes deepen of their own accord and my fingertips become more harsh against the keyboard. My eyes feel like paintings of fear, and acknowledgement, and regret, and craving, and loss, and lust, but mostly understanding. They understand what happened, and what continues to happen, following each breath with an heir of curiosity, or perhaps blind idiocy. The understanding seems mediocre, and useless, but is deeper than it appears to be, deeper than it is willing to admit.

Confusion rises, as hesitation falls, almost systematically. The wonder for what is really up is overwhelming, so much so that I look up for answers. The ceiling is bare, cream and calm, the lights nearby burning my eyes and distorting my vision. My feelings remain the same, peachy with a touch of brilliance. I cling to this painfully perfectly imperfect feeling, and it feels like nothing.

But everything. It is everything. And everything is extremely wholesome, but empty. The thoughts are frightening, yet happy and playful. The pain is heartwarming. So, I sit and enjoy, hoping and waiting for some sort of real feeling, in intense patience. Willing to ache in hunger, or for my heart to swell in some sort of compassion or sickness, or for something bad to happen.

Nothing happens, so I stop sitting and waiting and breathing and being and feeling.
For just a moment.

seven minute blog

Words
That's all it is, words.
Long words, short words (ironically, long is actually a shorter word than short, and short gets longer as it gets shorter)

And here are a few, about something new, some are true.
But most aren't.

I've found as of late, that lying is much easier in the written form, and bullshitting is just nothing when you write it down, because really, everything is bullshit once you've bothered to write about it. And worst of all are pieces of writing, boxes of words, packets of letters, about other pieces of writing.

What is the point? All this recording, figures, descriptions, sentences about nothing at all but, well, everything. They're just black marks on white, nothing special. Sure, they can become sounds, and music, and evoke emotion, but is it all really just bullshit.

I think so.

So, in this short useless post of uselessness and ridiculous things, that is, words, I want you to learn something, or atleast pretend to, or maybe just scoff and think how stupid I am
So, here's something, I can't touch my nose with my tongue, but I can

sorry, time's up...

Can you lie next to her and give her your heart?

I'm no keyboard warrior, but I do have something to say.
And you might not like it.

I realised today, that whatever I'm feeling, whatever's running through my heart to my head, whatever I've wanted to do. There is no fault, in loving with my whole heart. So, there's no way that you can be mad or disappointed or angered with me, at least not forever, so what am I so worried about?

This whole thing, whatever it is.
Actually, stop right there,
I know exactly what it is.
A lot of nothing, with substance. A great feeling, tingling in your toes and rushing through your eyelids. The feeling before you cry, but imagine, that feeling aboslutely dominating your entire world, and then some. A big white duck, barking like a moron, watching a planet die, that's us. No one understands it, except me. That's why it's stupid, because it's actually not stupid. at all. It's like watching y's scatter across the screen, amongst a few u's and t's, maybe a h, as I struggle to press the y key back on, because it falls of sometimes on account of I tried to clean my keyboard by taking all the keys off one time. But, you don't understand, only I do. That's what this is. All of me, and you're sitting next to it, and you can see it and feel it, maybe even smell it, but you don't really know what it is. But, I just want you to see, for a second, really look, and maybe you'll understand just one part of whatever it is, you know, me.

So,
This whole thing, whatever it is, whatever you want to call it, me maybe?
It's not dramatic at all.
It's just a whole bunch of life's living together on this big rock with a little rock spinning around us, as we watch a happy light in amazement. We run around in circles because we don't want to stop, we don't remember where we started, and we can't fathom where we will end. Just like you. And I'm watching you, running, waiting for you to turn around and see whatever I am, and love it back, with your whole heart.

Sometimes I type so fast that my keys fall off. I get lost in a moment somewhere, and I don't really see things falling apart right infront of me. It's hard to look straight ahead when so much is going on, when you're so happy your crying and so sad your laughing, and whatever you might have been watching is so barely visable that it's not even there. And then you sneeze, and I'm covered in snot and your sweet breath, and you can't open your eyes, so I run away.

So, now I'm sitting behind a rose bush, with a thorn in my back and some rotting petals by my feet, and I'm about to scream. When I scream, you will hear me, and maybe everything around you will pause for a moment, and that is the moment I'm counting on. The moment you might wonder what whatever it is is, and you might come looking for me.

But, I don't know what you will do, because I am not you. I know you so well, from staring you in the face for so long, but well enough to know what goes on inside your head? Definately not. All I can do is anticipate what you might do as I shake amongst the shrubbery, shuddering in cold solitude. And all you can do is be yourself, do what you do. So, I take in a breath, preparing to scream, filling my lungs with smokey, swollen air. And when you don't come...

Really?

You stand and watch.
You see the sky and the birds and the tops of trees and you think, isn't this lovely.
You breathe in the pure smell of morning sun and you close your eyes for a little bit.
You are taken by the feeling, you want to run and jump.
You want to be free.

It is wonder that surprises you, wonder for what it would feel like, the last time you feel.
Would you cringe to the thud of uneven concrete on your skin, or sigh to the force of wind over your body, or perhaps smile with the adrenelin. And what might you taste?
You imagine it would be something similar to sour lemons mixed with grape juice, or cheese and vegemite and honey on toast. Would it smell nice?
Just like the breeze drifting through the strands of your hair.

You are distracted by a sound, a giggle and mumbling.
Something familiar but shocking.
You want to be sick when your eyes catch up with your ears and you finally realise.
It was all a joke.

You said once "Maybe this is a joke, but a nice joke, and I like it."
But did you really like it, if it is a joke?
I don't think so.

You become teary, and kick yourself because there is so much more to be teary about.
The horrifying events trickling through your life that freeze your soul as you squeeze your own hands.
You can't be brought to tears by something so ridiculous, so insignificant, such a joke.

And that's when you remember.
Something small, but so big and dominating that you shun away and cover your eyes in fear.
And you don't understand how you could have forgotten.

Some say love is a figment of the imagination, but you believe otherwise.
You have felt it streaming through your veins, and tumbling around in your bloated heart, and swirling through your mind and dancing in your thoughts, like an unbearably perfect headache.
And, you unfortunately still feel it.

And there he goes,
on with his life,
and you yours.
So, what's the problem?

You open your eyes and stare into a haze as crowded voices cloud your thoughts and they slowly drift away.
You bite your lip, nibble a bit, and walk away, in your awkward way.
Your life goes on, not parallel to his, but at an acute angle, just the wrong degree from where you need to be.
You whimper softly inside and walk on through life.

Seven Days

It's like trying to fall asleep with your eyes open;
Reading the words, feeling the emotions, understanding, and yet.
So she folded her arms and hummed a tune about black birds.

Something to make you uncomfortable;
The note in the distance, sounding as you involuntarily pound in sincopation.
Warm socks with cold toes and burning sweat, trickleing.
A secret, meaningless, yet untold, curious, without a care, angry.
Small pages, a tear, an apple, a friend. Lost for words, lost.
Walking towards a beautiful rainbow as it fades to nothing.
A kiss on the cheek: A punch in the concave of your chest.

Metaphor;
What if she rejects me?
She won't.
What if she turns me away?
She won't!
So, I approached her and asked if she was ok.
She's not.
She said it was fine.
She's lying.
Goodbye.
I love you.

Lots and lots of words;
Sorry.
Bagel.
Fountain.
Scarf.
Rain.
Tissue.
Cuddle.
Stare.
Wince.
Glance.
Forget.
Forgot.

Animals;
Jump on eachother.
Play.
Hide and go seek in the sky.
Down to the creek for a bath.
Smelly feet.
Fun, loving, friends.
Jealousy.

To the point;
Wednesday the ninth of June,
is awfully awfully soon.
There may be a surprise,
so i'll close my eyes,
And look into the great big moon.

Inside i see a rabbit
I wish that i could grab it,
Hold him tight
and kiss him good night,
And realise your not a rabbit.

Where freckle and lip do meet
and hair is never neat
I whisper in your ear
something you'd hate to hear
and i frown lightly in defeat.

Eager to please
with a moment to seise
yes, it's true
you love me too
and my life is at ease

Then i open my eyes
and what a surprise
reality is here
to fill me with fear
and the birthday girl sighs.

11:11;
i wish i wish i wish.
but, you know it is not possible.
The whether man said himself,
that whether or not, is not that whether,
whet her, wet her, wet hair, wet bear,
whether you will or whether you won't,
the impossible depends on whether
you sleep with your eyes open,
or not.

Change

Living is changing, progressing to death.
But as each day goes by we grow more and more afraid.
Afraid of what we don't know, which is our future.
We forget the boring repetitive motions, that make up the bulk of our life.
Our memories are full of frightening, exciting, and soul feasting events of change.

December the 18th,
It was saturday, marking the official end to year 10,
and a start to those long holidays, that you spend all year wating for.
I woke that morning with a sickly feeling, and a phonecall of pain and foreboding released my nausea through endless tears, gossip girl and ice cream.
A lot of things happened that day, so much so that I felt like I'd lost myself in a pool of distaste and emptiness. But, I was still myself inside, way beneath the exaggerated pain and suffering, was little old me.
Although, I was never little, but bubbly and excitable, of average height and form, large facial features, obtuse personality, not little. And, I am yet to be old. So there was enormous young me, sitting, watching and waiting for the moment when i noticed that flicker in my eye. The flicker of recognition and redemption of pride.
As much as the world changed around me, I was still the same me. And that thought, changed me.

January:
I was blatently rejected, then blatently accepted. Utterly confused.
I sang to the melody of my own tune, listened to my heart, and mixed lyrics with the flutterings of the unsteaded blood pumping. I had a job, friends, a beautiful family, at some point a boyfriend, a sore tonsil (only one), familiar baggies under my eyes, a year to look forward to, ironed white shirts, brand new matching knickers and five gum at hand. But something was missing. My mind.
It wasn't till the very end of this month in which i found it lying tattered by the side of my bed, beneath piles of unwashed clothes and school books. With it I found enthusiasm, to bring it back to health and let it live on with ease and limited angst. I learnt that teen angst was a waste of time, but practically unavoidable. So, my mind back flipped and let me accept that life was life, and would always be while I am alive, living and breathing life.

February:
My sister and I argued over the front seat like the spoiled brats we are, snickering snide comments towards eachother about how ugly and horrible and obese we were. My mum started the car. My sister complained about the music and how it wasn't playing in the back seat speakers, and in response I called her deaf, among more vibrantly worded descriptions. My mum drove on. I sang loudly and outoftune to bohemian rhapsody, my sister yelled at me, but sang a long with me. My mum paused the track.
My grandfather had been admitted to hospital with bowel cancer.
My sister and I cried, my mother drove on in silence.

March:
Sometimes you learn from your mistakes, and sometimes it takes a second go.
This change in thoght was inevidable, "LEARN FROM YOUR MISTAKES!" My conscience barked, and a patted him on the head and gave him a treat.
I fell in love, unreasonably. And it remains a secret, even to me.
But there it is.
My heart took over my body, and decided it most necessary to fall in love with something so far out of reach, so unattainable, that I would urn but not be distressed too much by it's precence.
The intensity was greater than my love for my undoubtfully, or if you're grammatically correct, doubtlessly, soulmate Basil, my best friends, my parents, my sister, my aunties, uncles, cousins, grandparents, pets. I could not, and still do not consume this lightly, or at all. There is no way that I understand what this overwhelming power is, but it exists, and will remain to be ignored until the feelings can be properly expressed.
I might wait years, or i might stop waiting.
But, the drastic change to such a feeling, unimaginable. Frighteningly unimaginable.

April:
I made a list, 16 things to do before my 16th birthday. It is now waiting to be exterminated.
Oh the loathe that I hold for this uncompletable list, which seemed like a good idea at the time.
Ah, key phrase "seemed like a good idea, at the time."
This would surely follow me through my life, with a tutt tutting essence to my swagger.

May:

Three days.

Try not talking for Three Days, and I'll buy you a Ferrari.

He said.

And he wasn't joking, or lying.

But, as it goes, I failed without realising, and proceeded to remain silent in my unnoticed failure.

Regaurdless, I learnt.

I learnt the importance of words and the strength of that communication.

The way some people just enjoy talking, and the feeling bubbling inside my bones when they simply would not STOP.

I observed, and entertained myself by attempting to communicate with people.

I told lies, without speaking, what talent!

I read books, and closed my eyes and ears and everything was gone except a smell in the air, and the pulse of my breath.

Life was beautiful, until I talked,

and talked and talked.

and kept talking till i was alone.

For, I have tried talking to myself.

Yeah.. it's a bit fucked.

June:
I will be sixteen, and I will be around dying, sick, old people as much as I can, wishing on every "11:11pm" that bowel cancer was just a dream.

 I will be Mary, and I will probably do a lot of regretful things, but I will die smiling, one would hope

The face of a child.

I wear it like a mask, an old, rotting mask with cracks and faint lines of loss.
I wear it all day and all night, even in the shower.
I wear it when I smile and when I frown.
I wear it well.

The many layers that are my life are piled high, similar to the leaning tower of pizza, only it's not quite so beautiful, and it has fallen many a time.
These are my layers;

The Cherry,
On top lies the cherry. I never much liked cherries, but some people do.
They stain your fingers for days, unless you wash them off.
Perhaps you enjoy it at first, and keep coming back, until you get sick of the little pip and the red ring around your mouth.

The Fairy Dust,
As a child I had always wanted a fairy party, but instead I dressed in my DW dress, with my John Lennon glasses, jelly shoes and fountain pony tails, and made wishes with the fairy dust of other people's fairy birthdays.
Blow the dust away, make a wish, and see what happens.

The Bubbles,
The bubbly, excited, quirky, jolly, awkward, fun, joyfull, energetic, overwhelming bubbles. The flow in a continuous stream, till that anoying little know-it-all turd, with the pe-nis on his forehead pops them all... Dick.

The Aligator skin,
This is a very important layer, as it protects the most important layer. The skin is breakable, but well guarded, and if you are not welcome, it will bite.

The Memories,
It pains me that one day I won't exist, but I can only hope my memories will live on. Expressed in words and songs and french kisses, these precious gems are greater than love. You, and you, also you, and perhaps you as well, are inside, a tiny poleroid of your soul subsides and I kiss it gently, before I hold it to my heart. Without a doubt the most important layer. And the pain, hurt, regret, erky feelings and longing, are all worth it.

The Cupcakes,
If you have ever seen me make cupcakes, or present cupcakes or even think about cupcakes, then perhaps you'll understand what they mean to me. I bake from the inklings of my heart for the pure pleasure of anyone taking a bite. This layer is love at it's best.

The Nail Polish,
Thickly painted and glazed over everything inside, it acts as a core.
Sometimes red, white, blue, yellow, sparkly or even clear, it provides a barrier, a shield from the depths.
But, it cracks in time.

The Whipped Cream,
Sure, it can be fun, but it's a little nasty trying to get out of your hair in the shower.
It's kinky and light, a tasty delight. But, fear it.

The Mosquito net,
There is no buzz inside.
But peace and harmony, boring?
I don't think so.

The Wombat's cave,
A place much like my room, as it used to be described. Where pictures and drawings and treasured memories hang on the walls, proudly. Where homework lays splattered all over the floor, a saxophone resting in the middle and that homely feeling you get when your mum expresses love, and your dad is genuinely proud of you, and you and your sister are playing card games and shouting obscenities by the open window. This is a place to snuggle up and have me in full veiw.

The Freckle,
On my lip, and my pinky finger.
You might notice it, and smile. You might be this close, and not even realise.

The core,
like an Apple's, robust and sour with a tinge of awkward.
Feelings are traced in tattered note pads, and stubbed out felt tip pens, and guinipig-eared pages of books, and funny faces made in mirrors, and the foot prints on my ceiling, and the traces of fingerprints around my heart, pushing the blood away and holding tightly.
Where do you put your Apple core when you finish the Apple?

Didn't you hear?

How am I to know

When it all becomes too hard

when your smile is decaffinated

and your laughter is drowned

By the coral shelving

along side mine

the blood stops pumping

and tears are your veins

The wind blows softly

And you fall

I am there with open arms

but what am I supposed to do

I close my eyes

and think a thought

so thoughtlessly fickle

like a freckle on a trembling lip

What is the use of living

if you aren't there

to hold my hand

tightly

Who will I sit beside

without words

but combined feelings

of peace

Who will I turn to

without doubt

but clenched fists

of angst

Who will I think of

without fear

but the other half

of me

I will count on my fingers

the seconds it takes

for a month

to carve into my heart

Show me a smile

that is true

And stay with me

i love you

The Bird and The Worm

I listen to Owl City, because I know how much you hated it.
I'm afraid to look at my own wall, because I kept the sticker you gave me, and it's right in the middle.
I wake up too early, because the morning winter chill brings me the security that left with you.
I write blogs, because I think you liked them once.
I cut my nails too short, because it doesn't hurt when I clentch my fists.

I watch Skins, because you said it was better than Gossip Girl.
I wear jumpers on the hottest days, because I still feel cold.
I deleted all my text messages, becaue I couldn't just delete yours.
I hid all sharp objects, because I can't do that to myself.
I wrote you a letter, because I thought it would help.

I said my feelings were gone, because they are.
I cry too much, because I can't help remembering.
I can't sleep most nights, because of the memories.
I fall quiet and wear my pensive face, because I forget how to talk.
I won't eat avocados, because they are your eyes.

I cut my hair, because you liked how it used to be.
I take deep breaths, because I knew I was right.
I love my friends, because they were all wrong.
I write down my feelings, because I don't really know what they are.
I fall for everyone, because they aren't you.

But, really...

I enjoy the feeling of crapness spinning through my mind, with each Owl City song.
I smile, because the sticker tells me to.
I love cold, winter mornings.
I write blogs, because I'm waiting for Gossip Girl to load.
And I cut my nails short, by accident.

I love Sid and Michell and Tony and Maxie and Effie and Jal and Cassie, but not Anwar. And, Gossip Girl is better than Skins.
I live in warm wooley jumpers, no matter the weather.
I deleted yours first.
The letter did help.

The letter made me realise that I don't like you anymore.
I cry when I'm embarassed, and I'm embarassed when I cry, so I cry more.
I can't sleep because I dream of terrible things, and wake up happy.
I have a pensive face now, so's I don't say stupid things or make bad jokes or cry in embarassment, I just look at you, when you blow out the pretty flame, dancing in my eyes as I play with my cheap lighter.
I hate avocados, and I always have.

I cut my hair like the Tony & Guy ad, because I wanted to be a pixie.
I take deep breaths, as I write this, and wonder if you, or anyone, will ever read it. But really, I don't care, so I write on.
I was right, and my friends were wrong, if only I'd had confidence in myself. But, I guess, shit happened, and I'm still ok.
And, I love them, none the less.
Yeah, I also write about the dead cat I saw on my way to school, and that metaly-petrol smell that I love so much, and english essays, all of which I hardly understand. Feelings, Shmeelings.
And, for the record, I don't fall for anyone. I just got excited at the fact that I was attracted to other people again, after so long of whatever was going on with me, and, you know, complicated my friendships, sexuality and mood swings along the way..

The fact is, I'm not heat-felt anymore, if I ever was. Sure, I'm an emotional whore, and I talk about myself too much, and theres quite a handful of beautiful people who aparently enjoy spending time with me, but, to quote Ben Folds and Regina Spector, You Don't Know Me At All.

You don't know that I can't stand loosing Monopoly, and that singing is my favourite thing to do in the world ever, and that I'll never reach my dreams, so I'm making up new one's along the way, and that I wrote you half a song which ended with the words "I love you" because I thought I would one day, and how much I love drinking milk from the carton. And you never noticed the way I looked up into the corner of my eyes ever now and again, and you didn't even realise that you couldn't handle me for more than exactly 2 months and one day, and finally, FINALLY, I don't care anymore. Beause as beautiful and wonderful and sweet and lovely as it all was, life goes on, and all I'm really thinking about now is how good those sliced strawberries and banana and chocolate sauce and maybe a bit of caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream and icing sugar, on waffles are going to taste, when I make them with the waffle maker Paloma and Julia are giving me for my birthday.

Well well well well well, it's been a while.

And things have changed.

I've noticed recently, that I enjoy writing lists. Lists of what to do, what to buy, who I love, the list of things to do before my 16th, and just lots and lots of lists, listing things. So, I've made one for you, actually, I'm about to, and here's how it starts:

1. Was disrupted from my aimless search for my stolen personal belongings, and endless crying, by fireworks.
2. Found love interest of the moment, grabbed him, kissed him. Felt a bit weak in the knees, tasted a tangy mix of beer and packaged chips, saw the inside of my eyelids, smelt sweat and the inklings of a new year.
3. Heard him say "This doesn't feel right", let go of me, and felt...confused.
4. Saw something frighteningly snake-like.
5. Woke up before 6am, read Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.
6. Went to the police to report my stolen belongings.
7. Facebook-chatted with the girl I somewhat idolise, for my boss's number.
8. Got dumped.
9. Made 80 cupcakes.
10. Recieved great advice from "such a babe."
11. Made a phone call, that unwillingly changed the next two and a half months of my life.
12. Made an angry cake dog, and wrote a blog about it. Met someone special for "coffee", was uplifted and hopelessly locked in an awkward head-over-heels position.
13. Went past "Wolstonecraft" station, remembering who's stop that was, gave her a ring, appologised. Realised how much the smallest phonecall can change things, again. Laughed.
14. Met Dannielle and the frightening Red Cross voulenteers.
15. Met Joe, Harry and Lachy. Was awkward.
16. Until it wasn't anymore.
17. Loved the beach, and a few other things.
18. Held hands in the spa.
19. "Watched" a movie about zombies taking over the world.
20. Had own world taken over by sweet, sweet kisses and avocado eyes.
21. Saw Toy story 2, for the first time ever, IN 3D!
22. Did some things, watched babe and faulty towers.
23. Had an amazing strawberry milkshake with the greatest girl in the world.
24. Was asked, "Oh, are you a new year 7?" for the second year in a row, despite the white shirt.
25. Was late for economics, and forever held the awkward seating arrangement. Was accepted.
26. Met his friends and Tim Humphrys
27. Made first boost.
28. Went to fairday and met Tim's friends.
29. Mardi gras. Smallwood. No comment.
30. Heard a song, I rather liked.
31. Got over it, eventually.
32. Fell in love with Eeyore, the snuggly soft toy.
33. Was dumped.
34. Called Tim.
35. Called Morgan.
36. Wallowed in self pity.
37. With the best friends ever.
38. Wore thick wooley red jumper on the hottest day of the year, because it was safe.
39. Cried some.
40. Visited Papu, in hospital.
41. Danced, finally.
42. Saw Callum and Benita, finally.
43. Listened to a song, thought of someone.
44. Watched skins.
45. Went to the zoo..
46. Bought Chocolate Body Paint.
47. Morgan
48. Morgan
49. Morgan
50. Easter show.
51. Work
52. Sleep
53. Watched skins.
54. Work
55. Sleep
56. Missed south african boy.
57. Work
58. Wrote a letter to someone about something.
59. Hid it.
60. Watched skins.
61. Felt attracted to people, for the first time in six months.
62. Cried some.
63. Enjoyed school.
64. Hated school.
65. Studied..
66. not really.
67. Questioned sexuality.
68. Banana Buzz, thought of her.
69. Did 7th grade saxophone exam.
70. Was exceedingly happy.
71. Dreamed of jumping off the top of F block.
72. Woke up, smiling?
73. Work.
74. Banana Buzz, again.
75. Her, again.
76. Saw another him.
77. KAROKE!!
78. Was sombre.
79. Listened to that song again.
80. Thought some, Cried some, Slept some.
81. Woke up.
82. Did maths.
83. For 4 hours.
84. Finished A Clockwork Orange.
85. Had cold feet, literally.
86. Studied,
87. no, really this time.
88. Played my saxophone.
89. Was happy
90. Was sad
91. Was menstrual?
92. Watched skins.
93. Had lunch.
94. Realised english essay was (is)... shit.
95. Facebook.
96. Blue tacked old school photos on my wall. Laughed at my evolvng middle part, gapped tooth, ridiculous expression. Understood why people don't like me at first glance, or second.
97. Or third.
98. Waited for mum to go and buy me Frankie.
99. Wrote this blog.