just briefly, gerberas! And he’s taking me to rocky horror I want to say, it’s all lovely – and you make me happy – but srsly; I like quiet nights at home, subtlety and handwritten letters. Not that it’s not lovely, but. I grew up on the borderline, don’t spoil me now! everything is well, I’m particularly happy of late. Of course, not sustainable; but enjoyable while it lasts. My jailbait’s on schoolies – oh how he’s grown. And he’s planning a lipring, I swoon. Christmas this weekend, by which I mean, annual table tennis bloodbath BLOODBATH!! And teasing my brother in law. No really I AM THE STIG oh it makes me laugh.
Who would’ve thought. Two princes.
And I don’t mean it like that, not that I’m not swaying now, but for two. Sweet sweet novels, I read too much. Finished the Christmas skirt this morning, it’s like an evergreen, spun in a blender, lying on the skin of a red tree kangaroo with yellow trimming. I think I’ll wear it with my green shoes, forlornly humming little green bag
I’m happy of late; albeit slightly sunburnt Ujian bahasa bicara later on today – oh eeh, as they would say. I love my work, despite the wide array of spanners, and of course Sunday morning bus. I used to loathe it with a scarlet tinged rage I’d previously reserved for homophobes and seafood, but now it kind of makes me smile. I get on at springie/highbury so it already partially full with other youngs things having to work after a big night out, like me, most not having slept, also like me, or younger young things rolling home from house parties, and because it’s the cursed [CURSED!] SmartBus every time there’s a stop [about every 100 metres yarg] the stupid smartbus lady goes ‘the next stop is … la pent reserve!’ with heavy emphasis on the latter syllables, or fucking ‘Clunies-Rose Crescent!’ [don’t get me started, this is a rant for another time; possibly in the near future] and the collective young things are all like nngh and don’t forget there’s always some irritatingly chipper elderly person muttering away causing much general yarging. but I had a point [don’t give me that look] morning bus = sleep deprived young things, and general gangster nod-acknowledgement. Good times … great classic hits My new hair is like an adorable baby meerkat! I love is so ~ As I wss saying to my brother John last night, like an adorable baby meekat, an adorable baby meekat with purple bits and a 1920s bob … yes yes. Needless to say maddog hates it; so all is well My customers won’t confuse me with a galah anymore, so that’s something at least. Has anybody else being watching our every shrinking water shortages? We’re on 34%, to last until next winter-ish. So completely fucked right now. It terrifies me quite a lot.
xo e
i don't like cigarettes; i like to smoke
[
August 24th, 2008 | 8:31pm
]
[
mood
|
peachy keen apple dream
]
so I went to give blood earlier in the week, went through all the questionnaires [have I engaged in male-to-male sex in the last twelve months? – let me think] and then for the haemoglobin test the lady’s like oh; that’s dangerously low, I’m surprised you’re still breathing … but don’t worry! We’ll send you the lab results soon! but I have to wait two weeks for them to mail me test results to see if I have anemia or chronic fatigue, diabetes or some such. Ode to joy. I had an enjoyable weekend; but oh hai there’s a creative assignment due next Monday; fuck Glasses ♥ I like dry, and dopey – but maybe not. I want to be on holiday – somewhere warm and languid. Are the Olympics over yet? Praise be. Lastly - communism Marxism so perfect in theory; Oh fair bell, for who doth thy chime.
I’ve been absent of late; in more than just the physical sense I think – I have tonsillitis (again) and Natalia laughs at me. My mother has some godawful concoction that we have to take when we’re sick. She bought it from the Kingsway health food shop [remember the one? Run by hippies, closed seven years or so back? They used to make their own peanut butter by putting half a kilo of beanuts in a blender? Ringing any bells, yes? no? no? .. fine] anway, the point of that aside was that she bought it at least seven years ago, and it tastes like death, with a hint of liquorice and it’s called McGloin’s Senega and Ammonia Mixture [Without Chloroform] Without chloroform?! WITHOUT CHLOROFORM?! … well that’s very fucking reassuring. I’ve lost my nub and thrust [sparkle! Sparkle!] now, but oh well.
Feel fever approaching; will be back, sometime.
true love really is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops
[
July 9th, 2008 | 2:28pm
]
[
mood
|
chillled, with an olive
]
So, I was running up to ze Glenski the other day [I missed the bus and needed to get to work and my dual buses intersect at glennie station] and I thought I’d take the short cut through La Pent. All was well, up until the part where I ALMOST FELL OVER A BODY in the wet grass. My toolism; let me show it to you. It was this youngish guy and he was pretty wet and face down in the grass and I thought ohmygod he’s fucking dead so I was about to, I don’t know, kind of nudge him with my shoes but my mind went no liz; respect for the possibly dead so I kind of crouched [dead body, dead body] and said something along the lines of ‘dude; are you dead?’ AND NOTHING HAPPENED! and I was like ohgod, he is actually dead what the fuck do I do so I paced, and then I was like – okay I’ll just prod him a bit; maybe he’s asleep or something. So I prodded, and he kind of moved, but I didn’t know if it was just the motion of the prodding or him actually being, yknow, not dead ... and stuff. Then the corpse goes, ‘wtf’ and rolls a little. And I shrieked and, long story short – I think he was that little punk, aiden [?] (only briefly glimpsed face before he rolled back into the grass and I left) but whoever he was – he’s lucky I didn’t fucking kill him for making me think he was dead. Anyway, I don’t really remember what I had to say on the subject, maybe something deep; but probably not, either way – let this be a lesson to you, don’t go to sleep out in a park in the middle of winter; you might die, or [worse] you might be woken from the near dead by me kicking you in the ribs with my workboots. Sweet sweet workboots; some kind of leather and stompy, oh so stompy. [not to be confused with stumpy]
Karaoke tomorrow night – huzzah!
I met a boy last weekend – his name was Tristan and ohmygosh so ridiculously delicious … so very pretty. And let me fall asleep on him, with only mild groping meanwhile. Oh infatuations; I’ve missed you.
Yo Rapunzel, forget the ladder – there’s a quicker way down. ♥
dr scott! .. janet? Brad! ... ROCKY!? dr scott! .. janet? Brad! ... ROCKY!?
[
July 3rd, 2008 | 9:29pm
]
[
mood
|
as oft'
]
ice-skating today with my sister and cousin, it’s possible that I am the least graceful antelope-beast in the history of ever. Enjoyable though; been chilling in Point Cook, my week was one long eighties revival. And how I laughed; my ribs ache.
I’ve been working hard for the money, oh so hard for the money, twelve hour days yo. Mostly I weed out the very very mad from the possibly mildly insane. it’s more than a little unsettling; people recognize me OUTSIDE OF SPOTLIGHT as a Spotlight ladybird and show me their work. No sign of le Frank though, which is always good.
On another note I have new hair Short and lovely. It’s purple and blue and a darker .. sort of ‘mahogany’ brown, I love it so. Seriously yo – ‘kin a’
I picked up the Gin Blossom’s New Miserable Experience from the Salvos earlier in the week, My face was the very picture of glee.
Woken at six this morning by mulleted builders on the roof next to my sisters house, Because yes – their bogan-esque ‘how ya garn?’ will make my day a shiny happy one.
There doesn’t seem to be much in the shops of late – for the best I suppose.
I receive a lot more drunken declarations of love than I used to – apropos, possibly, of many things.
I don’t know anymore; I’m just a sweet transvestite ... from transsexual ... Transylvania
so, i was meant to meet my mother at Hortons [yes, cue Hears A Who puns] at 4, but i got lost, and the bus was late, and then i missed the stop, and then when i eventually arrived i tried going in the front door and it was all locked up, so much that the lock had actually rusted over, so i was all 'fuck - what now?!' so i snuck around the back and there's a door but it's kind of hidden by vines and such but i can see mum through the glass window so, because I'm a subtle and distinguished individual, i start waving my arms and jumping to get her attention [after about five minutes] i did and proceeded to mime 'how do i get in?!' through the glass. so maddog's going 'what? what?' and I'm making these big arm movements, possible interpretive dance outside. then she gets up and opens the vine covered door and goes, really loudly 'get in here - you big idiot!' and the reception lady's like '... 0.o' and I'm like 'hi, i had a four o clock appointment' and she goes '... is your mother abusive?
I had an enjoyable weekend; first Sunday I’ve had off work in two and half-ish years, so what did we do? Bought inflatable cacti! As Bec and I are known to do?
doctors this afternoon [cue menacing theme] indeed kits, very much so.
Of which I am fond; Eighties sound affects. [pizoo! Pizoo!] Implicit fairytales. The Narcissists Daughter [surprisingly] lingering spines. weathervanes allusions. [… or am I ...]
and of course, less than fond; AIP107
Curry@Highway IS ALL BOARDED UP! WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO?!
I feel like spreading out minimally and lounging – but no, I have work. On the plus side they’re actually listening with the ‘I need more shifts’ gig. 4 days a week mon cherie.
Painted the white roses red and then claimed they had always been that way. I enjoyed it. Most of them really. More than I thought I would, I guess.
I’m surprised like woah too, because I don’t usually get picked up, it’s more like dancing nearby then suddenly hooking up with decent looking guy, but … mmm .. hot Irish guy … DAMN YOU UNIVERSE!
Life is lovely of late – I’m always so tired from work though. Slowly reading my way through the top 100. And I’d recommend Nine Parts Of Desire to everyone. Not so much 1000 Splendid Suns
\ o / @ my Dad. … Flames – what’s that band I like again? yknow the one with the narcissism and melodies? Me – Smashing Pumpkins daddy-o. [LATER IN THE WEEK] an indignant aforementined Father, ’those idiots at JB didn’t even know who the Pashing Flapjacks were!’ I lol-ed.
I like gentle; gentle is alright. Take care lovers.
ada apa temanku? selama panjang tanpa lihat!
[
April 3rd, 2008 | 10:38pm
]
[
mood
|
heartened.
]
my baby whispers in my ear … mmm … sweet nothings.
I’m enjoying uni – particularly Tuesdays. Viva la Tuesday! Mostly because I get to play with soft, soft, touchable Dane and pretty Adam, as well as Natalia; but also because I have International Studies – which I love like burning. Our tute group [the girls at least] are all so in love with the young tutor Faris; he’s so suave and charismatic – I’m such a dopey loon-pig. Politics is less fun but I’m slowly learning to talk like a pretentious politics student, mostly I chip in to boycotting Beijing 08 or not; using stupid politics terminology .. hello ‘mediocrative neo-liberalistic democratic outlooks!’ I come out Tuesday afternoons covered with Adam’s saliva – aha; nothing suss!
It’s Thursday isn’t it. I ran into some station rats after work today; Viva la station rats! I gave them my lighter and they, upon my request, beatboxed their thanks. Because how else would they express themselves? Exactly.
And just a quick rundown; My mother kicked her partner of four years out, tensions are high, I work hard for the money .. oh so hard for the money; to pay damned uni fee-e-es, Darren is like a newly shorn baby lamb, I actually do, unironically, respect Mariah Carey as an artist, I feel like going out dancing this weekend, the power is back!, I’m unproductive, Chris is coming to play soon!, Indo is slowly devouring my soul ♥
virtuous vices ... non?
[
March 17th, 2008 | 7:01pm
]
[
mood
|
contentedly well
]
Darren made me a Kiss me I have a mad Irish grandfather!’ badge today. Sometimes my need to slap him upside his perfectly shorn baby lamb head is greatly justified. I did get two kisses though … Some people are into crazy Irish grandfathers, so hurrah!
also; i must be getting old, i can't understand a word of that new Nelly song not a word he may as well be speaking yiddish. ... but maybe he is ... maybe i'm giving him less credit than is due.
debs - product of the patriachy or harmless fun; that is the question
[
March 5th, 2008 | 9:33am
]
[
mood
|
: )
]
Atonement with Bec last night I think it was brilliant, yearning for the win! And oh the heartache! I didn’t cry though – which I was surprised about. Also; lead guy looking like Marlon … *trails off into pleasant daydream*
I’m happy and all is well; Liking le Deakin, espec. Int. Studies The Indo lecturer makes me laugh and laugh; he’s about as high as my nipple, and so very crazy. I really don’t need you – don’t know why I didn’t see before. Cousins engagement was champagne-tastic; accompanied by softcore [I know –what?] Family ♥
and is it just me or are this seasons nectarines too delicious to be verbal rendered? junkie meet vice, you two should get along fine.
and thus passes the first four days of my fourteen days straight of work VIVA LA SPOTLIGHT … They train us young.
I’m kind of ridiculously annoyed; Like throat-ripping-out annoyed right now; But on a lighter note – Ahahah! The flyer for the Emmaus Reunion. find out which teachers didn’t like you!’ ell oh ell kids.
you know what I find irritating; the credibility that accompanies ‘some say … etc’ of course some people say ‘… etc’ some people are fucking idiots. Let me explain ~ I love my work – I work with a lovely bunch of people, if strange, but god. idiots for some reason unbeknownst to myself, they think I’m vegetarian. and I have nothing against vegetarianism; it has many good points BUT Their line of argument is that I ’look like the kind of person who’d be vegetarian’ and when asked what that specific person would look like, ’well, there’s no set look’ so how could I look like that person, you ask? GOOD FUCKING QUESTION Apparently it’s very involved, for example ’well you read a lot’ ‘you like soft things’ [there is context to this – they’re taking it way out of said context] ’you offered that woman ‘dead animal on bread?’ at the Sparty’s sausage sizzle that one time’ ‘you nose things a lot’ ‘you had a bitch about Peter Singer that one time’ ‘you like Sean Penn’ [completely fucking irrelevant; but true all the same – well not true, I don’t like Sean Penn .. I love Sean Penn] ‘… and that unwashed Aragorn guy’ [well – obv!] ’you make lots of stuff’ ‘you argued with Simone that time about schoolies in Bali’ [and yes, guilty of this – but really; Australians are exploiting their whole fucking culture, no – they have no culture left .. it makes me angry; this is not a rant about that – another time perhaps] ’you went to that protest’ and so on.
THEY HAVE NO CASE and I’m not in denial – you can’t be in denial of something which is fallacy – I tried to explain this but they overrode me with ‘denial! denial!’ I’m obviously not vege; but whatever .. I leave you with this some people are fucking idiots.
i am so fucking hardcore guys ... my hardcore, let me show it to you;
[at the station] some skinhead - [to me] DYKE! me - BUY A FUCKING TOUPE skinhead's friends - oooooh! fiesty! me - *gangster shrug/gesture*
they'll probably track me down and headstomp me, but for the moment i am victorious
take care kids.
avril lavigne wants to lock you up in her closet .. when no one's around.
[
January 25th, 2008 | 2:44pm
]
[
mood
|
happy
]
!! Yesterday, Dad’d overheard Jord saying something like ‘Your face needs new Venetian blinds’ [weak] and needed updating, it went a little like this … [cue scene – kitchen, cantaloupes present] Flames – so I could say anything as long as it’s preceded by ‘your face’ E – hey I don’t make the rules. Flames - even … your face is an over ripe cantaloupe?’ E – pretty much Jordan – that doesn’t even make sense! Flames – [triumphantly] ‘YOUR FACE DOESN’T MAKE SENSE! … [aside] was that okay?’
He needed approval! Dad for the win!
I’ve created a monster ’cause nobody wants to see flames no more they want ray he’s chopped liver
Jack White, i would take a wagon to mexico with you any day .. but damn your exwife is fine!
don't think twice ~ it's alright.
[
January 18th, 2008 | 8:01pm
]
[
mood
|
of which i am fond!
]
I always counted on attainment accompanied by that lingering sense of unfulfillment, hopefully I’m wrong. I don’t know – maybe I don’t even want it anymore. I do know what I want though. A handspan beyond my reach.
Spent my two [delightful] weeks surrounded by Daz and Shaz’s, in particular the man next door whose first workds to me were “I haven’t slept in 76 hours, it’s the beer I tell ya!’ so, reacting as you do, I pretended to be German for the first seven days but as you know, my deutsch is sadly lacking so I eventually resorted to speaking broken English with a german accent and periodic gravel hacking … I never claimed to possess an ounce of dramatic talent, but I think I performed moderately well. The second week introduced me to the chap who wore a wok on his head and played a tin kettle. Walks were lovely; marchflies ever present; squealing teen girls abundant. [young, maybe 14 years, girl walks past in midrift top and shortshorts, in the rain] maddog – [quietly] for the love of- [loudly to girl] PUT SOME CLOTHES ON! other mother – are you abusing my daughter?! Maddog - … ich auch! Why do people feel the need to play cricket before nine in the morning? Also, why so loudly. No love Peter Garret, no love at all. Dredging- the fuck! It did fuel some angry letters though. And was I angry. Indeed. How I love the Open, and Roger Federer, and his pet cow [brilliant tennis not withstanding], and Raphael Nadal ... I think I get too involved. My animosity for Lleyton Hewit has not died down. Leave my hypocrisy out of this. Into my first preference, I think I’m more enthusiastic about the second now – I wait.
love list - fathers and daughters holding hands - powdery sand - balcony. - The mystery Of A Hansom Cab 1887 - aimless wanders - piers - salt and healing - second hand book shops - Nick Earls. - goats - beetroot [i know; i know] - pretty girls at work - letters
of which i am less than fond - sunscreen - hidden pointing things - white nectarines - dobs - concealed gashery - cars
relaxing time in mornington; going to the Prom oh how i love.
Phantom Of The Opera was … my god I don’t even have proper words. Just awe. … close to orgasmic Anthony Warlow ~ king of hearts Even as disfigured, sociopathic musical genius.
I can’t stop singing. THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA IS HERE … INSIDE YOUR MIND …
Christmas was pleasant, family all well. Spent the day in Franga [I know – shut up] for lovely lunch and chatter. Chris’ message made us cry. Received new Bryce Courtney novel, The Persimmon Tree, but family [damned family] have hidden it from me until the fourth. Suspect it is in the depths of our laundry [as much depth as a cupboard sized room can have]; cursed family, preying on my weaknesses. It calls to me … read me … reeeeeeeead meeeeeeee … like a haunting final note. Similarly, new Otori novel [!!!!!!!!!] – also beyond me grasp.
Best moment of le Christmas day? Def. grand tea towel fight between Steph[ve] and bro John; gunshots whip cracks and gum snapping baby, also whimpering and accompanying theme music supplied by fam [a la Kronk]
Most inspiring hair? Cousin Paddy, because yes we really are gnarlsome Irish plebs, and his emo locks. His emo? Let me show it to you; his emo. Don’t get me wrong, I like the emo ... but he’s about 94% sideswept fringe. [mad irish grandfather, George “is that James’ new girlfriend then?” Uncle John “… no ... that’s my son”]
Least best moment? Hairy chinned aunt. Say no more.
Worked Boxing Day, complete madhouse. Screaming fits, punch-ons, hair pulling – and not just amongst staff! I kid; all customers. Also – Spotlight … home of the scrag fight [poss.]
LURE. You feel it.
[
December 17th, 2007 | 10:36pm
]
[
mood
|
baik-hati, yang terkenal
]
today was pleasant; new skirt currently in production. it's swishy and full and christmas-y [i know, i know] and makes me feel pretty. my sewing machine is le bitch, but this you know. novels! novels! *plays with large pile*
conclusion of strange work meetings yesterday, featuring questions such as if on a murderous rampage, i [insert name here] would be accompanied by [insert song/album/band title here] courtesy of Darren. because it's 'very telling.' Darren's song of choice was Your Woman ... interesting. [yes, that song] Spotlight is love. [also - thoughts, regarding accompaniment?]
python in a lather
[
December 12th, 2007 | 5:19pm
]
[
mood
|
glee.
]
Glennie station’s oddly devoid of scum, … and Ben. You don’t suppose there is a plot do you? this would be the time, because the scum is always to be found. always but then again, everyone must Christmas shop. … Curious though ...
Have new journal from Cath [Christmas the other night, dinner, KK, table tennis death match, enya .. the usual] it’s beautiful. Leather with a skeletal tree and raven silhouettes; Poss. able to move on from my leather bound baby, what with the numerous entries I don’t want to read [Hi; yes this actually about you for once!] for a while, le waste May convert it Speaking of which, have almost read the whole Top 100. Almost – I refuse to read Tolstoy. Unless I were an insomniac or committed criminally insane [not unlikely] I had a point you should all read The Bride Stripped Bare I know I was scathing. But I take it back. Everything. I don’t know if I like it exceedingly, but god. Evocative like woah. Do I know anyone? The people closest to me? What do I think of closeness? Do I even know myself? and the like.
On another note; I found a brilliant MillsNBoon at the newsagent [I refuse to pay full price for them, either waiting for clearance bins or searching musty opshop shelves for pre-read-by-lonely-housewife ones] it’s called Heartbeats and the tagline [wait for it] fear makes your pulse race, but passion can kill … I laughed so much. It went a little like this: p.1 – flashback to passionate weekend. p.2 – characters, Dr. Elizabeth Ivarson, and Special Agent Drake McGuire [I kid you not] re-meet six years after. p.5 – brutal murder scene p.30 – Elizabeth must move in with Special Agent Drake McGuire, cue tension. p.40 – hints about Drake being the father of Elizabeth’s six year old daughter [gee, who’d’ve thought!] p.80 – Elizabeth blackmailed. etc p.360 - happy, passion filled, ending *smile*
speaking of musty opshop shelves ~ found two [two!] Nick Earls novels for under a dollar this week. Oh Nick Earls, how I love thee.
Earlier this week, almost died; I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d subconsciously gone back in time to the fourteenth [fifteenth maybe?] century contracted the plague and re-appeared. Am better-ish now though. [yay] My hatred for carols is escalating at an alarming rate. Do we have white Christmas in Australia? no? then don’t fucking play it. I may seem extreme However, I work twelve hour shifts. Twelve hours of Americanised carols … let me have my inane rage. Saw One-side-of-mouth-numb-Sidn earlier. Bless.
love list half price Tuesday at the Salvos fucked up suspense thrillers pretty nails smooth smooth smoothness sales nectarines. John Tucker Must Die fam.
unlove list nail gem sets with twelve designs. [why?!] gashing thongs [flip flop style] one sunburnt leg yes, I really am that cool seeing Troy and Troy lookalikes everywhere, especially because now he reminds me of a bad porn star.
nuffling for all.
[love you Saragh!]
imagined him dead, hollowed out, and stepping into his skin, pulling the pallid skullless face over his own like a mask, fitting his own fingers into his like gory gloves.
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