MISDEEDS

4 photographs from this december.

1. If there were no clouds in the sky, the sun would stretch its hand through the dusty kitchen window and sprinkle rainbow coloured droplets all over the cabinets, the tables, the walls and floors and my skin, all at 8:30 in the morning, and never again throughout the day.

2. Hung on the Christmas trees. Christmas itself is a high voltage affair. I hope your Christmases were lovely this year.

3. My view of The Magnificents from my window at the Mandarin Oriental. As I write this the window behind me plays a silent movie of the city at night. It's 4:31 in the morning and there are cars along the road, dragging streaks of red as they ignore traffic lights and painted lines and orders to stop, slow down, watch ahead. There are scattered flecks of glitter all over the skyline too and they all twinkle like stars, but better. It won't get any more cliché than that but I guess that's what makes cliché, cliché. There is no other way to put it.

4. Star Wars characters in an accidental photograph. If you look carefully you can see Princess Leia and Han Solo and the rest of the names, I've forgotten. But they're all there.

FLAKES

My mother used to say I had circulatory problems. That's why, when I was younger, you could see my veins under my arms and legs. Spidery lines of red and blue and grey scribbled underneath the flesh. The live in house maids of my friends used to grab me by the wrists and question such a travesty. What is wrong with you? Is this normal? Is your mother making you drink enough water?

It was also why I get pins and needles far more frequently than most others. Morning assemblies in school were torture, a school girl on the floor in the agonising pain of much more than just pins or needles. Upon standing my legs would go numb, and then ticklish, and more often than not I'd have to lean on a friend amidst the scrambling, eager-to-get-to-maths-class crowd as they pushed past me, through me, into me, and wait for it to pass with my eyes closed tight.

Perhaps it is also why my heart rate is far higher than it should be. During a physical education lesson last year the fairly-young-but-far-wiser-but-not-really English teacher had us calculate our heart rate while we sat in the empty canteen in the afternoon. Mine was far higher than the rest of the class and I was accused of not calculating it properly, but she took it back when she did it herself. My dad did the same last week. His response was stop worrying, whatever it is. Perhaps I'm a worrier. Perhaps I have circulatory problems. Perhaps I'm just not as healthy as I should be.

My mother used to say I had circulatory problems. These days my mother just tells me to stop making excuses.

I still don't drink enough water though.

The over-processed view from my bedroom window.

DROPTOPPING

I just got back from watching Tom perform in Habour Theatre's production of Oliver Twist. Good stuff. According to him Harbour Theatre is being kicked out of the Princess May Building and is moving across the street to another, so this is your last chance to watch any production in the musky-but-homey building erected (ha ha ha) in 1904. I read all the plaque information while I waited. Ticket prices are $13 for concession, please go. You get a free glass of orange juice but I forgot to claim mine. Click here for more information.

L and I wandered around Fremantle beforehand , searching for dinner and talking about Corpus and people and fish and water bottles and reasons why four months is actually a really long time. It was pleasant but I didn't bring my camera. I felt so naked. I've never been in Fremantle without a camera before.

I'm currently downloading every possible overplayed and mainstream dance song I can think of. They remind me of home. My 13 year old self is yelling profanities at me, shaking her head and asking how the fuck I could possibly have sunken to such a low and despicable level. Sorry. Some of these songs are really quite good.

I can't stop thinking about the lights.

WHAT I AM NOT

I wrote a really long post about my dreams (literal meaning, I only just woke up) and anonymous letters and being a child but I've erased it all. It's a saturday afternoon (nearly evening) and I have no energy left to open such things. The house is quiet but I can hear my mom's fingers on the piano. Just the fingers, never the music. She keeps it to her ears. I can also hear the trains pass and, occasionally, the sound of the car honk blaring at a cyclist/pedestrian/self minded prejudice/another car.

Silent saturdays are not what I live for but at this point in time they're only satisfying. Better than numbers, better than geography, better than the search for a jewel toned cloud(ed judgement) of a friday night (the friday night). I think lazy saturdays are more justifiable than lazy sundays are. Sundays are bad for the soul. They turn me into the empty shells on shelves; the kind to sing the echoes of its first impressions of my home, the sea. Sundays should not be filled with the sounds of saturday's echoes, no. I think sunday should have a sound of its own.

December 12th.

GENDER BENDER/ED

1. I'm so very tired.

1 and a 1/2. Not just in the physical heavy-eyes-hurting, lungs-not-breathing, oh-my-god-I-can't-walk-in-a-straight-line kind of way, or even a mental sort of tiredness where I can't keep a train of thought much further from food, or pictures, or daydreaming. This sort of tiredness is a sickness of everything. I'm so very tired of people and their good ways and bad ways, of doing nothing and everything and some things, of wanting this and that and getting just the one. I'm tired of waiting, of moving too fast, of going too slow, of running around in circles which I seem to do a lot these days. I'm just tired of being tired, sick of being sick, annoyed with being annoyed (in both the ways you are thinking -- I'm clever like that). For crying out loud will you GROW THE FUCK UP.

2. I am longing for bright lights, whizzing lights, blinking lights, strobe lights, colourful lights, flashing lights, red lights and green lights (no amber lights), dimmer lights, kitchen lights, fairy lights, christmas lights, LED lights, bright lights, and lightning.

3. I'm very homesick. Nobody is making it better. I want to leave leave leave and overuse my commas in a room after I'm back from a big night and my eyeliner is halfway down my cheek and my hair is a mess and I can't hear anything or see anything and I feel empty but the emptiness is good. I would do a lot for it, right now, now,,,,, now,,,,,,,,,,,,

4. I need human interaction.

5. Remember how we stood there with our bottles of Cruiser Blacks and you said "This isn't a good idea" and I said "It's like 6.4, what are you worried about" and you said "No, I mean, I think I'm making a mistake breaking up with him, he's been so good to me but it just doesn't feel right" and I started singing? It may have been the 6.4. I'm sorry. You really are perfect for each other. Don't listen to my songs.

6. I forgot what number six was.

(Taken a week ago. I didn't know such things existed in the patch of weed I call my garden. The yellow flower is from John Hughes. They gave us a bouquet for the purchase of my mother's brand new, light blue Toyota. I wonder why dealerships give flowers people who purchase cars, but boys don't to the girls they love.)

7. There are three slices of cold pizza and one slice says "EAT ME" and the other says "DRINK ME" and the last one doesn't say anything and I reckon this is why everyone thought Lewis Carroll was high most of the time.

8. I secretly want to hit you. So hard you start crying. You're my best friend, but fuck. Sometimes I just want to hit you.

9. Quiero volver al partido. Quiero inhalar las estrellas y decirle cuanto le amo. Porque le amo realmente. No. Pero si. (I don't know how to put in the accents.)

10. I'm watching Mars Attacks right now on channel 99 and it brings back a lot of memories of us wearing our spaghetti strainer hats, hiding behind the sofa with wooden spoons and ballpoint pens and other things we thought would make good weapons. Do you miss it as much as I do?

El fin.

This is the worst entry of my life.

I'M NOT DEAD, JUST BREATHING SLOW

Holga roll.

I have nothing else to say.

3(2+5) - 13

It was my birthday on Monday, and it was pretty shit. But that's okay because I've got my LC-A+ and I'm somewhat thrilled.

Journal entry from October 19th 2007:

When I was seven, eight, nine, perhaps even ten, I'd always i

magine myself a certain way at fifteen. Grown up and familiar with the world. But I've let myself down by not being anything like I had wanted, by not doing all the things I expected myself to have done. Where I stand now is not where I want to stand, and where I want to stand, I'm not even sure. I just feel like a big chunk of my life is missing, and I was the one who got rid of it.

I read seven of my old journal entries and then I had to stop, because I couldn't bear to go further. It scares me that I was such an unhappy girl. No one should ever have to relive that sort of pain through words I didn't even understand. It's sort of funnily pathetic, in a way. I don't think my mindset has changed much in two years.

(Taken at The Curve during Christmas time last year. If you look carefully you can see little people in Santa hats, singing along to pre-recorded Christmas carols, pushing their way through the Christmas crowd to get to the foam string cans at the end. They were only two dollars.)

We had a geography excursion to White Rocks Dairy Farm today, that was less of an excursion than it was a long, dreary bus ride. I managed to get many pictures of cows, cow dung, cow bums and other Freesian things. It was a complete waste of a day, but I live for the bus rides like these, with Texta moustaches and candy bracelets and lots of secret, sleepy photographs.

THINGS I LOVE/HATE

THINGS I LOVE:

Cheap thrills. Flowers. Fairy lights. Lollipop rings. Ballpoint pens on thin paper. Words like silhouette, cynicism, inevitable. Rooftops. Mixtapes. Hair sniffing. Muscle ache. Deers. Bruises. Bubble baths. Bubbles in general. Inside jokes. Marketplaces. Starting books/finishing books. Alliteration. No-reason parties. Pre-dawn and post-dawn parties (partying should not exist at dawn itself). Words that end in -escent. Words that rhyme. Midnight movies. Tchaikovsky. Typing fast. The smell of new books/bookshops/bookstalls/bookshelves. Party hats. Long train rides. Rainbows. Strobe lights. Handholding. Film. "Holy macaroni!". Phone calls in which I am not expected to respond. Paradoxes. Lovebites. Foreign films on SBS. Cloudy days. Good conversations with new friends. Good conversations with old friends. Math. Matchsticks. Sunrises/sets. Helium balloons. Thick accents. Children's TV shows. High heels. Naps.

THINGS I HATE:
Failure. Spiders. Heights. Words like moist and ointment. Coming down. Death. Sobering up. Insects. Wet hair on dry backs. Hypocrisy. "Yeah but still". Public speaking. Forgetting. Sometimes rain.

I love a lot more than I hate, although you can't always tell.

Taken 5th April 2008. You can see how my hands were shaking. But it was a rather wonderful day, filled with white sheets and grey fog and black skies dusted with pentatonic scales and late night movies on mute. It was good while it lasted.

FOR THE WIN

I went to Fremantle today with dumb and dumber to get my 120mm Holga photos developed. Finally! The man behind the counter says it'll be done any time after midday tomorrow. I'm so excited/scared. I've never been this anxious over an inanimate object in a really long time.

The end. Sorry.

P.S. I once got into trouble in kindergarten, when we were given worksheets with little boxes to fill out, and instead of filling them out I coloured the boxes in. I was told off for not following instructions, and then I started crying, and ever since then I always make sure I read questions more than twice.

(The point of this is that I don't want to make mistakes, but I'm not perfect. Just don't reprimand me if the colours come out wrong.)

I EMPLOY MAGICAL THINKING

(He Who Will Not Be Named wanted an update of my life in explicate detail, so be warned, this is a useless, word-heavy post with no proper value whatsoever.)

It was Festival Day at school on Thursday, which was a complete waste of a day because all I did was eat and have my camera taken off me forty thousand times. It ended at twelve thirty and so Jess and I took the 507 bus to Southlands to drop off a secret package to an unknown stranger, and then headed to the city where we had sushi at Jaws and spent like $43 in one go. After thirty seconds of window shopping we ran to Borders to find Shannon, Joel, Aaron and Nick searching for Aaron's 'smart book' for a recommended reading list. We skipped to Dymocks to find it (where Joel was lovingly warned that he was not allowed to take photos of the store) and then to Camera House to try and get my roll of 120mm film developed, but noooo. Camera House, for cameras and all things photography, doesn't do 120mm. So I'll have to find my way to one in Freo or North Perth. Hmph.

We dropped Jess off and Nick abandoned us so we took the train to Bull Creek so I could have a shower at Shannon's place while Joel and Aaron went back to Joel's place to get DVDs for our movie night. We met up at Murdoch an hour later and then took the bus to some place where we sat at HJ's and had ice cream and begged the boys to stfu. Nick met us there and together we trekked 32843768 miles to his place in Leeming for nothing, because we only managed to watch a movie and a half (movie = Punch Drunk Love, half = Boogie Nights) before returning to Shannon's place because SOMEBODY (Nick) didn't make sure we could sleep over before saying yes to us all.

At Shannon's I fell asleep while watching Amelie, although I absolutely loved it, and we went to bed at like ten, where I crashed out until I woke up at one, fell asleep at four, woke up at six thirty and stayed drowsily awake until we got up at ten to have breakfast and watch infomercials on TV about steam mops and body suits. I colour coordinated her connector pens (but left out the pinks and browns because I didn't know where to put them) and when her friend Julianne came we took the train to the city together before they went off at Perth Underground and I went home via the Midland line with Gin Wigmore on repeat, repeat, repeat...

Shannon (who reminds me of Adeline Mai in this photo)

Joel and Aaron

Nick

Shannon, me, Joel, Aaron, Nick (I think)

Last night I saw Disney Pixar's Up in 3D. What a fantastic movie! What's even more fantastic was me being a thief and stealing the glasses I wasn't supposed to keep. Yes it's true. I woke up at nine thirty all by myself this morning, and am microwaving some macaroni and cheese while texting Shannon and Aaron simultaneously. Oh, and she got me a $6 disposable underwater camera that I just can't wait to test for my art coursework. On Monday I'm going to the Royal Show with Tom and his family, and on Tuesday I have an all-night movie night at his place. Also, ABC2 is playing children's TV shows and it's 26 degrees tomorrow, which means Spring is officially underway.

MINUS THE FACT THAT I HAVE A MOCK EXAMINATION FOR MUSIC THURSDAY MORNING, life is so fantastic.

PROPHET'S PROFIT

I don't know what to think or say or do, but I must admit this state of mind is somewhat euphoric. Just sayin'.

I have been unintentionally left home alone for the past week, and while I usually love having the house to myself, this really isn't the time. I need company. Who will come visit me now? During these few uneventful days I have downed excessive amounts of sugarfree Red Bull and charged all the electrical appliances I know I won't be using for a while. I have also been drinking orange juice straight from the carton, which makes me feel like a rebel, but the feeling doesn't last very long.

It's 5:43am and I've just finished watching Incendiary. I read the book three years ago, when I was barely a hexagon-eyed, somewhat gauche speech-bubble-devouring teenager. It was only twelve dollars and the cover art was pretty, but I fell in love with its words two pages later, when Chris Cleave talked about holes and wars and little baby boys. And then the movie came out, and I didn't even know it existed, but when I did I was let down before I could judge it for myself. How could I, really, when they'd removed the biggest characters, gotten rid of the point of the plot, and changed the ending completely?

I clearly didn't know what I was on about, though. The movie may not have her much needed craziness etched into her words but I reckon the storyline breaks your heart a little bit more, but in a softer way. Soft is good. I wasn't disappointed, to say the very least.

Then again, it's 5:43 in the morning. What do I know about disappointment.

(I need to stop writing my posts at ungodly hours. I am aware.)

Everything happens for a RAISIN.

Sometimes I wake up and I momentarily forget that I'm an ocean away from home. For the first eight months all my dreams revolved around my old everythings -- old friends, old homes, old routines. In March I was strolling through the bird park. In April I danced through departure. In June I was with you.

Sometimes when I wake up, remembering reality becomes a relief. The process begins and it gets whispered into my ear that leaving is a good thing, the best thing perhaps. But sometimes, when I remember it all, I willingly admit it's a shitty disappointment. That's what it is like these days.

Everybody asks about Now, and I can never quite find the words to explain it. Life is good. I miss home terribly, but I'm getting by here. There are a handful of beautiful people I keep in my pocket, and everyone else shuffles past with their neon rave pants and odd ways of thinking. It's sort of reassuring, but I've forgotten how to scream.

Gabrielle (left) and I at Harry's party last September. I can't believe it's been a year since we sat by the pool and swayed to Coldplay and fiddled with his Lord of the Rings silver pewter chess set. If I listen carefully I can still hear Soulja Boy in the background and the sounds of their feet as they attempt to superman dat Robocop. This photograph was taken just moments before Sam and Stefano bellyflopped and drenched my camera with chlorinated water and droplets of nonexistent clarity. They say those were the good old days.

Three hundred and sixty five sometimes only feels like one.

Holy macaroni, this is long. Sorry for the frivolous sap post. I swear this is only because I'm talking nostalgia with Gabs, and I don't have Aaron to complain to tonight. Aaron Coelho, come back from biology camp. Who else will lecture me for using up a day's worth of hot water?

On a brighter note, it's the first day of spring, and Chelsea beat Burnley 3-0. Hahaha. Life is great.

Nevereverland.

Today was such a pointless day. I told myself I'd wake up at ten (superduper early by my book) to do my long overdue homework and prep for tomorrow's in-class essay, but no. Instead I woke up at one and have been snacking on crackers since, watching past episodes of The Nanny and pouring lemon juice into my iced water everytime I downed half a mug.

I have given lazy sunday a whole new definition. It's fantastic.

Here are a handful of photographs from last night. I avoided people pictures just in case, except for Mitch and his cake, because everybody wants to see that, right?

We only had one strobe light but it was enough, and when it was gone we didn't need a light. We just danced in the dark.

CANTUS FIRMUS.

I knew a girl who wore three-quarter shirts paired with fluoro tights, and when she walked into the room she smiled at us like we were special ed kids and she was secretly related to Grace Kelly. The ponytail atop her head used to swing around like helicoper blades when she moved, and if you made her angry, she hissed.

I never liked her but I liked her tights.

I failed both my english literature and music literature tests today, and not in the frivolous sense. I left half of my music lit paper blank because I failed to remember what the fuck compositional devices even were, and neither of my english lit responses were complete when the hour was up. We also got our math results back (fail) (okay no, 64.8%) and there is a geography test on wednesday, and an in-class religion essay for friday. Life is glorious! I miss home.

Right now I'm a bubble of happy happy thoughts and pretty rather depressing ones.

Comme un tendre et triste regret.

The last photograph is the most perfect photograph, to remedy the pains rushing art essays and music compositions at four thirty am on a school night will inflict. This is the life; didn't anyone tell you?

(Comme un tendre et triste regret is the section of Debussy's prelude that is keeping me up. That, and my humming of other unrecognisable songs. TEEs should come with a warning label, but only for insomniacs. Good children needn't worry.)

OH DEER.

It's nearly six in the morning and I should really be in bed, getting ready for a nice long Sunday's worth of study study study. But we all know that's not happening, so instead I bid you my warmest welcome to MUD AND BONE, my 8346th blog this year thus far. Hopefully this one will last.

I had an odd dream last night. We sat by the railroad tracks with our chins on our knees, ripping blades of grass from the soil and talking about nothing. You wouldn't look me in the eye, but that was okay -- both you and I were far too busy watching people run for the beach, with their hot pink floaties clutched under their arms and unlit cigarettes clasped between two skinny fingers. I woke up with the shivers, and it wasn't until the television was on that they finally went away.

On a brighter note, Perry Como makes me smile.