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.)