Really, I�m against all of them, they have all but ruined (RUINED, I say) my life by giving me a false sense of my own gift. Gift is the wrong word, but I have a limited vocabulary.
Even a tiny shove in the wrong direction could render it either poisonous or virtually useless for promoting any sort of beneficial exchange between us.
Much as I would like not to have to judge it, I will call it bad, bad, bad.
I remember telling my friend to �listen to the true meaning of pop music�. If that was the best advice I could give, I don�t know how I could manage to keep any of my friends!
The convenience of effortless rapport and all that getting-to-know-you stuff is really gross, too. Dutch courage always buoys me up so good, I mean so well. I taste a sort of dusty, citrus taste, so pleasant, and I want to slide over and stick a pin into you. Metaphorically of course. A pin of LOVE!
An ideal situation would be if I too could get hit by a laundry truck. Again, this would be metaphorical. Do we even have laundry trucks in this day and age? I hope so. But maybe you would just send a card, and then I�d be sad.
try to relax, try to let your old habits take over. drink a bit. I thought the streets were on fire yesterday but it was just wishful thinking.
2002-07-21 - 3:29 p.m.
I hate my house now that I have realised there is nowhere to practise my tapdancing. All my dreams have been stolen and I'm nothing but a shadow of the tapdancing genius I might have been.
I like movies about mad sea-captains who drink and endanger the lives of the other sailors because of their bad secrets, their stubborn, secretive greed.
and then there has to be a mutiny.
yay, mutiny! Standing up for all that is sober and good, while being thrashed around in a sea of evil madness!
The mad sea captain hits you in the face with the butt of his rifle, your cheek bleeds. you have to run, hide, fight. Your muscles are stretched to the limit.
The mad captain commits suicide, of course. your hands remain clean. you steer the other crew to safety with your clean hands. The sun dries up the blood on your white shirt.
On dry land, you wear your goodness and purity on the sleeve of your tattered navy blue coat. And tiredness in your eyes which are like storm-cleaned glass.
And you don't sail anymore, forever.
And you're gun shy.
After a day of feeling so ill, when even cool, fresh water felt like a snake slithering down your throat to lie cold and heavy in your stomach. It's heartening to realise that you are starting to feel better and starting to want some lemonade and before you leave to go to the service station your best friend tells you that you look pretty.
(even though you have been crumpled up asleep on the sofa, too hot under a blanket, half listening to the television and the other people in the room laughing)
In Dunedin the evenings are unusually soft, softer than in most cities. Probably the reason for this is that nobody goes out much in the evening, especially not you. It's enough to get through each day and make it home to your bedroom, unscathed and breathless.
The problem is, of course, that Dunedin is a roller coaster just waiting for a wreck. Walking down the detestable main street can bring forth a stunning variety of things to feel. it's enough to make you want to compile a list and then gently but firmly remind these people about the 'not going outside after five' thing.
And then back home again, you again rest on the sofa. Across the room is a boy that you barely know, but when you make a joke, astonishingly, he laughs. And you marvel at the fact that this boy who is not even looking at you could laugh at what you say and then you both just go back to watching tv back to whatever private thoughts you were having.
You find yourself thinking about making somebody drive you somewhere so you can fall asleep in the passenger seat, luxurious and absent. Your thoughts are busy in the passenger seat, reaching their hands out to change the radio station.
What has been your favourite pop song of 2001? Yes well, everyone loves Kylie, but what else?
ps. "Get off your knees and repeat after me: 'The devil rocks my soul'"!
I allowed myself to imagine I could have whatever I wanted and this is what came into my mind:
I am the only non-astronaut who is allowed to live in space. I live in a huge space station, orbiting earth. I live there by myself. I am quite close neighbours with the moon and occasionally I go there in a little pod. When I'm on the moon I just jump around in the weak gravity, enjoying myself and looking at earth and taking photographs.
Most of the time though, I just stay in my space station, rolling up and down the corridors on my swivel chair, looking out the windows and at my computer monitors and sending satellite pictures to all my friends and family.
I have all these comfortable space clothes, made from fabrics designed by NASA. Every now and then, I get a big parcel from earth and it usually contains new season's space clothes, food, and things to entertain me, like books and movies and CDs. Plus letters and stuff from people on earth.
The letters make me really sad, they make me want to come back down to earth, but I know that once I got there, I would just want to go back to my space station. So in my return package to my friends and family I send some moon rocks and letters with big hugs and kisses drawn at the bottom, I send all my love and tell them I'll come home one day. 2002-04-13 - 2:00 p.m.
um...
okay well for a start, I have a lot of stupid ideas and I can't be bothered to critique them. I think about marriage quite a lot, but never for too long at a time; it gets boring.
I have also been known to convince complete strangers that I meet in pubs that I am a dentist, just so I can make them open their mouths and then I tap on their teeth with my index fingernail and say:
mmm hmmm, yeah, okay...
And they say:
what, what?
And then I say:
well, you might want a second opinion as its very dark in here and it's true that I am quite drunk, but I believe you have a severely retracted molar and if you don't get it seen to ASAP its certainly entirely possible that you may need braces - or even dental surgery - within the next two to three months...
If you met me you would probably think I was quite a normal person, I don't have any hideous defects that are visible to the eye, I dress fairly boringly, I don't smile much unless I'm with a friend...
I often fantasize about people that I've loved and lost. One of my favourite daydream activities is to imagine that those people are having some sort of cinema-flashback-montage, all about me. Its a really soothing activity for me. Except I never imagine that these flashbacks are of pretty, graceful things I did while with them.
More like they are thinking about the time I got cake on my face, or the time I got mashed potatoes on my face, or the time I got fish on my face, or the time I spilled beer on them, or how I leave wet towels on the bed and how I always put my dirty feet on the dashboard of the car...
I eat a lot of boring food, and I like things that come out of packets. I enjoy thinking about the manufacturers of such things as instant pasta snacks, soup in vaccuum sealed pouches, individual servings of microwaveable porridge. I imagine they see me going about my funny little errands and drifting around supermarkets in a daze and they think to themselves:
"What that girl needs is some comfort in her life, the very least we can do is write exactly how this meal should be prepared on the back of the packet, so that when she makes it she can feel as if someone is there, telling her what to do. That's all that lonely people really need, a serving suggestion!"
I'm not very good at painting my fingernails, though you'd think I should be - I do it about once a week, sometimes twice.
When I was a small child, I had very long, golden blonde hair. I think this gave me a superiority complex. I don't like strangers to walk slowly in front of me, or get in my way. If they do and I am forced to alter my path in any way, I call them names in my head. But never very bad names, just in case they can read minds.
I think things like, "hey, blue shirt guy, out of my way, dumbass", which is tame compared to the filth I could think up if I tried.
I have a tendency to gloat over miniscule victories.
I can be amused for extended periods of time doing very tedious things.
I am probably not as beautiful as some people would have me believe.
I'm always one thought away from thinking about love.
I frequently, that is to say about once a week, have a dream that I am drinking coca cola with ice in it from a tall glass. I rarely drink coke in my waking life, but I enjoy these dreams a lot.
While I am on the subject, I once had a dream that somebody slapped me, and then the whole world shuddered with a malevolent earthquake. This is indicative, I suppose, of the fact that I wish I could provoke strong feelings in people.
I crave order and routine in my life and also, I do everything I can to disrupt it's order and routine. Except for my eating habits, which are almost carved in stone. That is, I always eat erratically.
My interactions with those people close to me would benefit from me not holding back so much. My interactions with those people I care little for would benefit from me shutting the hell up.
Some nights before I go to sleep I sort of say a kind of... prayer I guess. For all the people out there who are at this moment having their hearts broken, their dreams trashed, their lives ruined by someone they cared about.
Then I say a second, even more fervent prayer for those who are experiencing misery that they brought apon themselves. They need it the most, the poor sweet fools.gravy here
2003-11-28 - 12:38 p.m.
I�m telling you, my friend, the stilted half-hours and forced-by-me comedy are making me a slave 4 u.
2002-11-19 - 4:08 p.m.
2002-06-18 - 5:40 p.m.
2002-01-28 - 1:18 p.m.
2002-01-22 - 3:01 p.m.
The Terrible Confessions of My Life - by rainy