Darling! You Have Got The Wrong Holly Golightly!

My thought of the day is that trains are death.
This is possibly some kind of law, because I’ve never experienced it any other way, and is generally acheived by the pervasive smell that permeates your skin.

Somehow, or other I guess, I am pretty much happier than I have ever been, or at least more than I can remember being, and it’s not just the g&t I downed on an empty stomach. I don’t really understand it, and I feel like when I realise that I’m smiling again for absolutely no reason as I’m walking down the street that I’m trying to talk myself out of it.

It’s kind of weird.
Maybe it’s not actually happiness, but rather delusion. Who knows? Maybe it’s a good thing? Right now, I don’t even care. It’s nice.

I was watching some kind of ad today, and clearly whoever was in it was from Victoria. They really do have an accent, unlike the accent that I am purported to have. Rachael (extra e, greedy for vowels) said that sometimes I put on an accent. Rachael, really, is also friends with the dreaded Hobbit, so I don’t see how taking much stock in what Rachael says is going to help.
Seriously, though, there’s a weird inflection on an e that somehow creates an a that is really easy to pick. My Victorian friend actually once started talking about talaparting some alaphants, which was weird. Not in the least because who would want to telelport an elephant anyway?
Victorians are so weird, they even pronounce Woolworths as Safeway. I mean, come on.

Home is pretty good, it’s all landscaped and everything at the moment, and it was gorgeous weather. I was only at home for about ten minutes but hey, it was still nice.
My dog misses me, I think, because she seems to think that she’s allowed to sleep in my bed or something. She’s lucky that she was still clean when she climbed on top of me this morning. She has an unfortunate habit of rolling in some gross, black things whenever she has the chance.

I’m a pretty bad friend, though. I went home, albeit briefly, but the only people I saw were Big Hels, my grandma, my swedish aunt, and Renee. I’m glad that I got to see Ray though, and by association pictures of baby Paige.
Unfortunately, we went to the movies and saw the Mist, which was comical until the last few minutes when the hero shot everyone, went outside to die, and then didn’t.
Predictable, but kind of depressingly so.

Suddenly, I have opinions on everything, and I keep telling people. I was talking to Ruth, who I have seen maybe three times in my entire life given that she lives in Sweden (home of IKEA correctly pronounced ‘ickya’), and I started ranting about the media frenzy that is directed towards P platers, and the trashiness of the newspapers at the moment. I don’t know, but I don’t actually care, I just felt like I had things to say. I don’t talk to people I don’t know, why would I even think to rant about something so random?
She is also the reason that I am considering picking up International Studies instead of Law to make my Journalism degree into a double. She works as a translator, so I guess she likes the whole idea of learning another language, and culture. I like the idea of it too, and it has grown on me a lot lately. Also, I have fears that Law is a terribly dry degree…
She just told me not to go to Sweden because everyone there speaks English anyway.
I think I’d like to go to Rome, or something.
It seems dumb to talk about it now at all, because first I have to get good marks and stuff…and stuff…and I don’t actually know if I can revert back into being a proper nerd, really.

Just a thought, but I love Vampire Weekend x101010932085.3
I saw the video clip for A-Punk this morning on JTV, and I swear it was the cutest thing ever ever. I love Ezra, I hope we get married.

Apparently this blog shows that I have a little too much time on my hands, and I realise that I’m horribly introspective, and have copious amounts of boring thoughts, but I’m beginning to love them.
I still pray for the day that my rambling becomes somewhat focused, and it turns from drivel and nothingness (a la Seinfeld, even down to the slight Superman obsession), I am glad to have my mind wandering in the kind of directionless tangents that can lead you into accidentally finding yourself, and realising that you have everything to gain (because you’re a fat girl with a lisp).

Thinking too much drove me mad until I vented it all into those meaningless words that really don’t matter. It doesn’t even matter if anyone reads them because, really, they are out in the mystical <> and not inside my head.

Words tend to be inadequate, but they help.

Tuesday is the beginning of OWeek, which also means the influx of snotty little freshers into my previously silent college halls. It also means the influx of boy freshers, half of which will actually be older than me, which, in the end, isn’t that bad.

Tomorrow is the start of my new uni degree. Tomorrow is the start of forever.

Ion Displacement Won’t Work In The Basement!

Especially when I’m not with you.

I kind of did this blog already, but I am the Queen of Repetition, and I will do it again. Except, this time kind of more realistically.
I’m going to call it…”What’s With All The Shipping Again: A Response to A Response”. Well, but I like Bryn by Vampire Weekend alot right now, so I actually named it after the song instead. Close, though!

Firstly, I think that it’s important to examine my frame of mind at that point. I had nothing, nothing, nothing to do, nothing to look forward to, and everything to miss. I don’t know, but I was feeling kind of miserable. The only good thing that came out of that period was that it was pretty cold, especially for summer, and I could hide inside my doona all day. Nice.
Also, I spent those few weeks left at home contemplating the future that I saw looking entirely bleak, and void of any excitement. Which is ridiculous.
It’s funny because at that time last year I was in a pretty similar state. Any dream that I had had about an actual future that I would not only like, but also do well in was dashed with the arrival of the First Round UAC Offers, and the consequent lack of arrival of the Late and Final Round Offers. I was supposed to be a Nutritionist? No wonder I got so fat and disgusting as I rebelled against my course.

I was in a pretty similar state with a boy too. The immortal line “You’re A Great Girl, Lizzie, But I Don’t Think That We Have A Future” was uttered only weeks before, and in hindsight, turned out to be the biggest aphrodisiac for the next few days that you could imagine.
It was also served as the encouragement for me to, for the first time, literally jump a boy. I think I knocked him over, but you get that, don’t you?
I regret that whole experience because not only did it only peak with the appearance of the world’s lamest love bite, but also because I have lately seen that lucky guy lip synching to Linkin Park, or some other pathetically, soul-destroying band on YouTube, and can’t believe that I could have ever let lips that spill, or move to such blasphemy.
Also, there were religious issues, which seems ridiculous in any other context beyond my cultish high school.

My point is that what have we learnt from those cliched proverbs if not to never write a letter when you’re angry? I think that a more appropriate thing to learn, however, would be to never write an online post when you’re the wrong side of emotionally freaked out.

The difference between a Friendship and a Relationship, which I believe was purported as my ACTUALLY actual point, is minute, I think. There shouldn’t be a vast difference between your lover and your friend, in one sense. I don’t think that I’d want a lover that WASN’T a friend.
I don’t mean that you have to be originally friends, but you’re friends with the people that you like, right? You have to be able to talk, and laugh, and cry with friends. You have to do that with boyfriends too, you have to grow into a friendship, or really, you just don’t grow.
Obviously, you aren’t in a relationship with all of your friends, but I really think that a relationship is more of an extension of a close friendship. There has to be that chemistry to sustain a successful relationship, though.
Boyfriends are more than just the friends that are boys that you have and want to get physical with, but obviously this is a huge signifier. Being close to someone so much so that you feel the need to be physically close is the difference. You can love your friends, but you will LOVE your boyfriend, entirely in capital letters. You don’t need to begin with love, you need to begin with fun, with a connection, with an insatiable appetite to explore each other. You do, however, need to grow into love. You can feel it, it’s the light that fills the room when they’re there, it’s the heat that trickles down to your fingertips and toes.
I’m not even going to pretend that it will last forever, but you know it was there, you remember it, and after it’s gone you still love them for having inspired it at all.

I don’t think I’d believe in love at first sight, it’s a ridiculous concept just based on the fact that to love is to know. I do, however, strongly believe in SOMETHING at first sight, and sometimes that something is enough.
You’re meant to know if you could have a relationship with someone in the first six minutes. Obviously, that’s not love, but it’s there, and it’s real.
Boyfriends and Friendfriends aren’t that clearly defined, but I feel like I’m going to work it out someday.

To be honest, all I want right now is some intense Journalism student with Buddy Holly glasses to sweep me off of my feet. Nice.

Memories Of Me That Seem More Like Bad Dreams

It’s 5.56am but I actually accidentally woke up at 3.21am.
For this I blame the possum epidemic outside my window. Ridiculously, I imagined that leaving the farm would also somehow leave behind the possums.

I guess I have been thinking about things too much again, and that’s another reason for my disturbingly early rising. Going to sleep isn’t usually the problem, it’s the staring at the ceiling in pitch black when you’re lying next to someone you can’t wake up that kills your energy.

I have been watching the OC, and I will admit it’s a horribly boring show, but still. It’s nice to watch slow dramas all at once on DVD because it’s like a book that doesn’t really finish for a while. Like how the Pride & Prejudice miniseries is like a book, because you grow into loving the characters, whereas the 2006 film is not. Also because Keira Knightley in no way reflects any idea of Elizabeth Bennett.

You can’t deny, though, that the OC has a good taste in music. The compilations, although I don’t own any, sound more like mix-tapes than the shameless cross-promotions that a TV soundtrack CD will usually deliver.
It’s probably the reason that I have been listening to Death Cab For Cutie more lately.
Ben Gibbard writes the lyrics that I wish I could steal. I don’t know how, but they reflect some kind of perfection that I didn’t think could be achieved sometimes. Although that’s probably an overstatement to some degree, the degree is remarkably minute.

“Someday You Will Be Loved” from Plans is one that’s been on repeat a little bit.
I guess that I am becoming some kind of ridiculous philosopher with all this time to do nothing but think, but I keep listening to the same words over again and I like the way that they reverberate inside my mind. This song, though I love it, makes me so mad. I hate the guy in it. He’s such a jerk.
For one, it’s a little too Sex & the City to break up with someone on a post it note exclaiming “I can’t do this anymore”, but to tell her that “Someday you will be loved” is infinitely worse.
He purges himself of guilt because a “broken heart will eventually mend” but he just seems so cruel and cold in saying that.
I don’t think they should have stayed together, obviously, but I don’t think that he should pretend to care so much about her when he leaves. Tell the girl “with eyes like the summer” that you don’t want to be with her anymore, not that you’re doing it for her.
I hate that he feels so self-justified because he’s telling her that her future will be better, because who wants to hear that when they’re heartbroken? That sort of sentiment doesn’t really have the power to make everything okay.
I don’t think that he knows what he’s doing, I think he sounds scared more than anything.

He’s probably right though, “the memories of [him]/will seem more like bad dreams” because he left her like a bastard and didn’t end it in a way that suggested that he ever really cared.

I hate the character, but for this I love the song.
It sounds like such a simple song of love and leaving, but it has, at least to my ears, such connotations of insincerity and selfishness.
As some kind of love song it seems like a beautiful juxtaposition.

I like songs that confuse your spirit. I like the confusion of reality and the fruitless endeavours to rectify it.

Spelling May Not Be His Forte..

But gosh, Awesome Matt McKee can be kind of sweet..

supper sappy sililokwy for lizzie

Dear Lizzie
You make me dizzie
You have such a good smile
And your number is always on speed dial
I miss you pal
Your such a great gal
Liz your so smart
And I hope you never have to work at Kmart
You’ll be someone’s dream
Like a desert with whipped cream
Your really so sweet
And I hope we get to meet
While walking in the street
As I shuffle my feet
In search of you liz
No matter what Biz
I end up doing
You’ll still be the one im pursuing

Now that’s some quality love poem right there!
Love Awesome Matt Mckee

The Fire Escape Bolted To The Ancient Brick

Somehow I managed to lie in a field of uncut grass in the middle of the city, and find, if not some kind of epiphany, a long forgotten thought that brought some kind of peace.

I’ve always preferred Such Great Heights, but staring up into the sky it was the sudden beginnings of Brand New Colony that brought on some kind of bliss that almost caused my eyes to mist.
Which is a disturbing thought, but I’m not even going to bring myself to recant the truth.

I have found serenity that flows from a pen, and I can’t imagine how I lived without it.

My head seems to be a mess, but it’s an incredible overstatement to suggest that I am.

I’ve been looking into the horizon and I can’t wait until it starts.
I’ve found some kind of peace from looking upwards into the rain at night, and surrounded by imposing buildings shrouded in light I’ve never felt so small.

It’s only really scary ’cause it makes me feel serene in a way I never thought I’d be because I’d never been.

L-O-V-E is coming back, it’s coming back.

I wouldn’t listen to me, though. I tend to be the kind of girl that thinks that stationery can provide salvation.

I Want To Be Like Grace Kelly

My advice to friends with romantic troubles is on a downward slope.

I used to be good at pointing out the obvious, like Lennon and his “Love Is All You Need”-type truisms.
Most of the time when people ask you for advice, they already know what they want to hear, even if they didn’t realise it yet.
I guess I’m kind of good at telling people the things that they want to hear.

Lately, however, I have been dispensing the kind of advice that doesn’t really help anyone. I keep telling people that they should rejoice in their love and confusion because when they look back on it, they’ll realise how great it was to occupy their minds with the happy obsession of potential relationships.

Worse still, I think that I’m taking my own advice.
Whatever that means.

Your Tongue Is Sharp But I Miss The Taste Of It

They say “Time Heals” but there’s not enough of it.

The schills! The schills!

I did something kind of dumb today, but hey! That’s not a novel concept!

I spend so much time and waste so much time writing about things here, but I don’t think that I’ve ever really broached the topic of my one true, and first love.

Love is a pretty big word, but I know that I use it too much.
This is kind of surprising, because I remember when I was younger that it used to fill me with awe. I couldn’t imagine ever being in a situation where I would actually feel comfortable using it, much like the way I saw marriage as this institution that nailed you down to one spot and never let you escape.

I have probably, in fact I know I have said that I love something, only to have it mean nothing. I wish that it was only really possible to say it when you meant it, but probably the fact that it can be expressed in words makes that a bit unrealistic. I think when you mean it really, words tend to be inadequate (I really like Jenny Holzer’s truisms).
It seems stupid, and they are words that I’ve heard alot. I don’t think that hearing them always means that much.
My new year’s resolution, even if it is too late and I don’t actually believe that you should change yourself based on the date rather than a internal desire, is to stop using LOVE in a meaningless, and in hindsight depressing sort of context.

That having been said, my one true love is the written word.

I have been reading for my entire life, and I don’t even have to feign horror when someone tells me that they just don’t. I remember I was reading earlier than everyone else in my class, but that maybe was just because I hate not knowing things, and the words seemed jumbled like a secret that was hidden to only me. I have an irrational passion for books.

So I’m going to list my top five. I love lists, although I’m not sure why. I like to organise my thoughts, even if I don’t feel the same way about the mess I make in my room.

1. Catch-22 : Joseph Heller
Although, to be honest, I’m not even sure why. I just adore the way that the plot throws you around, and takes itself in circles as it draws you into the story, into the characters in the way that no chronological story ever could. The eccentricities of Yossarian, although still ridiculous, make some macabre sense within his context. I don’t like books about WWII, mostly because for a while that is all that Big Hels would buy, but I can’t get enough of this one. I have read it so many times, but I don’t even pretend to grasp it within it’s entirety. It used to be Big Hels’s favourite too. Maybe that’s why I picked it up.

2.Persuasion : Jane Austen
I don’t know if you would have guessed, but OhMiGosh, yes, I am an avid fan of Austen. She writes the way that I think sometimes, although what self-righteous woman of a marriageable age wouldn’t say that? The social commentary of a fascinating society is really only the surface, and the in-depth explorations of what makes not only the 19th Century, but just people go through their motions is incredible. I love Persuasion because of its greater simplicity, and because Anne Elliott is no Elizabeth Bennet. Everyone loves to think that they are another Elizabeth, but I instinctively realise that I’m not, and my heroine speaks with a circumstantial confidence.

3. EitherOthelloor Romeo + Juliet : William Shakespeare
Although they aren’t even technically novels, and should by rights be interpreted as they are presented, and not read, but I love them anyway. I don’t want to include them both, because I love them in much the same way, but I have not yet decided which one I love the most. It’s funny, but part of my respect for them lies in the way I remember first reading them in high school, and the essays that I wrote, and rewrote, and picked apart. I love them because the ridiculously thick Elizabethan prose from which they are constructed was among some of the most influential stimuli that I have experienced. I loved to write about Shakespeare, because you were never wrong. The most absurd things could be true if you could only find the right words to express them with.I don’t even care if Shakespeare was even the author, although my Dad’s favourite activity seems to be spreading the seed of doubt by bringing up the Christopher Marlowe theories that he is so apparently fond of.
One thing about Romeo + Juliet bugs me though, and it is the often quoted line “Wherefore Art Thou Romeo?” because it is almost always interpreted as “where” and not “why”. Although, that’s clearly an immaterial concern.

4.Tully : Paullina Simons
Even if she did write the Tatiana & Alexander chronicles that began so perfectly, yet dragged out for another three books, I love Tully. It is the most heartbreaking epic, and it makes me cry almost every time that I read it (the only other book that makes me cry more is Little Women). How could you not? She’s not a person that I think I would appreciate in real life, but as the eponymous heroine my heart cries out to her.

5. High Fidelity : Nick Hornby
Here I reach the conclusion, and the partial reason for this list. I love the way that music is the backbone of this book, and it makes you question the way that music can pinpoint entire moments. It is written in the way that I wished that I thought. The way that I would, in fact, think if life was uncomplicated by obsession, and I could understand what I am trying to say, maybe. The movie is good, but I never find that they reach the immortal status of the written word.

What movie can reach the standard of a book? A visual format needs no explanation, and characters become left behind when instead of thousands of words to describe their nuances you are left with a single image. A picture, yes, does have a thousand words, to make the most of a terrible cliche, but the book takes those words and makes them into something beautiful. Some movies surpass the books only because they can make the books come to life. They are nothing without the books, but I adore the way that some of them can come together. Atonement is a recent example of this. It really was the most beautiful I have seen in a long time, but was nothing without the book backing it up.

I fear I have rambled too long!
Ciao.

You’re A Great Girl But I Don’t Think We Have A Future

If my life was a song, that would be the chorus.

The refrain would be repeated urges to look towards the future half-heartedly added as an after thought by the barely audible background.

A Greek chorus could outline your future if you’d only care to listen.

I didn’t remember that until just now. It’s funny, really, but Alanis, it’s not ironic either.

You Can’t Afford A Blazer, Girl, You’re Always Wearing Clogs

Think of me as a friend and not just the boy that plays guitar.

We’re on top of the world again. 

<3

She’s Got Everything To Gain ‘Cause She’s A Fat Girl With A Lisp

It takes three weeks to break a habit, and I think that is has been four and a half. I don’t want to go back to before, so I’m not sure what’s going to happen. It’s almost inevitable. Maybe not. I guess I’ll have to see what happens.I’m so confused about stuff, I think, and I don’t know what I think anymore. I liked knowing what I wanted, and I feel like I always have. I used to think that this is what I wanted.
It’s hard to deny the appealing contours that seem to be forming.

I got Tigermilk..or more accurately I got two copies of Tigermilk. My dad burnt me a copy, and sent it to me, and it finally arrived yesterday morning. When I went to work I was really early, though, so I thought that I’d finally embrace my lack of metal (mettle) and go into Utopia where I found another, but infinitely more authentic copy.
My dad is pretty nice. He found a picture of what the original disc looked like on the internet, and copied it onto the one he made for me. He’s such a nerd.

I don’t want to sound bad at all, especially not in the manner of Oedipus because…because, well, gross, but maybe I am more of a Daddy’s girl than I realised. Who doesn’t love a tall, lanky nerd, though?

I also got a copy of Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like A Peasant, because I thought that if I found them in one of the most Metal shops I have seen in Broadway I should probably buy all of the twee Scottish pop that was there. I much prefer Tigermilk, really, but I haven’t listened to it that much.

I don’t want to sound at all like I am planning on conforming to the ridiculously, perceivable pressure that really doesn’t mean anything at all, but I wish I was a brunette. I am not even kidding, but this isn’t such a novel thought. I am blonde because I was blonde, and I like being blonde, even if it has lowered my Intellectual Provocation & Stimulation quota, but whatever. I just wish sometimes that I had a nice natural hair colour, and nice dark brown that was forever shiny, forever stable, forever me. I tried it during my tumultuous adolescence, but the red highlights seeped into focus, and I just had gross hair. I wish I had a shiny mane, but I think that dark brown would require even more maintenance than my blondness. Which is a pity. Maybe when I revert from my Univerisity induced laziness I’ll reattempt it. Big Hels would die, really.
Why yes! I am entirely vain and obsessed with my hair! Is that okay? Does vanity count when you’re pretty sure you’re only making a front out of it so that the mirror doesn’t make you cry in the morning?

 Surprise! I have already given up on rerererereading Emma. I’m back to Catch-22, which is obviously the greatest book of all time. It makes me wish MASH was less, or didn’t get so disappointing. Pity.

I kind of went against all advice and caught up with someone a few days ago. It was okay. I mostly did it because I wanted to see how I would react, as well as them. It was really okay. It was kind of a relief, maybe. I’m not sure what I feel about that either, to be honest.

Sometimes, I think that I do things that I know are bad for me not because I think I’m invincible, but rather because I know I’m not, and I just like to test the waters.