I’ll Sit And Wonder Of Every Love That Could Have Been If I Only Thought Of Something Charming To Say

Guess what!

Subcultures are so in this Autumn.

Like, if you want to go all Scene you can tease your hair and the Emo kids and you’ll pretty much have friends for the next five minutes, I mean, until they go onto something else. Like reality.

Why do newspapers insist on provoking non-existent conflicts? Why do subgenres require definition?

When I read the SMH this morning, THIS was the most viewed article. Ugh.

People have no shame.

Why does everything require a definition? I hate that you can’t just be without some kind of ulterior motive.

That said, I am not completely ignorant to fashion and trends, I just don’t understand how people can be so consumed by them without the conscious recognition of what they’re doing.

My favourite thing about those Scenesters is that they resent the cookie cutter complex of Supre and Jay Jays, but they’re all dying to fit into the same mould anyway. That’s ironic, Alanis.

I don’t know what the point of this rant was, I actually find the attempt to expose the subcultures of the ever distant youth quite amusing. The links seem so arbitrary and create such a naturalised response.

Today I went to Pyrmont to interview random people in search of a story. That is pretty much the most distressing position that I have ever been in.

I am so scared of J1, but don’t worry, you would be too!

I did find a crazy bird lady, and an environmentally conscious office building, and an old water police area that is being redefined by public groups. Still. Scary.

I was whimsical, walking home with no actual attention to direction, and I ended up just walking through the city. Naww, the city.

It was so nice. Your feet are marching to the rhythm of a different drum as you forget where you’re going and just listen to the music.
I am a strong advocate of the social isolation brought on by iPods (iRivers maybe? Even if you have to keep taking them to a service centre?). When everyone is blissfully ignorant to everything else you can just relax and exist in the kind of harmony that you spend your life striving for.

You Smell Like Apple Candy

I Don’t Know What’s Wrong With Me.

I Have A Crazy Head Ache And I Just Put Ben Lee On. Willingly.

It Was About Apple Candy.

I Look Flushed. I’m Like Really Sick, Probably.

Like, Ben Lee?

I’m Becoming Insipid And Boring, I Guess. It Probably Is Explained Somehow.

But It’s Scary. I’d Consider Going To A Ben Lee Concert At This Point.

Argh, What A Head Have I!

Drinking Her Gin With The TV On

I am cold.
I am wearing giant socks.
I am watching a movie on television that I actually own, and therefore am pretty much only doing it for the ads.
I am bored and am tying ribbons in my hair.
I am lonely and so I’m writing pointless thoughts down.
I am going to stop biting my lip because somehow it started bleeding and now it just hurts.
I am disappointed in Margaret & David because Margaret said that that fighting movie has promise.
I am kind of worried about what’s going to happen.
I am planning on writing an essay tomorrow but then I remembered that I probably won’t.
I am sombre and I like the thought of being melancholy even if only because of the way the letters look together.
I am in love with my P&CA tutor because he is adorable.
I am going to go sit in the park and read tomorrow because I LIKE it.
I am not going to be scared of ducks.
I am going to stop writing such drivel.
I am going to post a comic someone sent me because it’s so sad and adorable all at once.
I am.

It Might Be A Little Biased But At Least I Spelt Your Name Right

I apologise because I can’t speak, although I’ve never claimed to be articulate.
I apologise because every one of the words that manages to manifest into some kind of distorted reality is consistently smothered in enigma, but we both know you were warned.

I apologise because sometimes the things that are beating in my head feel like they are in words but they’re without letters or pronunciation and I always expect that I’m not alone. Even if I am.
I apologise because I don’t make sense even when I’m desperate to be understood.

I’m not really apologising to you because I’m the one that’s being stifled by silence.

I can’t explain what I meant, but don’t you get it, already?

I’m not trying to cheapen it by leaving it here, I’m just trying to understand how I can say anything at all.

They always warned you I was cryptic.

Foxes Mate For Life Because They’re In Love

Today I walked out on a tute to go shopping for things that I couldn’t even talk myself into believing that I needed.
I went to Broadway to buy a sixteen dollar iron so that college won’t keep ruining my favourite clothes when I ran into him.
Oh My Gosh. It was Ben.
Ben of my silly fresher dreams.
Ben of my silly drunken confession.
Ben of the dizzying six foot five height that made me swoon.
When I saw him, though, he was just Ben.

He still had those crazy blue eyes that I always forget about until I’m looking into them.
I always used to forget how good looking he was until I was once again looking into his eyes and remembered.
All over again.

There’s little that I can say about him that avoids the most integral element to his whole appeal, and that is just that he is so oh my gosh nice!
How can you ever begrudge someone like that anything?
It was really the most adorable quality.

He’s apparently still living just next door, and so he wondered out loud why we hadn’t even so much as run into each other at the Grose. It is literally a roll across the road from either Johns or Sancta, and is really the most iconic watering hole of college life.
I said something along the lines of it not being as exciting as a Soph, but what I really meant was that I didn’t think that long nights slamming back tequilas like Oliver Reed on an Irish stag do is not the most flattering look for me.

He has this funny drawl, I always found it kind of endearing, even if it did sometimes make him sound kind of slow.
We talked for about ten minutes before I professed more urgent tasks.

It’s funny, I had such a ridiculously consuming crush, but now, lol, now all I can see is that really, he’s kind of dumb.

That sounds terrible, but what can I say?

I know better, now, than to be infatuated with someone that you can’t even have a conversation with.
Lol, I guess I know the value of being intellectually stimulated, so to speak.

What can I say? I’ve had better.

Lazy Easter Mondays turned out to be one of my favourite things.

The readings that I know were necessary didn’t get done, but it turns out that it didn’t matter as I successfully bluffed my way through some discussion points about the politics of gender roles.

King Street is a nice walk, but remains unnecessarily tempting when your cash flow is low, and you realise that every CD you’ve ever wanted is staring you in the face.
Second hand bookshops are some small slice of heaven. Who needs a new book when a pre loved classic has so much more character?

It just sucks that they never seem to have the biography of that fabulously delightful Scottish band that you’re craving.

Even with the bats and birds overhead, Victoria Park is so perfect in the descending twilight, shrouded in the crisp winds that should drive you indoors but often fail to.

Dusk is the most endearing time to talk about everything and nothing and the little things and the elephant in the room and just be.

I don’t know how to describe it, but somehow the world stopped spinning.

My head kept up.
But it was exquisite.

It’s raining, and there’s nothing I miss more than the tap tap tap on a tin roof in the dark when you’re trying to sleep.

“Life Sucks && Love Is Dumb” Oh Boy That’s A Real Lie

Australians are apparently visually illiterate according to some Pritzker Prize winning architect.

It’s kind of funny, and for all I know about architecture it could be true.

The best thing about that kind of statement is just the phrase ‘visually illiterate’ itself. It’s like some kind of ridiculous pairing that doesn’t actually make any literal sense.
It’s just so meaningless. I don’t even think that it’s some pop cultural reference that gives it greater meaning.

Maybe it’s just Glenn Murcutt trying to get an entry in the Urban Dictionary.

It reminds me of the whole ‘war on terror’ thing.
That was the epitome of the kind of statement that is just thrown around so liberally, not even really giving anyone the chance to question the meaning. I mean, what is a war on terror anyway?
It’s a HUGE statement made from buzzwords that is supposed to scare people into obedience and blind faith of their government.

Personally, though, I actuallylove the phrase ‘visually illiterate’.
It’s so inherently meaningless that it seems terrible for people to instinctively know exactly what it means.
It’s like having a “photographic memory for all [you] have heard”, which is my favourite thing about that priest.

This was a pretty pointless rant/ramble but I just like those silly little phrases that pretend to have so much intrinsic value. In the end, though, I guess that without a particularly discerning audience, they do.

Love English. Love Grammar. Love Words. Love You.

I’ll La-Dee-Dah And They Can Dum-Dee-Day

I have been procrastinating all day in the most fulfilling way.

The kind where you’re getting something done, but it’s not what you’re meant to be doing.
It makes me smile because it’s been manifesting itself in my thoughts for weeks and now it is beginning to materialise.

I just told Big Hels that I’m thinking about changing my major. She is freaking out ever so slightly. Oh Gosh.
It’s okay, though, it’s an external transfer but the coursework is mostly the same, and I can just use J1&2 as electives.

I just looked PubComm up and it’s 95 through UAI, although that includes International Studies. I very much would like to take that course in my sticky little hands and never let it go.

Maybe I’m crazy. Mostly I just don’t think I know myself and what I really want.
I think that’s okay, even good because if you knew exactly who you were and exactly where you were going your entire life what is there left to discover?

That’s maybe a little After School Special, but I feel like I’m in one sometimes.

I am currently tiptoeing down a path of the kind of innocent self destruction that undermines your sanity.
You know it’s going to hurt a little worse in the morning, but twilight masks all kinds of anti-sentiments.
Your stomach is full of iron butterflies flapping their wings, but with the tiniest shudder they sink, sink, sink & sink.

I can’t seem to stop the spiral into the unknown, but I’m also not sure that I mind.

You’re Not Obliged To Swallow Anything You Despise

My Life Is A Downward Spiral.

I’m Staring Into A Black Abyss.

I Feel Like Tacos.

I’m not emo, no, but sometimes it’s fun to pretend.
I’m actually in a kind of dazed, emotionless state, I think, while I wait until sleep catches up to me. Crawls, maybe, because I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed for more than a few hours at a time.

I’m not actually worried, or concerned, or really feeling anything about fatigue, I just think that’s how my body reacts to a night of sleeplessness followed by a day of caffeine followed by a night in a giant sweaty crowd.

This seems like I should kind of keep it secret, but the fact that I went to Wilco had less to do with the band themselves than I suppose it should have for me to evaluate them that well.
Since they played so many old songs I was kind of left in the dark, and had to struggle to find some kind of foothold in the sea of notes. I did find that the richness of the music was emphasised in a live context, but the same could be said of any band that doesn’t come from entirely manufactured roots.
It missed out on the panache that keeps your heart thumping for more, and although I could never regret going, I do wish that it had pushed itself a little further into endearing itself to the crowd of less than hardcore fans.

That sounds so horribly negative! I really did like it, but liking doesn’t have the power of love to etch something into your memory.
That said, hate, despair and fear don’t really do such a bad job of it either.

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move. But no more deep will thine endart mine eye than your consent to make it fly.

Kind of random..

I don’t think I have really been saying much about anything lately, although once again I’d blame Sleepless Long Nights (but that is what my youth is for) for keeping my fingers idle.

You know those conversations that you have that are about everything and nothing and all the little things that shouldn’t even matter but they do?
You can’t even remember what you’ve said, or what you’re hearing but there’s some kind of ridiculous undertone that you can’t explain, but at the same time you’d do anything to hold onto forever.
It’s almost tangible, but you’re afraid to acknowledge it because it feels like it would crumble to nothing under the weight of your words.

I kind of like those. They are what was always missing, and I think that I resent them for emerging from whatever depths they were hidden in now.
It’s like some kind of addiction, though, you can’t seem to leave them alone.

I don’t know what else I can say. I was going to try and explain the attachment I had to a few songs that seem to keep drawing my attention when they surface on my playlist, but somehow my twisting path of thought has provoked this irrational peace that makes me want to question everything.

So I think I’ll go do that.

You’re So Bitter You Think He’s Sweet

Did You Forget To Read The Script?
There Was Never A Role For Him.
It Was Always You And Me.
Just Me.

I kind of was in a conversation that got posted in what looks like a really boring and self-involved screenplay.
It’s fun, maybe.

Click. Clicking Click It.

I Heard He Wrote You A Song, But So What?

I Will Only Buy A Book For The Way It Looks And Then Put It On The Shelf Again

Yesterday I was so clever that I decided that sleep would only get me down.

Yesterday DAY I realised, no, no it wouldn’t.
Then I had lots of caffeine but not much else.
Yesterday I was buzzing. Buszz.

Buzz.
My lecture on Rethinking Culture was like Rethinking Hell. Buzz.

Oh My Gosh but Wilco was awesome. Also, it was hot, but Oh My Gosh awesome. Very hot.
Oh My Gosh Hot.

Hot.
Oh My Gosh.
Buzz.

This is just some kind of ridiculous staccato that doesn’t leave any illusions as to why I am failing Journalism 1.
I want to get a major that doesn’t need a crazy thick portfolio in order to get work EXPERIENCE. I wish I was in PubComm.
I just don’t like that I’m scared.
Maybe.
I’m just not that kind of girl.
Maybe.
I want to write in magazines and publish manuscripts.

Oh My Gosh.

Buzz.

Actually, I stopped buzzing this morning, instead I was on the verge of collapse, but it’s okay because tonight I can sleep.
Except then I went to the Grose for some Fresher Soph thing, which was funny since my Fresher is a girl from my course, who’s actually in all my classes.

I rediscovered the ill effects of g&ts on the kind of psyche that you develop after not sleeping or, as far as I can remember, eating for two days.
Now I have left behind Buzz in favour of Fuzz.

Fuzz.

I do realise that I say I don’t drink anymore, but I really don’t often. This is why I am Fuzzy now.
Fuzz.

Oh My Gosh.
Fuzz.

Holiday Sidewinder, although she has a cool name, is weird because she had a weird sticker on her leg and she bent over to show her black panties to the entire crowd. That is my thought of the day.

Maybe you could call it that?