What Does It Mean To Take Off All Our Clothes?

And to look into your eyes and say “I Mean It”?

I love him.

Don’t You Think It’s Strange, You Know, The Way It All Works Out

Remember it was 2am and remember it was pouring and remember that I was going to go out into the rain and remember how we didn’t?

We should have.

The Beatles Are More Popular Than God

Ahahha.

The Beatles are nerds on my Last.fm.

I’d Rather Be In Tokyo;

I’d rather listen to Thin Lizzy, oh.

And watch the Sunday gang in Harajuku.

There’s something wrong with me.

I Want To Tell You I Feel Hung Up And I Don’t Know Why

Sometimes I feel kind of melancholy and then I find that I’ve had Revolver on repeat for hours, and it’s probably time to think that it’s not time to think.

“Thinking is good, though. [You] just have to know that it’s only thinking and let it go.”

At what point does thinking about something separate itself from the actual entity?
At what point does thought not eventually manifest itself into reality?

I hate obsessing. I fricking god damn hate it and it won’t go away.
And the whole spectre of my obsession is just SO FUCKING TERRIBLE.

My life is a downward spiral (because it’s so obviously not), but sometimes I’d like to think it is. If you’re still falling for something that you think is there, you don’t ever have to look up and see that no one is actually watching you.

Please Don’t Spoil My Day

I’m miles away, and after all, I’m only sleeping.

Sometimes you’re doing something, and you’re in the middle of it, and you suddenly don’t even know how you get there.
I mean, sure things happen that shock you like that, like you’ve just woken up, but usually they’re under the direction of someone else.
I just mean something ridiculous, like a little white lie, like a long winded relationship, like you find yourself standing in a bar and you’re not even sure why.

I just wonder whether or not you really don’t know. Surely, somewhere, you recognise the impetus behind the inexplicable, even if it’s not something you’d care to admit to yourself.
Like, you tell a crazy lie that doesn’t serve a single purpose.
You must, somehow, even just a little bit, know why.

Like, why do you keep saying ‘yes’ when you’re not actually so sure?

I guess it’s the same thing as trying to understand your emotions.
You feel completely irrational, but somewhere you know why you’re feeling it, don’t you?

I’d like to map out my feelings, but I’m scared of being like that girl in that movie, and that I just have too many.

You’re God Damn Right, It’s A Beautiful Day

I haven’t written something here in over a week, oh my gosh.
It seems like a big deal because I haven’t really had anyone else to talk to here, and usually that drives me crazy.

The thing is, though, that it’s not like NOTHING is happening. Lots of stuff has happened, it just seems that it’s not the kind of dirty laundry that I want to air out here.
Somehow or other, though, I feel like not writing here is some form of neglect. I don’t know to who, though.
I’ve had so many blogs, and journals, and diaries, oh my, but they just tend to fizzle into nothing. I sort of don’t want to let that happen this time.

I have too many thoughts, it’s driving me crazy. I spend so much time living inside my own head that I forget that no one else realises what makes me do what I do. I’m such a teenager. My life is downward spiral, etc. etc.

I’m not acctually upset, I’m just entirely confusing, and oh my gosh I’m sorry.

This isn’t a particularly enlightening post, as it turns out, but I didn’t want to write nothing. I feel like talking more than typing, for once. I just need to find the right ears, maybe.
Wanna chat, dude?

I tried to write everything down, but the speed of my pencil desperately trying to keep up with the ridiculous outpouring of everything that I was thinking was never going to be a sustainable relationship.

Plus, I did it in the park. In the sunshine.
What a fucking god damn cliche.

You Drive Me Mental, And My Mind’s Made Up On You

There is one thing that I absolutely cannot stand, and that one little thing is the abundance of seagulls. In Victoria Park. Nowhere near a beach. At all.

I don’t like seagulls when they ARE near a beach, and I realise that they have to make an exceptional effort to fly away from the ocean because they’re made for gliding, and not flitting around like inland birds. They need their ocean breezes, so what the frick are they doing in Victoria Park? It’s bad enough when you get stalked by psycho ducks.
I do like the brown ones though, and I’ve maybe even warmed to the little, albeit very noisy, black things that splash around in the murky Victoria Park pond waters.
I don’t like birds much, but I understand that they’re going to be there. It’s just…seagulls? I don’t like, nor care to understand why they’re there. I simply do not appreciate it. I have actually thrown kebabs at the silly things.
I was obviously a little too inebriated to realise that they’d probably appreciate such a gesture, but it’s the thought that counts, right? The malevolent, and unhelpful notion itself?

I would try and kick them, but I’m actually too scared. I read an article once that suggested that to kick a pigeon would actually incur a fine, and I’ve had nightmares ever since. Kind of.

Apart from an intense dislike for those flying menaces, I think I’m ecstatic. Lord knows why.

World Youth Day pilgrims have clogged the streets and have started pitying me for my agnosticism. This morning one of them actually professed to feel sorry for me. Argh. Not that it especially matters. After going to such a crazily, intense school I’ve never found myself worrying about reaching for a higher purpose. I’m content to know that I never want to actually become one of those small town vipers.

It’s just…everything else is just clicking. Kind of.
For example, I no longer have the hideous shades of pink and green that consumed my hair for the past week. I love my hair. How could it be so disgusting? It kept me awake at night, I swear.
I also ambled down Oxford Street, which was delightful because not only was there no pope there, but also the weather was the perfect mix of cool breeze, and sunshine. Mmm.
Also, any walk with an iPod is the perfect time to think and remember that you’re happy.

I also have busy days and two actual nights when I’ve actually got things to do. Mm. See how they go? Ha.
Tomorrow I’m moving to Ultimo, and I can’t help but worry about the logistics. I’m just so anxiously excited. In the nicest way, of course. I’m kind of worried about which room I will get, but generally, one would assume that those kind of fears are terribly unfounded. Fingers crossed, anyway.

Then, I am going to go home, and I am going to find Renee, and I am going to drink myself silly. All in the name of good taste, of course. I’m going to go to Autonomy Day.
Drinking myself silly, however, is more like two sips of some terribly cheap booze, and I’ll just be overcome with giggles.
Drinking myself silly, really, is a horrible overstatement. I’m just excited. It’s going to be fun.
Tom is going, he’s adorable. He keeps calling me when he’s drunk (although, to be fair, it’s the same as someone just calling me alot, because he always seems to BE drunk). He might bring Ben. Ooh.

Most excitingly, however, is the stack of tickets that I now have in my hot little hands (figuratively speaking, at least). In just a few weeks my musical tastebuds should be thrown into a frenzy with the indie smörgåsbord that I’m going to be indulging in.
Cut Off Your Hands, Vampire Weekend, Little Red, Band Of Horses, The Fratellis, Death Cab For Cutie, oh my! How can life be any better?

Fleet Foxes, another artist on Subpop’s label have been tickling my fancy lately. At first it was simply because of the fact that they were named after foxes, the greatest creature of all time. Now, though, I just dig that (hardly) funky groove.

Somehow I spent $69 on shampoo and conditioner. When Lindsay Bluth-Funke does this we think “What? How?”.
Now, however, I agree.
“It’s a small price to pay for self-esteem, Michael.”

There’s No Greater Advice Than Cold Coca Cola And Ice.

Yesterday I saw Hancock. With a friend.
It was pretty good. Michael and Rita were finally together, happily.

One of the things that stuck with me afterwards, though, was actually the trailer for Dark Knight.
It looks dark, and kind of gave me chills.
Not, though, because Heath Ledger was morbidly creepy. It just looks pretty good. I think I want to see it..

I loved Batman Begins because it took away from the ludicrously distasteful Batman franchise, and made it clear that comic book heroes could take on their own bleak reality.
I just really like Christian Bale, and Batman was a reason to forgive him for Little Women (Laurie is a horrible person, although in reality I should be blaming Louisa May Alcott), and American Psycho (it was so misogynistic and disturbing).

Speaking of American Psycho, though, reminds me of Dexter.
I got in on DVD because I’ve heard good things, and there’s no greater way to experience a series beyond watching them all together, one after the other. It even references Patrick Bateman, briefly, but there’s something about Dexter that it’s hard not to attach yourself to.
I think I kind of have a crush. It’s creepy.

Witchery did not sell my coat, in fact they had one left yesterday. Half price. In my size.
It was my lucky day, or something.

I realise how mundane this post is, but oh em gee, how exciting? Dramaless lives aren’t all bad.
For a while. I’m hoping stuff kicks in soon.

Ella’s In The Band But She’s Got No Soul

Hooray! It’s not another rambling, convoluted, twistingly ambiguous post!
It’s just going to be the boring going ons of my Melbourne trip, even if it is a bit late.
I got home on Sunday night, but I haven’t really been in the kind of mood that would allow me to chronicle the whole thing with any kind of accuracy about how good it was.

The trip itself was just a whim, despite the fact it was planned months ago (and caused a little bit of a kerfuffle in the process, haha), because we didn’t have a reason to go, and just decided it would be something to do in the black hole of uni holidays.

We stayed at Sebel Melbourne on Collins and Queen streets, and it was some heritage building (a bank?), although the best part was definitely the proximity to the CBD. And, maybe, the employee discount, but whatever.

Last time I went to Melbourne it was exciting because I left Black Hill for a city, and in any reality that would be considered trading up. The especially exciting things were just the ease with which you exist when everything is just outside your door. It was also during Year 12, which is best understood as the last year I ever wanted to spend at home. I was ready for the city, and Melbourne beckoned me.

This time, though, it was different because I now live in the city. The Sydney vs Melbourne thing made me spend my time trying to work out how you could actually choose one.
It was kind of hard at first, because everything we did wasn’t something that I actually do a lot when I’m at home. Like, we landed on Thursday morning, and went to the NGV (and I love art galleries, but I just never seem to get around to going). Then we explored the alleys and went to Guys and Dolls (and I love musicals, but I just never seem to get around to affording them).

The next day we went shopping, and that was great until I blew my budget with a single purchase (even if it is just a little to the left of perfect). I don’t have the cash to shop like that, generally, so it was still something different.

The next day, however, kind of saw Abby asleep until 3pm. I don’t think that I could sleep that long, and I was up at 8am. This left me an entire day to wander the city with my trusty little iPod. This turned out to be the best thing that could have ever happened. Walking to the soundtrack that you created is pretty much the perfect way to, well, to do anything.

It was the best place to be thinking, except I kept trying to calculate the differences, and work out how I felt about them. Maybe I should have thought about other stuff, but I quite liked the distance of the big cities.

Anyway, so my conclusion is that they’re both cities, and fundamentally can’t be that different. Except, when you pull all of the little things together it’s a much more interesting thought.
The streets are much more organised (although, duh, it’s a planned city), and it makes it so much harder to get lost. There’s something much more romantic about getting lost in the strange alleys, nooks, and crannys of Sydney. I rejoiced, however, because I didn’t have to carry a map around everywhere and look like a tourist. How can you embrace a city that holds you at arms length? Ha.
The streets really are quieter, but they’re also much wider which makes the pedestrians much less awkward. They still fail at life, and can’t walk appropriately, but you don’t have to notice as much.
The traffic lights just switch to green! They don’t even need help! I don’t think we had to press the button at the lights once. It was weird.
I also didn’t see any pigeons, just tiny little sparrows which are much more endearing, and less obviously disease ridden. I have been told that pigeons actually do abound, though, so it was probably more just me not noticing the flying little rodents.
The cafe culture, which is pretty much what drew people into the city in the first place, is amazing. They’re trying to create that in Sydney, I think, at least according to an article I read in February. I love cafes, and it would be great to have that kind of thing here too, but for now Glebe Pt Road is enough. It’s more than enough. Well, it will be as soon as Badde Manors reopens.

Lygon Street was really good, though. As instructed I got a souvlaki, or a kebab, or something, I’m not sure what the difference is. It was great until I realised that it was about seven times bigger than my mouth, and my awkward eating habits made it nigh impossible to actually eat all of. Then it started dripping on me, and I had to throw it away.
I still regret it.
Although, now I have experienced it, I think that I can go to Istanbul (widely acknowledged in the Newtown community as the best kebab-type experience), just to check.

Anyway, I decided that I love Melbourne, and maybe I should have gone to RMIT, but I still love Sydney more. Even if it’s just because it’s where I live, and it’s where I’m comfortable, I think that that’s enough.

Melbourne, though, sure is calling.

A disappointing note, though. There were hardly any weird accents (and I know that you’re thinking “What the Hal?”), but when I went to see some band at some club on some street I was delighted to experience the actual Melbourne Shuffle (not to mention that they were wearing gigantic heels).

So, that’s my trip. Oh, how exciting…
Now there’s moving on the horizon, which I’m kind of really excited about.

I keep apologising for being weird, and for saying really odd things. It’s annoying, I know, but I have this thing right now that encourages me to keep my thoughts to myself until I can work out how they actually fit together.
See, ambiguity creates confusion, and can you imagine how bad it will be if I was completely confused in the first place? Ha.
So, really, I’m going to talk. I just want it to be the good kind of talk, you know? That makes sense, and not frustration. Awesome!