you're all talk
being heartless and cold-hearted are totally different things, one cannot be cold-hearted and heartless for they would have no heart to be cold.
empty of meaningful means
that's what people do when they have a life, well a life defined and valued by belongings anyway.


(Jenny doesn't let Sam talk, well she does but not for the amount of time Sam needs to explain what he wants or means to say. He sometimes wonders what she thinks of him, whether everything is based on first impression, the first word out of his mouth or if she even thinks of him at all. it would be okay if she didn't, he was impartial really to this occasional friendship. Truth was Jenny annoyed him, in a bearable way of course, but later reflection always added negative and cynical tags to her. She was self-confident - arrogant. She was determined - pushy, impatient. She asked and valued your opinion on how she looked - vain, tease. She wasn't shy to ask for help - lazy, cheat.)

he devours the hours with not so much as a moment to chew

she can be frank with you, honest without you and will never follow through with blunt force trauma

the weather is wearing and the warmth is worn
the tear tears away from the befogging storm
mistaking a puddle for a break in the muddle
clothes for the dirt stains, bandaged inert pains
unwilling washed in the welcome rains

being full of one liners makes conversing hard

waiting in line at coles express (though i don't know why it's named in such a misleading manner) in melb. central being attacked by advertising. on one of the five Extra gum signs; "Extra: get's fruity" someone has scribbled out the apostrophe and written that it is not nessecary. makes me giggle, how wriggly's (sp?) marketting team missed it and also that the soilders of the 'war on error' are out in force. but then maybe wriggly's was just trying for a collective audience, that wants to become fruit, maybe it does get people fruity... willy wonka style...

wrist notes: Sedikides; farm w/e; 28th M; SSS 17th sept - "one of these things is not like the others"

as much as owning a car these days is pocket-lightening, and generally saddening, shopping for third party car insurance is downright depressing. seriously. i got six different online quotes and it seems they're all in it together.
young driver + oldish (but incredibly charming) car = huge (in most, especially student, speaking terms) premium + hardly decent insurance + extra basic excess
can't they make it staggered or something? or not charge me an extra $60 if i pay by the month. i mean, i know they want my money, but being overly greedy doesn't really cut it, like charging me more than what they'll actually cover. harsh mister insurance man, harsh.

they don't know my car either, how can they just judge it like that? they weren't there when i first bought him (well it's sometimes "him", it switches genders depending on how it's behaving... named "the Cavalry" also adding to the multiple-personality theory, don't laugh, he's more than a herd of horses... and occasionally sounds like it), or when he used to cut out while turning corners or when he carried two extra people or how good he is for drive-in movies or when he successfully climbed up the roads of Mt Dandenong with 5 people in the car (at 40km/h) or how often/rarely he gets cleaned or when i got to bleed his brakes or all the air fresheners he's devoured. generally they don't know and yet they want to put a price on his demise. *sniffle*

i'm not really so attatched to my car, i mean i love it, i just wish it didn't eat so much.

He knew it was cliched and pointless, but the 2am air beckoned him. Putting his arm out the car window he played with the passing wind, ducking and weaving, in and out on top of invisible landscapes. He twitched his fingers as they began to numb with the cool wind billowing against it and as his arm began to tire. Looking up at the cloud night sky he took his attention away from his arm for a moment or two. The moon was losing at hide and seek, sitting quite proudly within a mass of colossal clouds, it's glow giving a more subtle sparkle to the night's moisture compared to the yellowing streetlights.
"Hey Craig, pull ya hand in will ya? ya doof" Pete said from the drivers seat (as he was driving).
Craig looked over to Pete slightly surprised as if it was strange for another person to be present, let alone driving the car, it was meant to be just him and the night. His arm still hung out the window, more limp than playful, tapping against the side of the door lightly instead of dramatically outstretched as it was earlier. Pete didn't say anything more, leaving the radio's static humming and the hissing wind to sing a challenging duet in Craig's ears. He looked up at the moon again to see that it had become somewhat humble and shrouded itself in clouds, detailing the puff and fluff of the cloud in front. Yawning, he pulling his arm back into the car and wound up the window. He looked down at his fingers and noticed they were a purple-blue with a couple of grazes on the knuckles, but he couldn't feel anything. A small smile crept across his face as he failed to remember what he had knocked it against. Tucking it under his armpit to get the circulation happening once more he thought of all the poetic comparisons he could draw to it, how his hand was like his heart, how his hand was like his head, how his hand was like a habit.


15 turtles make a habit.

facebook.... now not only on facebook excessively often, but now writing about facebook

well not really, because the only thing i really do on facebook is occasionally talk to people, poke them and change my status. and i change my status a lot. and because they are often more "look at me, i'm so witty and funny and charming" rather than what i am actually doing. which i thought i might share, mainly because it gives me another chance to be "look at me, i'm so witty" (which itself was a status) (there were many more, but that in itself was excessive)

Frances is pointless, unless she's holding a sharp stick, or knife, or pencil. Making her sound to be meaningless without a means to hurt you.
Frances wants to be your ocean friend, with friendship like the salty water, running much deeper than this murky puddle of Facebook.
Frances loves her car, but thinks it should eat less
Frances is the opposite of interesting, camouflaged seamlessly in front of the freshly painted padio... she doesn't have a padio.
Frances could possibly be on the edge, but that doesn't really matter because she doesn't move much.
Frances cuts paper, paper covers rock, rock bashes Frances over the head.
Frances doesn't know whether she should break up the mysterious lemon couple she found rolling about together in her car

and just for some non-frances content, here are some from my friend Stephen, who i didn't ask to post, but he'll get over it if he ever finds out

Stephen is the warm center the rest of the world crowds around
Stephen is filled with rage about the existence of the word "Mondayitis" and thinks it is ridiculous.
Stephen is the ghost that appears when you knock on the wall of an Orphanage...
Stephen doesn't get the picture, he's just getting framed
Stephen : the word people mutter before they wake up screaming in terror.

if you have any you need to boast about, i am most willing to steal, i mean hear from you. =)
happy weekend times

to successfully grow up, will i have to sacrifice my newly rekindled 'pajama saturday' holiday?