somewhere out there, there is a huge pile of marbles. maybe a marble city, where all the marbles go when they get lost. they would live a happily retired life, have dinner parties, long, meaningful conversations, fall in love and have children. One day the grown up marbles would eventually kiss Ma and Pa goodbye and go out into the wide world to be discovered. stumbled upon by mere mortals that would examine them, question them and treasure them. but the cycle must continue and the marbles are destined to be lost, to slip out of the hole in the pocket of a pair of old jeans, to be thrown at another in a fit of passion. they would somehow make their way home, chipped and lacking the shine they were born with, but content. if so many people are losing their marbles these days, why hasn't anyone been able to trace the paths of thousands of marbles migrating back to where they came from?

a rude joke from my tweens, i still to some extent love telling it, and thus why it is here. i didn't make it up, but it's not word for word, you know how these things work.

Three men were sitting at the bar in a pub that neighboured a vacant lot maintained by some nearsighted nuns who lived in the abbey down the street (how convenient you might say). It was a slow moving afternoon and so for some fun the bartender decide to place a little bet with them.
"I will give unlimited beers to anyone who goes next door, paints their John (i have no problem saying penis, it just doesn't fit in the bartenders character to) like a mushroom, lays down and waits for the nuns to come."
A little perplexed by this bet, the first man still thought it'd be a bit of a hoot and driven by the promise of free beer went next door and waited for the nuns.
Not more than 5 minutes past before a nun comes skipping through the field, she is quite small and of a skinny build and she is singing; "one mushroom tra-la-la, two mushroom tra-la-la, three mushroom eeek!" The nun runs off and the man gets his free beer.
The second man sees how easy (in his opinion) the bet is and so goes and lies down in the field awaiting the next nun. Again, a nun soon comes skipping into the field, more of an average size than the first, she also begins to sing; "one mushroom tra-la-laa, two mushroom tra-la-laa, three mushroom eeewwwww!" And the nun runs off and the man gets his beer.
The third man is all for it now, easy free beer and peer pressure lead him out into the field. Conveniently, another nun comes into the field, quite bigger than the other two nuns, the ground shakes a little as she skips and sings; "one mushroom tra-la-laa, two mushroom tra-la-laa, three mushroom uh! tra-la-laa"

aha, ha, ha *awkward*. it's much better told than read... maybe...
sorry for the mediocrity of late, can't say it won't happen again though.

there's something outside the front door, rustling the leaves of trees, rattling windows in their frames. i know it's there, i can sense it there, but i won't be afraid, because i'm not scared of it. there's something in the dining room, shuffling chairs against carpet, creaking floorboards underfoot. i know it's there, i can sense it there, but i won't be afraid, because i'm not scared of it. there's something in the kitchen, rustling through the cupboards, clinking the cups and crockery. i know it's there, i can sense it there, but i won't be afraid, because i'm not scared of it. there's something in the hall, brushing against the walls, lingering behind the bookshelf. i know it's there, i can feel it there, but i won't be afraid, because i'm not scared of it. there's something in the corner of my room, casting a darker shadow, making my room cold. i know it's there, i can sense it there, but i won't be afraid, because i'm not scared of it. i won't be afraid, because i'm not scared, i'm not scared, i just can't close my eyes. i'm not scared, i'm not scared, i just can't get to sleep.

her hands trembled as she spoke. her eyes flickered occasionally upwards from the crimson and royal blue coloured carpet that ran under her feet and through the lobby, spotted with semi-comfortable sofa chairs and plastic looking pot plants. it was early morning, about 5.30m, so there were very few people to be seen. in fact the only people present were Elissa, a half asleep doorman and a drunk guest who appeared to have missed a semi-comfortable chair and had remained on the floor leaning against it in a swaying state. Elissa pushed the phone booth's little privacy wall to stop her free hand from shaking as she listened intently to the person on the other side. she barely got to say goodbye as they hung up, left still holding the receiver in a hand that had turned from jelly to stone, frozen in the moment. it took her a full minute to pull it from her ear and hang up, causing her spare change to clatter down the chute, but she didn't bother retrieving it. She was jet lagged and depressed, so decided to return to her room for some needed sleep. The spare change however, would be found an hour and twenty-three minutes later by a young gentleman after calling the hospital his dying father was staying at, and be used to tip the doorman as he left to comfort his mother. The doorman would then lose it on one of the pokie-machines, spinning a cherry, a seven and a gold bar. Sitting in the pot for no more than three hours and forty-six minutes, a passing child would win it along with another $40.85. These winnings would be gluttonously spent on chocolates and sweets, devouring them in one sitting, the experience leaving the child feeling slightly nauseated every time he gambled in the future. Elissa noticed the boy throwing up into one of the plastic looking pot plants as she was about
the leave for the hospital. She handed him a napkin with calm hands and walked off, hopefully towards good news.

i like to think that i once wrote lists, that i could have written extensive lists in a beautiful scrawl that no one else could read. but i only ever really attempted making lists, a mental list maker of making lists. they would always start of with the obvious items and so i would go "i'll remember them, i shouldn't need a list", and discard it. when it came to the more meaningful though, like what i wanted to achieve this year, or get out of this course, or where i want to be whenever, i guess it was more fear that stopped me writing, the possibility that i would fail or not try, and it would be written down on paper for everyone to see, to be waved in my face by jeering peers. ha jeering peers. that type of thinking developed in year nine i'm pretty sure, and instead of keeping ambition to myself or a hidden notebook, i threw it away. i used the "i don't know" line when asked about the future, because i honestly didn't want to think about it, and although i did, no one else was allowed to no that. i would watch tv programs and read books where life is obviously simplified, where all the protagonists have big dreams and goals and go through adventures and hardship, but still succeed, all in the space of an hour or 400 pages. it wasn't as depressing as it sounds, but it must've done something to my outlook. as much as i feel pride for my writing, it isn't something i work hard towards, as much as want to finish my degree, the accomplishment isn't really an aspiration. i don't have goals, i just have things i can label as goals, that truly lack the merit i'm looking for, i guess that's my fatal flaw.

there's a story in my head, i tried planning a book, i wrote out a character chart and how everyone was intertwined, i gave them names and jobs and feelings and personalities, i wrote a scene for one of them and now they're just sitting round doing nothing, much like i am. they're just waiting for me to write about them so they can come alive, but i can't do it, they just aren't real enough... but then do i want them to be real?

I was sitting in the main library when I heard two girls talking in between the aisles. Having been struggling with my studies on the reproductive cycle of fungi for at least the last half hour, it wasn't hard to become distracted by their conversation.
"All I'm saying is that maybe humanity is governed by some sort of supreme balance, that if we can move around some of the weights we can get some real equality,"
"But humans are the ones who put things out of balance, deforestation, dredging, pollutants totally destroying our planet, i mean, just look at our atmosphere, enough COtwo for you? you can't just move some weights and take all that back."
"We are so talking on different platforms here, lets focus on humanity."
"because there's so much of that going 'round"
"ha ha, nah seriously, you look at how much food resources we have in the world and how concentrated they are to certain areas, the same with material wealth. now both of these are seen as reasonably limited, the amount in the world at any time is pretty well set. What if these principles apply to more 'spiritual' aspects as well?"
"i'm not really following but keep talking and you might start making sense,"
"ow, my self esteem! what i mean is, say you're having a crap day, feeling just terrible for no concrete reason, maybe this is because there are too many people enjoying themselves."
"what? so are you encouraging me to kick people who are happy to make me happy?"
"well it's said that it does make you feel better,"
"who said that?"
"i'm not sure, but thats not the point."
"flaw; you have no point"
"point; limited amount of happiness in the world."
"happiness is made, you don't stubble on it and go "ooooh! i'm going to be happy today, all these positive waves just hit me and life's going to be a garden of roses because of all the miserable, starving kids in third world countries, horray!", honestly Sally, how did you come up with this?"
"ok, i get it, i will never discuss random theories with you while you're trying to read."
"ta muchly!"
I couldn't help but feel that the non-Sally girl was grinning widely, but didn't really have anything to support it. With their discussion becoming more disjointed as Sally continued to attempt and fail to involve non-Sally in chit chat, I decided I'd better return to my fungi.

thought trails...

direction, navigation, voyage, the open sea, pirates, yarr! ahoy me hearties, heart, start, beating, the moment is fleeting, and i can't feel, what you tell me is real, or surreal, a dream, a waking thought, naught, none, nothing remained of the time we tamed, and the days we claimed, to be ours forever, never, september to december, the calender's pages are torn and discarded, as our souls become worn and unguarded, tired of the scorn, corn, dawn, mornings, mournings, the lost, the losing, the cost, the confusing, confusion, unsure, uncertain, undone, remade, repaired, restored, record, the memory, before it fades, or is blown away, on the winds blowing in the opposite, direction...


...trailing thoughts.

hey Steph,
god i hate starting e-mails with the "hey you", but it's so hard to find a suitable greeting for these things without sounding too formal or like a complete wank. Ha! did you know this spell check has a problem with the word "wank", since when wasn't that a word? Anyways, I'm getting distracted, but not from much. Just wanted to drop a line to see how things were going, you know the whole holidays, christmas, nye etc. etc.. feels like i haven't seen you in ages, hope you're doing alright and life's treating you good. If it's not, i hope you're at least landing a few punches. Keep safe.
Fare thee well! (i wrote it in a humourous manner, but in reading it, i definitely sound as if i'm stuck in shakespeare)
-Frances

Neither Janine or Matt were honestly in the mood for cooking. It was hot and muggy and their house didn't have air conditioning nor was it well ventilated. So it was decided that they'd brave the heat and go out to have dinner at a random fast-food restaurant. Surprisingly the weather wasn't as bad outside as it seemed, a gentle breeze helping the evaporation part of perspiration. The sun lingered on the horizon, daylight savings holding it there past the eight o'clock mark, much too late in Matt's opinion but there isn't really anything that can be done about that. The cicadas were out in force, not in plain view but roaring to their open circulatory systems' content. Matt listened to Janine's thongs (flip flops or whatever, the footwear type) slapping against the pavement as he slowly regretted wearing his sneakers without socks because that was all his laziness would permit. He was thinking about whether it would just be better to take his shoes off than live through this sweaty, uncomfortable situation that was currently bestowed upon his plantigrade feet when Janine stubbed her toe.
"Fuuah... bad karma" she muttered
"Are you alright?"Matt asked
"Yeah, I was just caught in thought and wasn't paying attention," Janine answered
"Oh okay," Matt said, leaving an awkward silence in the place where he probably should have continued talking. But no words came and so the cicadas resumed dominance over their sound-scape.
"Do you think it's weird that 'dream' can be synonym for both 'aspiration' and 'delusion'? Like, our goals can be compared to mirages, isn't that just depressing?" Janine randomly blurted out. Matt wasn't too sure what his sister was ranting on about, the fact that he was still thinking about his feet was a probable cause.
"Huh?"
"Don't worry, I was just talking out loud, I mean thinking out loud..." she trailed off, disappointed by her brother's inability to ignore the obvious discomfort in his shoes and just talk.
"You should've worn socks," she nagged,
"Yeah, I know," he muttered.

He lifted his head and smelt the air. It was no mistake, something was defiantly burning. He ran to the kitchen, the usual source of such things, but it was perfectly fine. The microwave was silent, the toaster was empty and unplugged and although the oven could've done with a severe makeover or at least a scrub, it too was not the origin. As he quickly ducked in and out of each of the rooms, it slowly became apparent that nothing in his house was on fire, but the smell still grew stronger, occupying his sense completely and distracting him to disbelief. Stepping out the front door he noticed a small group of people on the street that had obviously been brought out by the smell of smoke and as he approached them he realized they were pointing to the sky. Still walking towards them, he looked over his shoulder briefly, but then needed a double take. Looming over his house and consuming at least a third of the sky was a spaceship pumping out smoke like nobody's business. Now outside, with the source confirmed, his other senses kicked in. A low hum was rolling across the suburb, occasionally changing in pitch as if it was playing out an unwritten bass line to a song with more meaning than lyrics would allow. He found it slightly odd that the spaceship, if its existence alone wasn't strange enough, that it didn't have any lights. Every story he had ever heard about UFO concerned flashing lights, or beams of light or a steady, glowing aura, but this had none of those. It wasn't even saucer shaped, something that he never could quite fathom the physics of anyway, not that he fathomed physics often. He supposed a teardrop or possibly a pear would be more accurate to it's curves, but the fact that it was so big made it hard to comprehend the half he couldn't see. The smoke's growing poignancy awoke him from his dazed awe of the floating machinery and "brought him back to Earth" in a matter of speaking. The group's chatter tugged at his ears and he turned to join them.
"Never thought I'd ever see one of those," he interjected.
"I saw one like it two years ago up north. My parents farm backs onto bushland so fires are always an issue during the summer," a lady replied,
"Yeah, radio says this ain't natural causes though," a man, presumably the lady's husband added.
"How could anything like that be natural?" he half scoffed, shocked at the others calmness.
"Well they say a plane downed in the park, a hundred and eighty or so people on board, huge flames and all that, such a shame," the man answered
"those poor families" the lady added.
"what about that huge thing! that's nothing from this world!" he starred at them seriously,
"I wouldn't have imagined that much smoke meself, but i guess it must've blown it's fuel tanks completely." the man answered again, looking worriedly at this new member to their little group, "Are you okay mate? don't worry too hard, the services are doing all they can, not much you can do."
"Are you serious? you don't see that, that spaceship?"
"Well I dunno about spaceship, I didn't see the plane fall or anything,"
"The spaceship floating there, there!" he frantically pointed to the sky, checking over his shoulder to make sure it was in fact still there.
"Look mate, there's nothing there, maybe you should go back inside and take a bit of a rest,"
"Are you crazy? there is a space, ship, right, there!" he tried to slow down his ranting, but panic was spreading through his body, sweat was beading on his forehead and his breathing had started to flow so quickly it was hurting his throat. Could they really not see the monstrosity hanging in the air above their heads?
"Are you okay dear? You've gone all red, you really should sit down" the lady said with a concerned face, lightly placing her hand on his shoulder.
"No I'm fine, I'm fine," he muttered, his pulse beating noisily inside his ears accompanied by that now terrifying humming sound. "It's you that should be looking at what's in front of you! Are you retarded or something? At your age you should still have enough vision to see that!" He pointed once again at the hovering spaceship.
"now that is quite enough mate" the man said in an aggressive tone "this may be distressful, but you have no right throwing around insults like that. you're seeing things, there is nothing there except a huge black cloud of smoke, go back inside,"
"I'm not seeing..." he couldn't talk anymore, his breathing was raspy and his eyes started to blur. The sound was deafening now, in seemingly perfect unison with the throbbing inside his head. He couldn't be sure if it was his face or palms that were sweating profusely as he clutched the sides of his head in distress. The world swayed, colours combining into a mess of sensations and representations and he fell. Looking up at spaceship with watery eyes from his resting place on the footpath he noticed that it did actually have tiny little lights running along the length of its belly, a pattern of some sort, a word perhaps. But it was never brought into focus as his eyes closed like weighted shutters and unconsciousness took him.

"I seem to have discovered a new horizon to run to, though it would be more accurate to say that I was running before I stumbled upon the sight of a more beautiful goal. I cannot say if it was the world that shifted or myself that unconsciously changed direction, but it was most certainly gradual, not even recognizing the changes until nothing was familiar."
"That is an intriguing concept, the world twisting your path, pulling your hand away from old dreams into something of a more mature future. But is it really more beautiful than the innocent fantasies that you embraced for so long?"
"You say you were running, but before you'd been sitting at the same spot watching the sun rise and set for quite a while, admiring it's voyage but never fulfilling any of your own. Is this new goal more worthy than those unaccomplished dreams?"
"Both beauty and worthiness are subjective, it's impossible to tell."
"But we are discussing these concepts in relation to you, so subjectivity is not an issue here, the questions still stand,"
"I feel a deja vu coming on, we don't need to delve too deeply into what I said, I feel my goals have changed, end of story"
"But you're still looking back aren't you?"
"Checking over your shoulder to see if you can still run the roads that you left behind, reminiscing. Your straight line to the horizon is more like a circle"
"Or a downward spiral"
"How can you possibly determine whether it really is a change in direction?"
"I just know. Your metaphorical taunts are tiring, i'm sick of this same internal battle over and over again. Dialogue ends here, no more from you two"


could think of anything new so i thought i'd bring back some voices to kill them off again, they're a little less talkative this time round. (see this post)
all the best for the new year! that sounds slightly sarcastic after such a post, but i truly think this is the year to live for.