it starts as a gentle tug, just once or twice before becoming a distinct pulling sensation behind the navel. a persistent urge tugging away like a young child at their mother's sleeve when they see something they really want. sometimes it's sporadic and sometimes it carries an unnerving regularity. i really don't know how it works or why it upsets me so, i'm not the jealous type. but i can't deny getting spitefully solemn when i notice you checking out guys. it just makes me feel so angry and pathetic that all i can do and all i'll ever be able to do is scream desperations inside my head...

i never knew that 'plum' was synonyms with 'treasure', it's familiar, but i don't think i knew it. weird that a stone fruit shares a name with something equivalent to a gem. it makes me remember a fragment of a story (of origin i can't remember) where the protagonist bites into a fruit and finds one of the missing jewels, how they were hidden in there i don't think they went into depths with. maybe the reason i think it's weird that i immediately think of the stone at the heart of the fruit rather than the flesh. heart, flesh, haha, the analogies never end with this one.
i quite like plums (though apricots are pretty evil)...

i untangled myself from my sheets and stumbled out of bed, my mind still in dreams. they managed to linger as i brushed my teeth, making the overwhelmingly disgusting mint a distant sensation as if a dream itself. my feet seemed to walk themselves about the house, pulling me with them in well worn paths of routine, as my eyes lazily observed the passing scenery, impartial to the whole affair. at some point i settled back in bed after making it only some time before, the wisps of lingering dreams much more like a consuming fog masking the ragged cliffs of my head space. i wasn't certain whether to go to sleep or staying awake would be the best option, to invoke a kind of lighthouse to shine out on my little row boat of consciousness completely at the mercy of the sea, which i thought at once were my thoughts. but i dared not to keep that thought, for thoughts can be dangerous things and i didn't want the murky water to become vicious as well. i bobbed in the water for a while, feet dangling over the side of my bed, when i became certain of something else in the fog. scrambling for a pen and paper, oars in hand, i began to search for it, and i felt it in my hands. clutching it in both hands the haze fell away and feeling great pride in my accomplishment of finding the creator of confusion i looked down at the piece of paper. but it seemed that the confusion was yet to remain on another medium, because all i had managed to write was your name...

i submerged myself in an analogy and i'm not sure if i made it out alive

so i love op shops, quite stereotypical for a uni student, but i do. i enjoy finding jackets that fit just right, pants that don't finish just before my ankles and sifting through the brickabrack for lost treasures and unusual finds that make me wonder why anyone would have bought it, let alone let it go. but i guess that most of the joys that come from finding something exciting is due to the sheer amount of perceived crap that envelopes it. it's the "perceived crap" value that stops me from general shopping (like denim leggings, what's with that? a teapot that wouldn't hold more than half a cup of tea, cute but how useless can you get?), but with op shops it's expected, so you don't get the awkward feeling that you a) have to buy anything, b) are being watched (well, some of those old lades are scary) and judged, c) keep your mouth shut about how much useless junk there is, or d) care about current trends. the tiny tucked away (or absent) changing rooms can get a wee bit annoying, (i can't really say anything to justify that except the fact that if they took up room with a changeroom then they'd have less space for clothes), and the musty/mothball smell can get to you, but these things add to the endearing quality of op shops. I don't know where I stand with Savers (a large, recycled clothing stores in Vic, i don't know if they're in other states) though, it seems to counter the cosy feel that op shops should have, but with the increasing amount of people choosing second- over first-hand clothes (still a minority), having a huge warehouse makes the probablity of a lucky find just that little bit higher. i bought this amazing jacket today that hadn't even had the pockets broken in (you know how some are sewn shut for presentation?) for $12. $12! amazing

and now class is starting so i'm going to scoot, take care now!
F

all we need is a dream...

this is no place to park a mothership...

i saw 'district 9' last week and thoroughly enjoyed it. not only was the CGI not painstakingly obvious, but the script itself was amazingly crafted. what was also surprising is that, as something i wouldn't mind seeing, i thought it was much better than 'public enemies', that i'd been wanting to see since i knew it existed (yes, okay, mostly for the Depp factor, but isn't that reason enough?). One of the things i found really irking about 'public enemies' was the "throw-in" love interest, Billie. while the acting was quality, there was a whole lot of importance placed on the relationship, but no depth to it at all. Sure there was the whole "for true love" perseverance, but nothing given in any of the fleeting scenes with Billie in it to substantiate it (and it's not like they didn't have time, it could've taken a minute, just cull 5 seconds off each of the bazillion shoot outs and it would have been fine). it was like she was written in for a "Bond's girl" feel (eye candy facotr) with a few more lines (unlike, for example, Strawberry Fields) and more possessive male. 'district 9' however, had so much more emotion running through all of the relationships, and for something of fiction, was much more realistic (and humanistic, if i can use such a word while refering to aliens). It didn't feel the need to constantly flip back to the wife to see her response to everything, and she pretty much had a life of her own, rather than her whole existence dependent on the male lead. (summary: i'd much rather no female roles than tag ons)
someone mentioned to me that they'd read posts about the obscene amount of "fucks" (134 times in 112mins, i had to google it), and refused to see it because of that, i wouldn't go as far as to all of them being justified, but it makes it more believable and actually adds a bit more personality to the main character.
Anywho, I know i'm piting off to different genres against each other, but really all it is is banter (you can probably tell that by the lacking structure of [what?] arguments).

peace, love and understanding
F

what you should do today: check up on the latest from passive-aggresive notes,
"but nothing with banana, im alergic [sic]" lol

Is this everything, I've dreamed of so much more, between the end and where we lie. here all our hopes and dreams are scavenged from the floor and fed into machines that feed on vacant eyes.
all of my dreams, always find me. far beyond these fake fluorescent skies. I know there must be something more, if I could only find the door, then I could free myself and see the world outside...


i kept thinking that one day i'd have evolved (slowly, but surely) my passwords to more frequently visited sites, that i'd eventually forget how to get back here, and the feeling that i wouldn't really miss it crept up. well I guess that's predictable because I've been gone for the good part of the year, but it was coupled with a sensation of not really wanting to lose it, much like a hoarders(?). one day it may come in handy... which is somewhat doubtful with a personal blog, unless one needed to create a psych profile, in which it'd be inaccurate anyway (what i would've done for someone to need to make a psych profile is worrying...).


oh! and a shout out to John who found me on Facebook, thanks for your message. =]

where daylight breaks on you and shines into the grey that sleeps beneath your skull, daylight breaks on you and burns away the grey that suffocates your soul...
Between the End and Where We Lie - Thrice

what you should do today: Scrabble it up - double set style (for when you really have too many people to play just one board)

there's been talk about.
talk of talks, talk of plans, plans to talk, plans to stay in touch, but i guess it's pretty obvious that i often fail to act on such words. "failing to plan is planning to fail", is only accurate if inaction is neutral, and god we all know that's not how it feels....

anywho, how you doing? i'm doing quite fine and dandy, still pulling round a little whining wagon of woe (the concept fitted better in my head, maybe 'cause that's where the wagon's parked? maybe i like alliteration too much), but who isn't? Uni, is well, going, which really is good enough. just finished working a temporary job in the genetic labs at uni preparing, setting up and cleaning up VCE biology workshops. Which mostly consisted of sorting flies (drosophila melanogaster, an excellent model organism, for any interested, don't think of blow flies, they're tiny) and pouring gels for electrophoresis. I did get to demonstrate for a table twice, which was exciting, got to impart some of my knowledge on the youngsters.
seem to be wasting a lot of time these days, really getting into my manga. or i'll pretend to be effectively using my time and spend hours reading books that may or may not relate to my essay topic (Darwinism).
been seeing a lot more gigs about town than i used to, which is always lots of fun (even if the music is shit, the food is shit, the vibe is crap, as long as the people are right, it's great).
one brother's had another bub since we last spoke, Indiana, little Indie, she's adorable. other brother's planning to go over to europe for a year (I'm really excited about it for him, but will definitely miss him so don't want to be too encouraging, lol). schwester's doing her artsy 13th year stuff, and some of her work (well, i would say most, but i like to impose the same modesty as she does) is looking amazing, god she loves ponies.
and in recent news, i got a giant tare panda for $8 at an op shop.
i only finish with that because i really must go, it's been nice talking, we should catch up again soon
peace and pancakes
F

i'm sure it could be found somewhere else than the endless reaches of space, could it possibly be something that hard to acquire? if you really think about it, how do you even know it exists if you haven't seen it, heard it, felt it or held it before, where does this knowledge come from if you have not seen it before? it could be in the room (though i'm pretty sure it's not in this one at current), it could be in your room, it could well be outside the house and down the street, sitting next to the oranges at the supermarket. while 'what it is' is of fairly relevent importance, i don't want to know, i want to bask in the ignorance that it could be anything, anywhere, that i could find the special meaning held to this unknown object to something very near and dear to me, claim some ownership and show it off, not like a trophy wife or something of equal vainity, but as something truely... well true, to me (for we all know the subjective nature of truth), that i can feel pride for. it seems there is becoming less to be proud of as one ages, maybe that's all in the statistics, in the chemistry, the more you pour into your head, the concentration of what one holds as unique becomes weaker and you no longer can taste the salt in the water. so i'm going to try and up the salt content in my mind, start to change my hesitance into conviction and grasp what i really believe to be important in both hands and fully appreciate its existance in my life.

polaroid film is expensive, i don't know if it's charm is worth that much. i wonder if it adds to the assumed poorness of artists...

consumed with getting out all of the blu-tac some stupid random decided to wedge between keys, it's not even my keyboard, why should i care?

peace, love and understanding

there's a crane out the window, resting parallel to the horizon, gently rocking ever so slightly up and down like a see-saw of epic proportions. the art's building clock is still stuck at twelve, i don't know how long it's been like that, or how long it will stay, but it irks me. redundancy steals its soul, meaning as much as time piece as it does as a tree. it'd better if it were a tree, a lot of things would be better if they were trees...

i stopped writing, maybe that's why

peace, love and understanding

we find it on a foreign road, covered in dist but still separate from it's surrounds. the traveler's epiphany, destined to grow into something life changing or a failed new year's resolution.
the comfortability of the homeland, of the familiar furniture, of where we have sat for so long beckons us back to the well worn seat in the butt-consuming sofa, to see the last whatever days, weeks, months as dreams, abstract from your reality.
where you ever really there?
you have the photos and the new friends and the memories, but the state of mind in which we drank up such scenes and experiences is lost, even rereading a travel diary (of which i couldn't make myself write) loses the immediate sensation of floating around in a completely different climate, culture and circumstances. and i think that's what tourist really do, float. a lot of them don't have the time or money to submerge themselves and after the initial culture shock of being plunged into deeper waters, they find the surface and float.
are we every really anywhere?
i'm throughly enjoying my trip and while i may seem cynical, that's just part of my writing that's hard to discard. it's not my world, but i still hope to do something for it.
i'll take something from this.
do something.
be awake.
three.
write.run.communicate.

and check out big brother mouse.