Through the Portal, On Reverse

memories live in our minds.
and sometimes makes us feel more than we should
the flesh and blood and ur pumping heart.
stretches and shrinks as days and nights pass.

you know you've gone too far
when it seeps into your soul.
magical, malicious belief
is larger than God.

what was then sweet
turned sour,
then bitter,
like gun powder,
and suddenly my tongue catches fire

later the tears evaporate without warning
above the flames that never goes out

this evening
i travelled back in time
1990
everything blackens
im uglier than The Mr Taxi Driver
because iv let him live in me ever since.

really really really
hope tonight
i can sleep like it's 1989 again

otherwise i'll sit forever at my school desk
on this never-ending incomplete test
where i know the last question is worth the remaining fifty percent
but all i do is frantically keep guessing
because i'm too scared to stop and listen
and maybe that's why i can never go home.

A Farewell to Lentilitis

...Sometimes it takes me forever to figure out what is the healthy amount of lentils dosage that i am capable of consuming. The revelation came really late, and sometimes one has to pay with horrible diahrrhea (sp?) and last night i almost felt like i need to get my stomach pumped.

But peace shall descend from above upon God's Green Earth, for i have since found professional advice and herbal au naturelle tablets downed with wholesome Waiwera Mineral Water, and thus lentilitis has been flushed down the drain into the ocean. i can now begin a lentils-free lifestyle.
(ewwwuuuuhuhuhuhhrrgh.....overkill, graphic analogy puuurhhghg...*ahem*)

BUT.
to quote "Closer" since it sums it up perfectly:


The Me to The Lentils: "Look at your little eyes."


The Lentils: "I can't see my little eyes."

Friday the Thirteenth.....arrives late

As soon as the bells tolled at midnight Sat Fourteenth, the events spiralled and spinned and spanned and snowballed and dominoed....

1 - Contrary to popular belief that one should never hit the bunk upon an argument, an argument erupted amidst pillows and mattresses between BFF's (The most highschool phrase used today: Bitchy Fake Friends, hello! i mean, like. todally. nah, more like Banana French Fries on a fast trip metamorphosising into Lentils ).

2 - Sleepless night, bottled up anger + misunderstanding and the excessive communication became a cul-de-sac.

3 - Morning Wake-Up Alarm bells rang as anticipated, as if freeing me from my cell, i frantically scrambled my way out of the hostels. Couldn't get outa there faster!

4 - Stress from nostalgia and vivid nightmares left me whoozy and disillusioned and at verge-of-tears at work, little did i know how long i will have to keep my game face on....

5 - Unwanted male person/object/thing/stuff/eraser/water bottle/spatula/toilet roll continues to "stroll past my working area seemingly purposefully" provoking conversation leading to short-tempered-ness and unpleasantries.

6 - Full on dull work ripping tickets plus Repetitive Strain Injury from occupational requirement - smiling for long duration of time - resulting in extreme pain in facial cheeks.

7 -Jumping into second shift with minimal break, however meal break was lovely as Sarah the workmate and I sat in Aotea Square listening to awesome speakers blaring Simon & Garfunkel ..... it was nice.

8 - Was exhausted but looked forward to a good shift with awesome workmates Kristy and Margaret while being supervised by the lovely Cresta and Jamal.

9 - Decided to be a good helpful unselfish friend (okay, actually playing matchmaker really) and swap my working position with Margaret so she could work with her beloved "Mr."

10 - Ended up working the EFTPOS till at busy Montana Bar, beginning with confusion over new efty posty machine. Later Jamal + i had to take shit from customers who said "You have four fucking tills why is there only one with EFTPOS, i mean, seriously, who has cash these days? who?" Really wanted to point a specific finger at said customer, however continues to smile sweetly: "If you have any suggestions please take it up with the management." (Though on a different day i would probably say i totally agree with the customer. the system IS DUMB!)
I'm sounding like an insufferable bitch aren't i?

11 - Other issues: people getting cash out of my till to use for interval, i ran out of cash, had to get money from other till, which is troublesome as i hate it when my till doesnt balance at end of night, i'll be stuck forever, and more money means more trouble. gah. AND, stoopid and i mean really stooopid temp's keep serving drinks wrong or being genuinely confused but at the same time eager to work their arses off meaning they continually ask questions and the working pace slows. WHY WHY WHY do they have to put temps at the busy bar instead of distributing them evenly around other less stressful bars? *super uber grr*

12 - Ticketek broke down, so manuel ticketing is delaying the starting of the opera Faust (supposedly at 7.30pm), people in queue wants to buy drinks, but Robin the Sup for Theatre is telling Cresta the Sup for Food&Beverages to close down the bar right there and then at 7.24pm as rule by the book says bars close 6 mins prior show commences. BUT. Cresta wants to keep the bars open, as it is a chance to earn more money and also ease off the tension of people who are thirsty and waiting for tickets. "Keeping the customers happy" is a priority. HOWEVER. Robin is stressed since pressure is on him as far as i am aware, if show doesn't start ontime due to audience control, Opera Company can be very pissed at him since they will now have to pay the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra an extra call (lots and lots of $kaching $kaching). Though really Ticketek computer break down is just tough luck like shit happens and who should we blame at the end of the day? argh. it's like. everyone should just bite it and swallow the crap that's happening and go through with it. *headaches*

13 - Faust began at 8pm which is half hour late, meaning instead of finishing at 10pm we are finishing at at LEAST 11pm. argh. very pissed off. got more sulky when i was told i have to go on an unpaid half an hour break since this has just now officially became a 5+ hour call. Fuming by this time, when Cresta asked me to take a male temp to dump rubbish, but lo and behold, who to walk past, beaming, other than the said unwanted male person/object/thing/stuff/felt pen/penguin/nail polish/saucepan/carrot/lightbulb (who apparently got called in last minute due to situation being short-staffed) -- so Cresta unknowningly says why don't you take *unwanted male person/object/thing/stuff/scrap metal/Dettol/clock/gerbil* for a walk to the bottles disposal.

14 - me being brink of very furious angry tears, decided to order unwanted male person/object/thing/stuff/shoelace/toilet duck/badger/gibblywab to dump bottles himself while i try to relax in there corner with a cigaretta. Before i know it he was trying to get deep+personal asking very offensive questions like "Can I see your scars" and me all kindness and patience gone down the loo nearly stabbed him with burning cancer stick. *really really armoured up now*

15 - chainsmoked through my half hour break.

16 - Interval passed quickly. But becaused of those lovely highly intelligent temp's i ended up doing long distance travelling between the three bars, concurrently trying to avoid unwanted male person/object/thing/stuff/torch/stuffer/expander/tiser's frequent attempts trying to get me to accompany him to help with various legitimate tasks. Thanks to squarebob spongepants dear Kristy came to the rescue and kept me by her side until Cresta ordered me elsewhere.
In the end i was the last person to finish counting the effin till and to sign off, luckily to find loyal friends waiting for me, Margaret beaming and happy (obviously after a very pleasant shift, thanks to me! -- and yes, that did make me smile. lol)

17 - Us trio decided to hit the Town Hall for the Latin Dance Party'ish event and also to wait and fetch Gabrielle. Unfortunately Kristy got sprayed by odourous alcoholic liquid by drunkards who ran past. However we still walked in, and just as i was going to sneak hoping to dance my way til the morning in order to rid myself of horrible angry vibes buzzing all day, suddenly i see the uniformed unwanted male person/object/thing/stuff/zip/London pigeon/shaving cream/yoyo/explicative/explicative/explicative waving at me inside. Fuck! Double Fuck! i went upstairs to see Sophie, who texted earlier wanting to meetup for food and relaxing drinkies after.

18 - We got kicked out, so sat at the square to wait for Gabs + Sophie. Me chainsmoking. and chainsmoking. and chainsmoking. OOoooo. Never has chainsmoking been so good. And who to walk past now but one of my closest friend's horrible ex, Russell aka Manwhore. Slut. Dirty Inhigenic Cheating Scumbag. I was so startled i couldnt articulate those words and before I know it he was giving me the biggest hug. *Must. Soak. In. Bath. Of. Anti-Bacterial Detergent. Now*
He fucked off after the lame fake how are u banter. ew. double ew.

19 - so yeah by this time every second word i articulate is basically an explicative. Gabby arrived and we have O'porto's as we sat near Bledisloe Lane waiting for Sophie. Soon Kristy and Margaret were off getting Domino's Pizzas. lol. Sophie calls asking where I am, and just as I nearly finish my instructions she hangs up without warning. i was alarmed. and call me paranoid. but i had sneaky feeling it has to do with the 'lentilitis' last night. When she arrived, i exploded, because i was correct, she bumped into two very drunk girlfriends and had a brief awkward moment. Being the ever observant Sophie we both knew it wasnt nothing when she tells of the sneaky looks she saw and we figured that some info has been spillt without discretion or permission, and i was F.U.M.I.N.G. I could feel the calm before the storm. And even tho i didnt way "alright! this is the last straw" i could feel it coming. that whatever happens next will force me to have to make a decision.

20 - after pizzas (interrupted by drunk white suburban try hard boys who apparently just came out of rehab), Sophie and i resorted to The Occidental and eventually got good talk and good drinking done. lol.

T.H.A.N.K. Y.O.U. S.O.P.H.I.E. -- for being there when i was at my weakest.

The clouds have now parted
I can see the blue sky
It scares me
Blaring Bright.
A tad threatening
But I'm ready for it.

Revisit -- Some makes me...

How lazy is this. Please appreciate the genius in this, a blog entry about my blog, but hey! -- me being honest here, i'm having quite a strong reaction reading it all over again, (more precisely it's giving me a wee headache), but anyhoo, it is relevant, so there.

Ready for some kindergarten poetry?
Here we go...

A...A...Ahem!

Some makes me laugh
Some makes me cry
Some makes me go awww
Some makes me cringe

Some makes me cringe, then laugh
Some makes me cringe, and cringe even more
And the next sentence should really start with
Some but it won't work out
cuz all of it adds up to be me.




Dang it!

Ta - da!

PATHETICISSIMO!!! (hhookay that so doesnt look right or sound right should one attempt to pronounce it...)

P.A.T.H.E.T.I.C.

This is a record, abandoning my bloggy for what feels like a decade. well, more precisely it's been blank for.....(alritey must type-out-loud to work-the-mathematics)

nine days of March + April + May + June + July + August + September + ten days of October

= Six months and nineteen days!!!!!


Now let's can evaluate the possible reasons for such inactivity:
1-laziness
2-the fact that I'm living in Auckland a.k.a. Snobsville again means life is so boring there's nothing worthy to discuss (um. yes. im now officially lying on my profile, location Auckers not Wellytown)
3-laziness
4-my brainage clogged and began to find an existential state of denial, firmly believing I was still living in Welly thus ignoring everything happening around me, from the good to the bad
5-laziness
6-that eventually at the flip of a coin (yes, just as easy as that) i am back on track, working my arse off, making plans again, and start making fun as opposed to moaning and cursing at what i thought to be fun that is always elsewhere....all of this leads to
7-lack of sleep, therefore
8-laziness
9-various levels of 'lost-sheepiness' from all of emotional mental spiritual intellectual apsects i mean aspects
10-laziness

(yusss....finally made it to "10 things that lead to blog emptiness")
and okay that was supposed to be vaguely chronological.

Reasons to start blogginess again:

1-I cant be stuffed thinking up reasons rite now, considering i need to wheen in the writing again this entry is already too lengthy and i am getting tired thus..
2-laziness

Tchus.

Promise: this is seriously not the peak condition of my writing (hm...what peak?) -- my vocab and grammar is flushing right down the looloo. but! promise will proof-read etc better next time.

Blogville helps me study....oboe is a girl??!!

okay.
so here i am trying to fish out gems in this textbook to support my modernist oboe repertoire essay.......
and what!
i found the following and as i waffle on i might as well document it here
(what lies below....some of which does appeal to me obviously, since i'm a girl with an oboe, ya! -- but some of it is just plain doofus of a doofus i mean what the heck and i dont give a shugar and shit i'm running out of vocab here so see for yourself before this sentence needs a breathe mark)

"In the 20th Century the oboe continued to be identified with femininty: it plays the role of female protagonist in Richard Strauss (ya!)'s tone poems Don Quixote and Don Juan; literature is likewise scattered with references to the oboe as the 'lady amongst the wind instruments'. (awww -- says me. stop being so sopply soppy woppy Joy!) In 1941 Nicholas Bssaraboff described the modern oboe as 'an ultra-refined, almost effeminate descendant and the sole survivor of what at one time promised o be a complete family of oboes'.

dot. dot. dot.

As we have seen, this engendering was not conditioal on the gender of the player, but today the oboe can no longer be thought of as a fragile being dominated by a masculine artist. Professional oboe playing, formerly an exclusively male prerogative, was opened up to women in teh early twentieth century, and this has influenced the personal of the oboe. In 1917 the first woman oboist was admited to the Paris Conservatoire. Odette Rey - daughter of an oboist, was the only woman admitted by Georges Gillet at the Paris Conservatoire. (accepted by Gillet! who wrote like the Bible of oboe studies....)

dot. dot. dot.

Leon Goossens believed that 'the oboe was very much the lady of the orchestra'.....

....and similar rhetoric often appeared in the reviews of his playing: ' We think of the oboe among instruments as the "Lass with the Delicate Air" (more like squeeezed through hardly a hole sort of air!). She did not step out of her character, to be sure - she could not be other than herself - yet there was a scope of performance in the hands or at the lips of Leon Goossens which presented a new vista of tonal possibilities.'

and here's a wee interview...
(hmm i'm giving quite a lecture aren't i?)
Nora Post: One of the most fascinating things you've said is that you feel the oboe is a lady.
Leon Goossens: Yes.
NP: And I fee that it's definitely a man!
LG: Well, I suppose it depends upon your inclination....You noticce the oboe is used on TV and on the radio whenever it's something that is very romantic.
NP: Well, why does romanticism have to be something with women?
LG: Well, from the man's point of view, of course it is.
NP: So you think the oboe is a woman because you're a man, and I think it's a man because I'm a woman!....That's the only answer
Evelyn Rothwell: Do you think that it can take on the characterist of both?
LG: An androgynous oboe? I don't know!

(okay that is definitely squiggly squaggly wiffly waffly....what! gender issues man! it's like now the oboe's got this sexuality identity crisis! -- enough said! -- we have enough to worry about! i mean those reeeds....)

continue...

'Young ladies' might have been able to show their worth on the oboe, but in teh orchestras they still had a battle to fight. It was alleged that they wre uuited to the strain of long rehearsals and strenuous performances and that they distracted their male co-workers. (okay here they actually had a footnote reference, so this is not just some stooopid dooofus crap for opinions' sake - apparently!) The following statement attributed to Sir Thomas Beecham is as chauvinistic as it is pompous:

I do not like, and never will, the association of men and women in orchestras and other instrumental combinations...My spirits is torn all the time between a natural inclination to let myself go and the depressing thought that I must behave like a gentleman. I have been unable to avoid noticing that the presence of a half dozen good-looking women in the orchestra is a distinctly distracting factor. As a member of the orchestra once said to me, 'If she is attractive, I can't play with her; if she is not, then I won't.'

OOOOHHHKAY!
by this point i was so laughing off my chair i am in absolutely no mood suitable to write an intelligent and 'unbiased' bloody piece of crap of an essay.
*inhale good air*
*exhale crap air*

so what on earth was going on in that brain of his when he said "A NATURAL INCLINATION TO LET MYSELF GO?"

somehow i dont think it was his brain talking at that point in time...

La Vie Est Ailleurs - Life is Elsewhere

woa it's St. Patty's today!!!!!
ARGH....

I want my life back!
Time for blogville to turn todally domestic.
Life at home sux.
Life without oboe sux.
Life without a job sux.
Life without cigarettes.....sux?
Life with extra 10kgs sux.
Life with scars sux.
Life without Student ID and privilages sux.
Life without a car sux.
Life with parents sux.......when it shouldn't suck!
(there you go, just to break out of the EXES)

and the highlight of my day: an awesome phonecall (okay maybe we've had better but this one was a life-saving one) with Brentlejuice -- ya! where i couldnt help but like nearly flooded the telephone with my tears. it's great to bawl your eyes out sometimes. and i mean the whole package. the brink of panic attack. the embarrassment. the absolute hatred. the apologies that just climbs out of my mouth cuz i couldnt say anything else. the admitting -- to falling back to my weaknesses and old ways. sometimes i'm just like damn i'm so immortal it's not funny nothing is ever going to change cuz circle is the most beautiful(in other words ugly) and frustrating thing in this peanuty existence.


and i dont give a shit for poos if this sounds so highschool.
just as you can't wait to grow up, you can't stand being old.

LIFE IS ALWAYS ELSEWHERE!
it hurts when you know it's not where you are,
but it hurts even more when you know where it should be but you can't get there!!!!!

meanwhile i sit here....gently rotting away...
and i cant leave this song alone....

Let’s dance in style, lets dance for a while/Heaven can wait we’re only watching the skies/Hoping for the best but expecting the worst/Are you going to drop the bomb or not?
Let us die young or let us live forever/We don’t have the power but we never say never/Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip/The music’s for the sad men/
Can you imagine when this race is won/Turn our golden faces into the sun/Praising our leaders we’re getting in tune/The music’s played by the madmen

Forever young, I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever

Some are like water, some are like the heat/Some are a melody and some are the beat/Sooner or later they all will be gone/Why don’t they stay young
It’s so hard to get old without a cause/I don’t want to perish like a fading horse/Youth is like diamonds in the sun/And dimonds are forever
So many adventures couldn’t happen today/So many songs we forgot to play/So many dreams are swinging out of the blue/We let them come true

Forever young, I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever

Old Book Needs a New Cover

Okay so i found this in the shitty bitten crap doofus of a notebook, which I wrote on my trip back to Taiwan. I am yet to write anything about it cause it leaves me feeling rather emptied out.
I'm not sure if i make sense to myself anymore, i mean hello just look at the following!
But some may say it is trash, some may not. I'm swinging between the two right now, so i mite as well dump it here:


"Old Book Needs a New Cover"

Let us re-define
the deep and the meaningful?
Nope. It's the deep and the meaningless
And mystery in the useless
I'm the collector
(yawn)

Fetishes - the new thirst
Honesty - the new ketchup
Cigarette fumes - the new purple
But confusion is not the new clarity.

"Why" - my favourite question
"Dunno" - my faviourite answer
Probably. But then..... (I dunno)

Now and always.

Grass suddenly tastes like glass
While rain tints the hairs on my back
I wish I'm the bruised raven
bathing in the morning moonlight

Shivers
Comfort awaits.

---------------

Man! *&^%%^#^&%*
as i type this i'm not sure if i like it at all!!!!
what the fuck!!!
but i'm not going to edit this post.
argh. screw it.
something good will come up.
:)
....meanwhile i'm dying to have a cancer stick.......

Submergence - Apple - Inhale

Inhale....apple.

Exhale.....?!?!?!
This is what cancer stick feels like.

And sometimes it feels like love.
But.

No.

So what do we do?

We.

Submerge.

Ben

Quiet, heavy, solemn.
Sandy Hair.
Struck.
Frozen.
Moving, but still.
Calm, Muddy, Grey seas.
Particles in my toes.
Drops in my pink skirt.
Scruched at my feet.
no. wait.
clinched in my hands!
(knuckles burning white)

i worry about my legs.
-----------------------
what do they look like?

but snap happy he goes.

a living reminder.

he made everything new.
and reminds me daily: we are free.
of gravity

i felt watered.
a singing tree.

next time: i shall ask him.
and if we live in canada.
we'll go skating on the ice.

our silhouettes
are quiet
i'm no longer a skeleton
because, not, allowed.

Ripened Fruit

Persimmons....

i dont understand persimmons very well. i dont understand many things for that matter.being happy.knowing, and remembering it. pulling your lips to a widening smile. eyes widening too. when you dont even know what it is. being happy. some damn'd mystery. just cause' it is undeniably natural. is it what we are capable of? is it a frightening power?

and i am forever drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

one day, i was given a new box of pastels. oil pastels. faber castle. they are strange. tough. polished. but not entirely accesible.
i grind it into the paper. and rubbed the oranges and yellows.

three persimmons.on a blue, unreal, fake, make-believe wishful thinking kind of checkered blue.
the way a child thought a sky should look like. (except i always thought it was blue organza over black gown, even on the lightest day)

mother loved it so much. hung it up like a trophy. or something to hold on to.

to me, three pieces of fruit never meant much.
at least far less than what it means to mother.
(she probably jus enjoyed the colours)
(or simply because i am her baby)
i try to imagine her thoughts of me as a baby. and now still one.
i guess she knew then,that i will leave, and lose myself, before i shall return.

yesterday,
i returned.

once again, i sat on the rug. leaning against the bookcase.
gazing up at the infinite warmth.
breathing slowly. tasting them.
they brought light into this hallway.
or more?

i realise, and remembers.
of a time.
when i dont have to paint and know the answer.
but just to paint and ask.
paint.
and wonder.

i'm a toddler once again.
and i hear her say,
"it's okay. for today. just enjoy the colours".

yeah.
okay.

Names - Overkill

Those Dang Silly Phases.

Wait: how do you call a phase that doesnt go away???

I want: two turtles, two rabbits, two cats, and a dog.
I want: two tortoises, two rabbits, two cats, and a Lab Retriever.
I want: two tortoises ("One" and "two"), two rabbits one of which has floppy ears, two cats (twins?), and a black Lab Retriever.
I want: two turtoises ("Rasputin" and "Topaz"), two rabbits ("Placid and Bono"), two cats ("Dee" and "Flozzah") and a Lab Retriever.
I want....

*humph*
I've thought about this quite a lot havn't i?
anyways, let's get to the point.
wait.
what is it again?

okay.
right.
now.
my point being!!!
-- sooner or later you realise you need to move on from yoru childhood goldfishes...
and before you know it you are finding clown'sh clownie little wittle Nemos...


it's called aging.
(maybe)

Bored (Post Killing Game)

A Luxury!!!!

So let's ......

Play dead.

Afterwards:

We can go eat some Ginger Kisses...

(Mmmmm)

Hair

Last night cat dyed my hair.

It is now wheat-grass dry.
But i'm not.

and i look purple black...



yup.

The Frigidaire Is Alone

(originally in French)

So as not to live alone, we live with a dog
Surround ourselves with roses, or worship a cross

So as not to live alone, we choose make-believe
Loving a memory, a shadow, any old thing

So as not to live alone, we live for Spring
And when Spring is gone, we live for next Spring

So as not to live alone, I love you and I'll wait
It give me the illusion, that I'm not alone

So as not to live alone, some girls love girls
And some boys, marry other boys

So as not to live alone, some have children
Children who are alone, like all children

So as not to live alone, we build cathedrals
Where all the lonely souls, hang on to a star

So as not to live alone, I love you and I'll wait
It give me the illusion, that I'm not all alone.

Fog...

It's quite nice sometimes to dream of dissolving into the fog.

Where Is Tomorrow?

rape alarms, like warning signs in the dark.
bats, soaring through narrow strips of black light.
is this where my dream begins?

suddenly.
home calls to me.
"i'm scared for you, what if you fall?"
"i'm scared for you, he's going to break you....?"
voice of a kind friend.
words that has became true.
fresh. new.

i'm already breaking.
just broken pieces shattering into even smaller pieces.
piece.
by piece.


it doesn't matter, anyways.


but, abruptly.
but, immediate.
but,the sun.
the cafe.
the favourite spot.
of thick wooden frames and black fake leather seats and illusionistic mirrors.
our reflections are not the only illusions.
and i cant let them go.
my heart still ponders.
pausing to remember the swift gazes.
when he too, has left.


that's what we all want, anyways.


i'm the child.
i'm the toxic wasteland.
so dare to love me.
sing me to bed.
and i will, at last, stop hoping.

Concerto for Double Bass

FUCK.

DOUBLE FUCK.

There. That's about it for today.
A lot of anger happening. Can't release it...except with my usual ways.
*shrug*

However, thought i should post and share the following recent discovery.
So as not to waste this post discussing my otherwise empty life.
How's that for blatancy?

"Concerto for Double Bass"

He is a drunk leaning companionably
Around a lamp post or doing up
With intermittent concentration
Another drunk's coat.

He is a polite but devoted Valentino,
Cheek to cheek, forgetting the next step.
He is feeling the pulse of the fat lady
or cutting her in half.

But close your eyes and it is sunset
At the edge fo the world. It is the language
Of dolphins, the growth of tree-roots,
The heartbeat slowing down.

(John Fuller-Poems from underground)

I Shall Always Be...

his little girl.



...the warmth of your hand. still lingers in mine.
...i pray one day soon, we will re-unite again.
...on the day when christ came to us...
...when i will be unleashed from the blades...

and you, my heroic warrior. my guardian angel.

...in the dawn.
...where our naked hearts could float.
...weightless.

dry eyes of mine. i do not weep.
because i love you Pa...
i'm with you wherever you are.
and i know you are with me.

In The Quiet Of The Night

....i can't get this out of my head...

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

------------------------------------

"Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there...I do not die."

Is That So?

was it just last week?
i can barely remember the love that just began.
seems like it has already died.
i wanted it to grow.
so now i'm all hollowed out.
emptied.
small.

and what is simple is unattainable.
i'm bored with silliness.
being generous.
being content.
being kind.
being oblivious to oneself's goodness and the danger and potential harm that underlies it.

what is carelessly given is not carelessly received.
it's funny, that we tell ourselves we feel warm with an embrace from a beautiful young stranger.
that somethings can be understood without words.
without knowledge of one's condition.
the whispers of "everything will be alright" still echoes in my ear.
i remember the urge to talk back at him: "no it won't. I don't believe you".
but i so wanted him to be right, for his words to be true. i stopped myself. hesitated.

but echoes are only echoes. nothing more.
no matter what the need, it grow ever so distant.
i am unseen, therefore it is like everything else: without meaning.

A Different Kind of Hell

there are no different kinds really.
Hell is hell.
There's no choice within that...

I picked up Constantine on the shelves the other night.
Just had to see "hell" again.

One of the makers, says, the winged demons, from hell, have no legs, their bodies swing and twists about when they fly on those huge wings.
The trouble with beasts without legs is that they could never land.
The inspiration came from a time when he was at a bar in Yugoslavia. How exotic!
The liquor was offered on stemmed glassware, with the stems broken off....so you have to finish your drink, before you could put it down, otherwise you lose the rest of your drink, it spills everywhere...
That! is a different kind of pain in itself!

So many times we wish we have wings so we can soar in the skies. The closest physical state with which we relate with our ideals of freedom.
But imagine, that you have to soar in the skies forever, never being able to land.
Hell is really torture...

Morning Poem

By myself.
Warmth feeding through the fan.
I cling on to the wet towel.
Digging my nose into the damp scent.

Childlike. Bunched.

Morning hair. Drips.
Still.
No more shivers.
I have lost my way.

Soul dictated by dreams.
When dreams are dead.

Only heat, holds me...

Sleep. Dreamless.

I'm going to bed. At last.
I so wish i could sleep well tonight.
The week has been too long.
Drowned in sounds, footsteps, deep breaths, a tui that seemed to have taken residence on a tree outside. I'm so sure it hasn't been there before.

I wish everyone else could sleep just as well.

Tuesdays and Saturdays

A new type of journal. Dilligent diary keeping. The before. The after. And everything in-between. We have to work out the patterns, she says.
So we can stop the patterns.

And you are also not allowed. Two days next week. You choose. As if it matters. So i said "Tuesday and Saturday". And that she writes down. "And that doesn't mean on other days you have permission."

I started to cry. "It is too hard." I don't want to stop.

Don't want it to be the last thing remaining of me, when I leave. What a fear.
Does she even know she's implanted seeds for this new distaste.
But anything to stop me. Does this mean it's getting better.

It only increases. More and more frequent. More and more severe.
More and more substantial each time.
Larger the dose.
Deeper the insertions.
Harder to feel.
As I grow more blunt.

I can hum softly most of the time.
Today though, an ancient story jolts in my memory.
In the Victorian times. Men wore earrings. The trend began with sailors. Who carried the fees for their burials on themselves, on their earlobes. The rings pay for the cost required to gain a resting place, if they were lost at sea and found on foreign lands.
For those people, how frightening is it, to leave their homeland?
For them, there really is no return.
Or it's the same for all of us, just some of us never realise.

Oh Crap!

It seems so ironic that i couldn't resist to HAVE to post this picture i found today.
considering it's titled "Crap...it's raining". and it's actually the 3rd-day-in-a-row that is ABSOLUTELY SUNNY in windy welly.
But i can't help it. as soon as i saw the teeth of this strange man i can sense his anguish, it was captured so right, i can't stop chortling.

but ANYWAYS, guess what i found today...

---> the remaining of tablet that took "flight" the other night. it's in a pile of white powder almost looking like it's cemented into a patch on my carpet.
(ok, how can powder 'cement' into something i dont know, i'm running out of words here)

GAH!

what is happening to this world?!?!?!

Dancing My Way To Death

*warning: substantial quoting*
I got out "Strictly Ballroom" again. I remember how much of a crush i had on paul mercurio the first time i watched it! This time i happened upon his blog and discovered the man's versatile talents other than dancing and choreography....
anyways. there was a poetry section, and i found something that really resonated in me..
two poems he wrote after his brother took his own life.
*tears*
i've been thinking about them ever since and got them out almost every morning to ponder over..might not be so good for me but helps me face my fears...
(i don't really know aye)

----- ----- -----
Here's what Paul wrote:
----- ----- -----
"I wrote the following two poems as a way of dealing with my brothers suicide. The first I wrote whilst doing a movie in the Gold Coast. It was six months after. I was imagining what I would say to me if I killed myself - imagined what my brother would say to me.
The second I wrote in Echua - a beautiful little town in Victoria. I was on a BMW motorcycle safari, we had the day off in Echuca - it was my brothers birthday - a year after. He spoke to me - perhaps we argued, I wrote and I know I cried a lot."

When I die
I shall leave my pain behind
I beg, please don’t pick it up
Let it roll into the gutter
And be swept away by the rain
As for your pain
Don’t treasure it as a lasting memory of me
Let it go, as you must let me
not a hole for sadness
But a place of reflection
For all of life’s gifts
A place of joy
To reflect on and be grateful for
Our time together.

(May 2001)

its not that i don’t love you/its that i don’t love me/how can i love another?/if i myself am loveless

its not enough that you love me/or that the world pours down radiant love in abundance/inside me it is perennially dark/untouched by the caressing hand/of anyones love/not yours/not gods/not mine

i am barren and seek only an end

do not offer me hope/for it does not exist in this place/do not ask of me faith/for it too wanders aimless/do not try to save me from this pain/for it only hurts me more/to witness your pity

i ask you to forget me/so as to save you from taking my pain/and making it yours

to live in pain is to seek an end/i am not afraid

you can, must and are able to move on/to grow/to nurture/to love/Go/Begin

(November 2001)

Darn Those Tablets

okay. so i picked my tablets today. and the capsules.
i'm suppose to start on tablets then the capsules.
i'm supposed to cut the first tablet in quarters, have one quarter each day for four days.
i'm supposed to cut the second and third tablets in halves and have one half each day for four days.
i'm supposed to have one capsule each day after that.

what actually happened:
i picked up my knife. cut the first tablet in half. one half flew across the room and is never to be found.
i cut the remaining half in quarters, except one quarter collapsed into powder and one tiny bit of tablet just under one quarter remains of it.
i ended up swallowing the undamaged quarter and the damaged one.

darn those tablets!

i also lost my scissors (my special slightly rusty metal black garden scissors) - in a lavatory in lambton quay old bank building. i just noticed it now.
don't ask me how they ended up there.

darn!

AND! - i had to do laundry like absolutely had to. so i got up at 9am to do so but guess what new flatmate decided to do the same and beat me to it. what's more i was waiting for him to finish but he shoved in another load. fuck! now i have no undies left i had to resort to my bikini bottoms. i might regret sharing this on a later date but right now just need to let off my steam.

*fume*

(it's great isnt it. to have a truly wonderful day, in every way. and be able to get angry at the tiniest pea-sized stooopid stuff. how. how. hoooow do i do that?)

Fairytruths...

Bleeding for Breath.
Drug drunken eyes.
Fearful of self-portraits.

We roll on beds like infants. The high ceilings concealing our identity:
Our bones made of snow, not ready to melt.
Our skin of blades of green grass, not ready to tear.
Limbs of remorse.
Home is non-existent.

Procelain Goldfishes Hanging from the Sky, they glower.Towering. Like Gods and Constellations.
These are to replace our shooting stars.
We wish upon each others roast marshmellows, under electric blue flames.

Before we blow it all out.
Hearing the light-weight hissing. It is not from the bon-fire.
Pagan. Witchcraft - almost.
Triviality - Death is seen in every photograph.
Static now, that was then liquidating.
Every particle, every frame, every strand, every smear.
Every untangible smell mixed in the atmospheric palette.
Every gap amidst the threads - the in-between's of the blacks and whites of the compressed glitters in one's now immortal, forever locked eyes.
Let ourselves fall out.

Beneath the stills.
We wish. and wish. and wish.
and dance.

Don't care what you wish for.

Poetry Dog Tag - 09.09.05

Begin, Beyond, With, Word, Behind, Blues, Heart, Here.
Fool, Never, Exit, Night, Eyes, Fragile.
Feel, Nectar, Fall, Fast.
Begin, Behind, With, Word, Beyond, Blues, Heart, Here.
Never, Exit, Eyes, Fool, Fragile, Eyes.
Muse, My, Most, Naked, End.

Recipe for a Good Evening

Favourite Hoodie, favourite, black flared sleeve-fronts.
Favourie scarf.
Great Hair with new shades gradulating through.
$3 earrings.
Visit Uni Stop (the Fairytale of Dairies) to get cash out, along with a Lift Plus I won't finish. Chocolate Biscuit: Cookie Times' New "Chocolate Fix" - "The Biscuit that thinks it's a Chocolate Bar.." with Golden uncrumpled packaging.
Hmm...it says to make it from Great to Marvellous, Shove the Biscuit in the Microwave for 15 seconds...except there's no microwave at the bus stop. Will have to try it at home next time. Except who eats large chocolate cookies at home?
Death Cab for Cutie compilation playing, easing my ear-ache.
Words that past like waves past me.
*Shhhhhhh* it seems to say. Or is that just the wind.
Waiting for the bus, getting colder and more still.
Grocery shopping, choosing hams and cheeses and pickles.

Looking forward to my own sandwich tomorrow.

----- ----- ----- -----

I started reading my first Jodi Picoult today.
The heater blowing and shuffling repeatedly at the pages.

"There are some dreams that get stuck between your teeth when you sleep, so that when you open your mouth to yawn awake they fly right out of you."

It is the funniest thing I've ever heard. It almost makes nightmares seem that easy: like a bad breath, from forgetting to brush your teeth before bed because you are all grown up and who needs their mother to remind them...and with one toothbrush and paste, and cold fresh morning tap water, the scary chilly remains will be shed away. Those white Halloweens and Blue Easters and Maroon Christmas Trees and Black Wedding dresses.

Birds started to chirp at 4.47am... Insomnia is my best friend again.

A Simple Week...A Simple Life...

First week has gone by so quickly, upon return from NYO tour.
Good days are ahead. Suddenly feel light.

Sunday...
It started looking bright, on the bus ride down South.
Tears running down my cheeks to music seeping from my ipod, and farewell text messages from another soul running dry at the other end of the island..
Feeling a big gap forming, excited at the anticipation of what will fill it up, wee bit fearful of the unknown.


Monday...
Had no trouble getting out of bed, strolled down to Courtnenay Place for blood test, later to walk around sporting a trophy on my arm in the shape of a rather attractive, colourful looking bruise that didnt cease for days.
Time passed in a flash, lunch in the sun, with happy company and favourite salads - spicy kumara. *yummy*
A comfort in complete exhaustion, and self-satisfaction in seemingly making no effort to meet deadlines and obligations, from Monday Showcase to some empty sight-reading at Debussy, to the non-changing chronic approach with which we render Symphony Fantastique at youth orchestra, everyone pretending to be oblivious to the insult we place on an ancient artist's creation.. Who knows it is corroding us bit by bit by the minute...
Though only had own bed for one night, tonight was spent at another's. Falling asleep over domestic yet touching story of "Spanglish", and a brief encounter with the strange singer flat-mate who seemed desperate to be discrete at the same time finding it hard to resist eves-dropping. He is weird. Or I am easily persuaded by general prejudice. (Not so bad if it gives the 'prejudiced' more freedom?) I find humour in the awkwardness and find it hard not to smile in my sleep as my friend speculates and observes his discomfort.


Tuesday...
In the morning came a delightful text message from Kate: " Hey Honey how r u doing?How was tour ?Wat r u up to tonight?If ur not doing much can i take u for coffee?"
Three hours of orchestra (haven't had that in ages, hardly needed that much these days) passed in a wink, with a lovely evening to look forward to.
Really doesn't do it any justice, walking into Fidel's for the first time (yes, how can I manage to never set my foot in there for so long I will never understand.) I remember the LOTR phase and watching a documentary where Dominic and Elijah said..." This is our favourite cafe....Fidel's....in Cuba Mall...". How funny! Surreal..
Too close almost.
Had the bestest Mocca. The back, outdoor-sy section of the Cafe was hidden paradise. Somehow, Kate said, on Saturday night, bringing herself with a book, she can find this popular place surprisingly deserted. Walls of grundgy-toucheable-edgy-modern-DIY artworks of metals and woods and nails and paints and meshes and prints.....accompanied by cheap glossy-waxy candles and pot plants hanging down. Needless to say, I feel in love with the place in seconds.
We had great conversations. Confronting, but comfortable. Genuine, slightly serious, but great food for the soul. Afterwards, I visisted her awesome flat of dark red walls, thick wooden panels and thick stain glass artworks for windows on doors. Excited to be taught of a wonderful Wellingtonian singer: Leila Adu who is now a new and regular thing i switch on daily upon my return home. Glancing around, a picture of a dark cross in shadows caught my eye, and questions led to Kate showing me an astonishing collection of abandoned photographs shelved and boxed away by it's owner - one whom i'v heard so much of, somehow he has taken up an idealistic impression in my mind as a once loved young fearless warrior of real, generous virtues. Tangible and reacheable and yet so highly regarded. I was near brink of tears just viewing the images. So much can be communicated without speaking, he has no idea a life is already changed. The pictures left me hopeful again, thinking that I could be doing the same thing, affecting people without knowing.
Now the borrowed pictures sits on my bench in a pile which i shuffle through almost everyday.
"I have come as light into the world.
You are the ocean."
One of them says.

Got home at 10pm so as to charge my phone and not miss a much anticipated phone call from Cat.
Needless to say. My battery continues to run out again and again.
Tonight, reminds me so much of what I've forgotten: how much great conversations with great souls could be wholesome and healthy for each other.
We talked of many things. The trivial, the close to heart. The daily rituals. Coffee and Cancer Sticks. Television and Couches. Nights at pubs and evenings at home. Baking cakes at 11 in the night, when the rest of the house sleeps. Drinking yourself silly, till you still feel like chucking at 11 in the morning.
Lollies and Diets. Movies we saw. Movies to see. Movies we would write. Films....and life without. Love and lack of. Intimacy and platonic friendships. Leaving and coming. Giving and taking. Boundaries. Freedoms. Falling from grace.
Pets and People. Fools and Kings. Musicians and Film-buffs. Unwanted boyfriends and wanted trombone players. Us the straight's and them the not-so-straight's. Writers and motocyclists.
Errogance vs. Passion: illusion of fulfillment at knowledge of the world (as if every piece once known to you is yours), vs. acceptance and the taking part in the infinite mysteries we exist within.
and...
Something so funny that it is too delightful for us to remember. It was secretive, scathing, hypocritical, and far too clever.
Only sad things seem to last.
But still, I fell asleep peacefully. Not lightly. But at least without wishes of not waking up.
A grateful and happy prayer was said in the spirit of best intentions.


Wednesday...
..went by in a blur.
Feldenkrais in the morning was lovely if not painful. Practically went straight to my problem areas.
Afterwards left me feel like I am so recovered I could play and practice for five years straight without a break.
Trust THAT to happen! The only problem was that when I got to bed my neck was in so much pain my pillow was too tall and I could not sleep on it. Who knows, the next day I was to wake and not be able to touch my instrument for the entire day because the entirety of my neck feels like it is twice its size full way round I couldn't swallow solids. and MAN do i sound like a hypocondriac.

Appointment with Doctor Susie was boring, disappointing, unresolved. Repetitive , irritating and boring.
Annoying and boring. Boring, and boring.
I do not bear new grudges or wish to have any against another human being. Except I can't help but feel that if I were in her shoes, it's almost immediate and the easiest thing to assume your understanding once you hear the symptoms. I am no longer anonymous, at the same time I am. I am recognised, and subsequently shelved as another case belong to a certain catergory. This I do not like. But at the same time I decided not to let her down (which may ultimately let myself down), and told myself it is her job that she's doing, and she's 'only human' (which I basically just tell myself at times when I wish it to become the ultimate excuse that will leave my brain in peace of any other questions and doubts). Heck. We all have bad days sometimes. And at least, she is still showing passion for her work. Sometimes the two really doesn't mix, and we rub that air off one another far too often.
Or perhaps the conversations last night were just too good, today's seems over-cooked.

Moods took a surprising turn afterwards, as the hour of lesson approaches stress left me in tears again.
I feel incapable to play anything I see on the page. Instead made up my mind that I shall talk my way through the lesson, truthfully. Scary thing to do. But now I could say I've done it. Though not in the most flattering manner, but at least not in the most indignifying way. Bobby was thankfully very understanding and supportive. :o)

Thursday..
can't remember.
Oh. yes. Forgot to eat. Sore. That's about it.
Tried to read. Didn't work.
By 8.30 was shaking and had trouble typing, still not aware I havnt eaten. Got up and made some favourite Vanilla Expresso Chai Tea. What an idiot! By 10 o'clock finally clicked. Bedtime last feed was instant noodles.
(Hah....what can you expect eh?)



Friday...
Finally began Elliot Carter "Inner Song - Trilogy" aka. "most impossible to put together piece of shite for music".
Okay i didn't really mean that did i? It is wonderful. Brand new ensemble experience.
Ingrid is lovely as the harpist. I am sounding like a plain idiot who cannot count.
I have never spent 2 hours on 5 bars of music before. Hmm.....life's new ventures certainly takes me....very far....

After orchestra got invited by Gemma to her 'house' which she's house-sitting for dinner.
Walked in the house and there sits a puddle. Oooops. Daisy the dog peed on the floor. Euuuuw...
Reminds me of Hermie, Cat! The quietest dog you have to go hunting for her around the house calling out her name. And then she'll stroll by almost-90%-silently. *pad pad pad* Most most most shwweetest nose and ears. I suddenly didnt really mind cleaning after the pee....
I want a dog!!!!! Had enough of gold-fish!!! Can't afford turtles... *meh*
(mind you. before i walked in she was barking like peanuts at me....and everything else for that matter).
Afterwards we went to NZ String Quartet concert. They played masters' last works. I've decided I'm in no rush to like Beethoven. Opening work of Mendelssohn was wonderful: they seemed to have lived and breathed together. Bartok changed my life though. Couldn't help but flood myself with tears. So that made it a really beautiful evening. :)


Saturday...
A walk to the Botanical Gardens.
Bought a jellytip ice-cream on the way home (tag "something along the lines of " - line: 50 years of good ol' fashioned kiwi fun!)....it occured to me that the pink in it totally doesnt match the blues and blacks of my outfit today: fishnets, new slippers, and my old blue 60's style wide-flared Levi's...
Hm....so. Anybody gets concerned these days that their ice-cream don't match their clothes?
A white old 'hooter' of a car drove past with scruffy, unshaven weekend youth. Unlike the usuals (of avoiding gaze), it becomes easy to stare back as i take a bite. "so what?!" i say. it's funny what they do to you, demanding the same anguish and draw it out of you in a matter of seconds. Urgh. feels a bit grotesque.
i walk downhill and past a white fence, one which i usually take no special notice (other than that yeah it's white so i know it's white now and shall remember it's white thus stop looking at it everytime i walk past now i know it's white). But today, along with the hums of Beck's "Everybody's Gota Learn Sometimes", I spotted a dark, thickly outlined heart embedded on one of the white fence panels. It's kinda cute. Now I'll look forward to finding it everytime I walk past. Ah.....things we use to secure ourselves.
Going to Zeal tonight, first time. Excited. A Cafe for worship. "BluePrint on Saturday Nights" they call themselves. Next to a homeless gathering ground - Glover Park, and "Checkmate", a gay message parlour...
How patriotic.

Blueprint turned out to be SUCH a great night.
Kate informs me the evening will begin with Matty (flatmate of Travis who brought Kate to Blueprint) playing some new songs he wrote. We found amusement in a story Kate tells, of a conversation between her and Matty on great classical music in which he expressed his love for the "sophisticated" *ahem* piece: "Queen of Sheba" which left me chortling everytime I think of it. What about Ravel! The world is so great out there I shall feel so delighted that he'll have so much more to enjoy, if Queen of Sheba was so much to him already.
Now we couldn't help but refer to Matt secretly as the "Queen of Sheba".

So. The Queen of Sheba sang three pieces. Two guitars. Two singers. One word titles. Naming pieces on the spot. "Honesty". "Peace" ("yeah well, it's called Peace. i mean, it's now called Peace cuz i jus named it Peace jus now. that'll have to do")...and something else i cant remember but which i like the most, asking God to show him things to see that will continue to break his heart.

The talks that evening were amazing. I feel refilled again.
One thing I cannot forget was the two girls painting in the background.
The cafe has modern, red lighting at the bar and other dimmed stage lights. Behind the stage, was a canvas on the side. Two girls were using white and blue paint to work with. Later we find out, they were painting a "hungry person". A person in need. Would you call it exhibitionistic? I'm not sure. But the amazing thing was the generosity in being exposed of to others and inviting everyone to take part in observing the intimate workings of creating a painting. The other thing I loved was the communication without words, two people not talking just painting. There could be reconciliation, or conflict, and millions of other things. But suddenly I have an urge to do this: instead of asking friend out to a movie, why not extend an invitation to "paint with me"?
Oh well, just a thought.

Later that night, talked with quite a few people. The party intended to extend the night to Havana, but we ended up invading Fidels again. We had the best hot chips.Got invited to a day-trip next to the beach. Catch the train. Fish n' Chips. And a Mongolian BBQ/party. It was nice, awkward, tiring, to be around so many people of varying calibre.
Overwhelming and strangely familiar.

At the end of the night, when i got home, Kate prayed for me.
Thank you so so much Kate!