March & April, 2024

kermit the frog; without colour / you say that i’m extraordinary

april 30th, 2024

dear you! i love you so much. i could cry with relief and love and everything else that’s meant for you to see. one day i am going to give you a call on christmas to tell you a secret story; i’m a crying fraud and i do not deserve the world’s eyes. in fact, you may be the only one with a working pair. somehow they belong to me too. generously you offer. one day i will knock at your front door like a freak and make you happy like a brand-new puppy, and an innocent overbearing proud fool who cannot leave his middle-daughter alone. or you him? i take from you only what you have given me; i am decent and your delivery is far from respectable. we are so good when we are bad. given me you have, plentifully. beautifully even; like no else. a one of a kind individual. let me borrow your generosity and perhaps affection will come to me with much more ease. leaning over and placing my head on your lap will put me to sleep for the first time in seven sacred years. i must be my best present self with you. i am bright and bushy-tailed again; happy and cheerful and unapologetic. i do not think, for i know you know. i missed you so badly! it’s a fleeting kind of thing. i forget until now how long it’s been, and how much i love you

you say meeting me makes you sad. you say you will not meet someone like me for a very long time. i am scared about you. but not so much anymore; you will live. you will live. i have broken through to the dry barren landscape of your world and it’s come to me lush and green as a result of my beautiful penmanship. you know i wrote us down on paper first? i had to see the words in inky bliss before i could ever imagine us; laying a hand, laying down, laying the footwork to rest a dancing body. we, drinking cherry juice and your expensive wine, gulping down your every touch. i want you to be allowed into my life like one very tall pine tree. intrusive you. you who wants to know me. i want to guzzle down your neck the sweetest nectar and i want to see your face the next morning; in your size too-big t-shirt and that sadistic look you get when you’ve seen too much of me for too long; when i know i need to get away from you and wait to be new and fresh and shiny again. but that will never happen again, baby! because we are each other’s lovely little girls, our mothers. do not call me a baby, you know the way it pisses me off. i will ask you how in all these years you have not gone insane. we whisper sweetly to each other things that nobody should hear, and we make up great lies and the far-fetched truth until our hearts go numb and we break from the weight of a thousand suns. you do not believe in the moon’s power but you believe in me. you say i could be a good cult leader. you say if, and i say when. let’s go to the woods, please co-pilot my coven. i take you in for a hug and dream of the place you are warmest; home and thinking of things that bring you pleasure and you, closer to god’s greatness and horrifying memories are fewer. i no longer wonder if you’ll love me in the morning. but i worry nonetheless. and i wonder about you. it’s impossible to exist beside you. i must always be across, or else you may frown and drown in the curious light blinking of my eyes; i am waiting for you to do something about me. something good and gracious and kind and disgustingly cruel. so how come my dear my love my self in the darkness you have not yet met, why do you not come to beg for my mercy or to give me a break or to tell me off; you simply take the chance and allow it for me. i will not meet someone like you for a very long time, and that makes me very sad

do you mean that? are you trying to understand me? are you beginning to? are you just begging to?

imaginary friend

april 29th, 2024

saw [redacted] today instead of yesterday. i had my nails done, the right red this time, but they feel weak and i am worried they will come off in a week. i also unpacked everything that i refused to do yesterday and i helped walk the dogs. but i still feel pretty poorly like i did yesterday. not as bad but still pretty unfortunately. [redacted] and i met at school. we hid in some bushes and smoked some pot. we fingered a branch and have sworn that we will plant a tree there so that in some many years time we can come back and say “that’s our tree!” in unison, just like how you imagined it. i have been trying to keep writing poetry but it’s hard. i feel stuck. i feel a bit like i’ve done everything already, and like no matter what, everyone will keep saying no. why has nobody responded to my submissions? it’s so stupid. all i want is a yes for once. a yes means that i am worth something. i know i am worthy of something but it doesn’t mean i’m worth an audience. it doesn’t mean i am worth somebody looking at what i write and saying, “hm. yes. okay. i see what that could mean.” it doesn’t really mean anything. i give myself the benefit of a doubt when it comes to my future successes, but how could i be any more successful than i could be at fifteen? i don’t see why not now. so i am trying now, but it’s not working out. it’s not working out the way that everyone says it will; if i just never stop writing. well, i won’t. but so what? so what if i did if nobody ever saw it?

home in cold-weather and my house smells different. need a nap to last a lament

april 28th, 2024

of course, i am always lead blind (open) to the obvious. the ridiculous teenage comeuppance; the final statement. the blandness has me in it’s squeezing fist so i cannot get out even when white walls remind my of the hospital. that dreadful sentiment. who could say such a thing without gnashing their teeth in defiance! yes, yes; there is something wrong with you, for there is something wrong with everyone. and of course there is something wrong with me, but how come? that’s the question here. happiness is opportunistic and such is also the way it’s presented to me; why then do i refrain from the thing i know will bring me joy? i am not self-sabotaging. if i was, i would know. but i am hopeful for myself. the only thing i can think of then is that i am too indulgent and greedy and vain to listen to myself in good conscience. i am a very smart girl, so why do i do this to myself? you tell me the same thing, which is why i say it. i believe it because you’ve told me. i am smart because you think so. you never call me crazy but i feel thin-skinned and clawing away at the tendons on my neck. my parents saw me in a bikini one time walking down the main street. what of my great goals and aspirations when i waste time trying to fill it with distraction? say goodbye to every dream. thinking is good for me! doing nothing is better than consuming mindlessly. food for thought except thought in replacement of food must be real and the rest of the world is famished. i have just started eating again but i am losing it quickly. i feel like a monster. and i have not taken my meds today. maybe i will meet [redacted] later on for a drink and weed session. but honestly i do not have it in me. and i feel very guilty about everything. almost infidel. a heathen. i have not been but it is hard to be away and try to see her as the only person for me. the whole thing is sickening really and i just don’t want to help myself understand why

airport ; do you know me better than ever?

april 27th, 2024

i am writing this in the airport. do you ever have those thoughts? how did she break her arm? why is he wearing an eye-patch? did we all dress ourselves for the airport this morning? where are you off to? who are you going to see? and do you ever cry like at the beginning of love, actually when you exit the gate and the young mum with strange shoes and too-big glasses and kind-of grown-up daughter in girl-next-door-clothes share a hug, because you know everything that they are saying with their eyes? do you ever just look around and try to notice things? because sometimes i worry the only time i do it is in the airport. i’m so very tired of feeling so infatuated with the wrong things. i pick things up and drop them, and i have since i was very little. i miss all the people who have made my life better; i dream about them whenever i can, even with my eyes open i am imagining their faces and it warms me. but i get cold chills. i second-guess and become anxious. i am tired of that. can i not have something for myself? must i move on without you all? them and me? are we any different? you know the answer; i do too. it’s why we never talk in the grocery store and you get sore eyes at midnight when i want to send you a text. it’s why your name doesn’t come up. you don’t exist. i am not anything worth having invented, but i’ve tried to be kind with you. i’ve tried not to make a monster. i’ve tried not to say anything out loud about frankenstein but i still feel very sorry every time we are across from one another, because i want to tell you that of all the people in the airport not one of them has made me cry hard enough to rub my eyes and text you back. you are no sight at all. me neither

the air here

april 26th, 2024

my hair is coming out at a very alarming rate and i feel like i am in some kind of unfortunate and ridiculous dream all of a sudden where the clothes on my body are breathing and it is not really i. the fan is whirring so loudly and making a click noise as if it will fall on top of me any minute. i am forgetting to look at the keys as i type and it is getting dark outside. perhaps this is homesickness and will be something very simple for me to manage soon. regardless i think that i am full of anxiety and stress, yet i know i do not feel that way. this is more of a physical reaction. recently i can’t tell if i am really hungry or not, or full or just tired. i have never slept so well before! but things are all backwards and i keep imagining death is right around the corner; that the boats going by are army ships and that the ocean is a tsunami and that the sound of my head banging against the headboard could be a bomb going off. any moment i believe i am about to be swallowed and i am fearful of what’s to come

maybe it is the air here. have i ever been relaxed or is it for show that i feel like laying around and thinking is all i ever do anyway? do i really lay around and think? is that what i’ve come to? i feel very dark and disturbing when i do nothing; my thoughts revert back to being naturally cynical and corrupt. i am mostly just worried about losing all of my hair. the more i worry, the more hair i lose. is that fair? i don’t care after all. there is nothing immediate to look forward to except more struggle to keep down my food and more of the same thing. coming home will be a let-down for i already feel disappointed when i walk in through the doors and my dog cannot remember how long i’ve been gone. there is nothing lighthearted about keeping somebody on their toes? or by keeping them subject to you which i cannot seem to comprehend. i have had a good day but i am tired. i am so tired and i do not feel like i am in a performing mood. i feel like i would rather pass out on the bed and forget about things. who is playing this game with me?

my first moon-rise

april 25th, 2024

we saw the moon rise tonight. mum and i watched it come up and for the first few moments we imagined it was fire, growing through the mountains; or a volcano. the golden crescent shape emerged and fear struck me for i thought it was a meteorite. it is the first memory i have ever had of a moon rising, on my mother’s 51st birthday. my dad and i spoke of his dreams and how their (my mum included) conservation meant my radicalism. i looked at the hair on my arm and felt very sorry and grateful. i got a massage in the late afternoon and was ashamed about my perversion and whiteness. she doused me in jasmine oil and i felt like she could read my mind. do you like my body? what do you think of it? is it skinny? is it too big in some places? what are you thinking about as you rub my upper-thigh? do you know that i am clenching my jaw and my pussy is tight from the rubbing? i can feel you pausing at my scars! are you praying for me? are you looking at all my skin? do you know about me? i took a shower in the room and lay down. i finished why i am so clever and started lapvona but it is hard-going after such a terribly important and short book. it is easy to read for me. i asked myself questions today and felt as though i was walking a tightrope to be pleasant for you. all i want is for you to be who i take great care to imagine and make room for when i am alone and listening for your voice. will it ever come? is this all right or am i doing this all for you to say that i am what i know i can be; am i am i am i. and my purpose here is to show purpose

erotic rhetorics for dearly beloved

april 24th, 2024

listening to jenny hval i am staring out over the ocean and she says she wants to tell me something. the ferry is moving quite fast now. i am folded up in a corner, with one foot up on the seat with me. my dad is beside me, reading. my mum is at the end of the aisle, reading too. i feel very stupid right now. not because they are reading and i’m not, but because i am not sure anything is real. i am not sure my rumbling stomach is telling me something; i am not sure the other boats on the water are really going; i am not sure if my fingers are really moving to type this. i am not sure if you are really reading this. are you? do you mind? if i say something mean and evil, i still want you to come for dinner at my house next week. i still want you to come stay with me when we are old, and i want you to fuck me on the sofa when our bodies will be aching and not the same. you’ll have had your babies. and you’ll have had enough. i’ll have filled the void with something else entirely. most recently, i want you to watch me fuck myself. not out of pleasure, but out of methodical curiosity. do you understand? how could the sun possibly be real when it is so bright it blinds you, or is that the most real things have ever been?

tonight i am going to write my mother’s birthday card. i’m going to sign it, love flossie xx, and she will smile and tell me she’s happy, and that she loves it. tonight i am going to promise myself to make worse poems, to de-construct and give them purpose. tonight i hope you are going to open me up like a present and find that i am real, even far away. even far away i am worried about things. being suspended above clouds and being carried over an ocean does nothing for my trivial sickness

aquarium

april 23rd, 2024

i caught a glimpse of your life behind you on the escalator to the underground metro. you were a woman to me and then i understood you; your shaved legs and fingers tapping. i was you and then you left and knew nothing of me. not that i had eaten you and made you shut your eyes. i was boring and unkind to you. it made me uncomfortable seeing you breathe. i am the only one allowed to do that, don’t you know? i ran into my eighth grade science teacher after illegally drinking at a famous bar in singapore with my parents. she said i looked beautiful. i want her to be happy. i want her to be happy. i am thinking only of her and how much i love her. she once told me i needed behavioural management because i was watching a film in her class instead of doing my work. i want her to be so happy. my mum felt drunk on the sidewalk by the river. we bought her a bottle of water at subway and she wondered what “chicken ham” could possibly be. her eyes were bright red. dad laughed hard at her. i asked if i was a better drunk than my brother; he kind of said yes. on the way to chinatown i got angry because they stopped at a 7-eleven to buy me bandaids for my blistering heels. the shoes i wore today cut them open again. i like the shoes so much, though. the bandaids came off after a few minutes of walking. i was so angry i was seething. it was all pointless and unnecessary and i didn’t want to eat or think or do anything. but then in the heat at the lowest level before we found the food-market, i disappeared into an aquarium. it is always with animals like that; fishes, turtles, geckos that have profound impacts on me. i stumbled upon a kind of fish that i can’t remember the name of. some swam up to me, put their mouths against the tank glass, but they all quickly left except for one that stayed making eye-contact with me. this particular fish was asking for my help. but it was all helpless, i knew it. i looked at it and knew it was seeing a fresh face every few seconds; that it could not fully understand my features or feel any way toward them. but i wanted it to know me regardless. if i had not been pulled away, i fear i would have stolen that fish; clutched it in my palm and said, “i love you — don’t you see that? all i want is for you to know who i am!” and maybe it would have listened to me. maybe it would have surprised me. i imagine it’s face. the red eyes make me sure it was blind. still, i imagine we would find understanding in each other

i am writing this in the cab. where are you?

april 22nd, 2024

we went to the night-zoo tonight. i bought an otter toy at the gift-shop there because earlier at sentosa bay there was a sign by the sea where we swam that read “beware the otters”, so i bought one and named it kujo after the stephen king novel about the viscous dog. i took him with me on the bus. unfortunately we did not see any otters. we did see a leopard and a water-cat and a brazilian porcupine. i felt the same way about it that i feel about most zoos, but i could understand why this one wasn’t so bad. my mum is sleeping right beside me. it is too dark for me to see the pages in my book, but what i really want to do is read. i think we will go for a late dinner after this. i am so tired and sweaty. but i am wearing a nice pale green dress. it’s cut to fingertip length, just a little shorter, and it’s cotton. it’s very plain, but has a 60’s sort of cut, and the sleeves/straps are a little ruffly. i wish i could show you; i think you would like it

i was funny today. but i was also a little mellow and anxious. i said some things that made me second-guess and regret myself. i do not know what i am yet to become so therefore i do not know myself at all. i want so badly to be inside my own skin!! have you read my writing yet? do you think it’s any good? (will i get anything for it?) as i’ve mentioned before, i’m hideously vain and disgusted by effort without notice, but i am also self-motivated and easily distracted; i forget to notice effort. i say “i love you” loudly to the naturalistic way of life and being, but forget the most terrifying and implicit part of life; work and death. what is appreciation without any reason for it? a desire? a selfish sentiment? senselessness? an intention? at the very least, my reasons are trivial. i do not say “i love you” because i want you to hear it. i say it because i want you to allow me the honour of it. is that better or worse? can i be here to make you understand me? if not, am i really here at all?

the hotel bathroom in singapore

april 21st, 2024

i am in the hotel bathroom in singapore and i am scrubbing at my toenails and i am telling myself i will never let them get this long or dirty again; never again will i let them look this way. it will never be this bad again. i will never let you down again, darling. they are green and gross and i wore sandals today. i was embarrassed and i felt as if everyone was looking at my feet and thinking about how hideous they were. i pitied my nails as if they were seperate from me. what i really felt bad for was myself. so now i am scrubbing and scrubbing and i know that i will never let them look this way again. so easily i can take ownership over the thing i have let down, but only once i see the physical damage i’ve left does this evidence of neglect move me enough to change my ways of thinking

still i am thinking that i would never do this, but it is will not would. grim and joyous is the way i apologise at night & narcissistic is the way i am beneath my clothes; vain and ugly for beauty and modesty. a perverse person and a manipulative man but a woman that allows for herself. i am enough for foreign otherness and sensitivity to be seen in me

i am in the hotel living room, the lounge, telling her je dois regarde la télé! but i am writing instead i am doing french instead and i am reading instead. i am imagining you imagining me doing all those things instead. am i of interest? does my cold skin warm you? does my slimness offend you the way your stare offends me? i am finding myself out in hope of finding my enemy has lost the nerve to believe in divine timing. i believe in divine timing; does my enemy know thyself?

sixteen hours

april 20th, 2024

i should be sleeping. i could write this in the morning. i am jet-lagged and sleep-deprived. but i wont fall asleep until i write this. i am in singapore. we flew at noon from adelaide to melbourne. i watched a movie called the teacher’s lounge . then after our flight got delayed, we flew at five thirty in the afternoon from melbourne to singapore. we were meant to, anyway. but then there was something wrong with the plane, and they had to get engineers on-board to fix the problem while we were all seated. i was very worried. i get anxious flying and the idea they had put me on a plane they’d been working to fix all day was a little bit horrific for me to understand. once we took off (a little after seven) i watched two episodes of snl, started several different movies, then got really into the anatomy of a fall . we landed in the airport at about 12:30, which was 1:30 for us in adl time. i haven’t seen singapore yet. we just took the taxi straight to our hotel, which is nice. we are spending four nights here, then going to an island (they upgraded us to this private island for no additional cost) for three nights. i’ve taken off my makeup. i feel very flat and not sure that i’m really here. it is very loud and humid outside. i am cold and tired

my older brother

april 19th, 2024

my brother is nineteen today, or tomorrow, and i am post-drunk in the bedroom. tomorrow. i got him pants and a drawer divider for cutlery. it won’t fit, and he will need to take it back. i wrote on his card that he didn’t need wishes from me. i wish he would know i was alive in the other room

you, fake-sleeping

april 18th, 2024

now you’re faking sleep beside me. you tell me you want me to come to your death-bed and tell to you what i meant when i wrote … but i tell you by that point, you will understand less. you will take everything by a grain of salt. any moment you will turn over and speak against yourself as always. the audiobook will fail to lull you and i will miss the opportunity to have written about your deep sleep noises. your feet are wriggling in bed. i worry about you in the early morning

pretending i didn't binge-watch a ten episode netflix series last night

april 17th, 2024

i wore a sheer top today with the bra i wore when i was eleven. [redacted] and i smoked a blunt under a big weeping tree that she told me she cursed her ex under. we agreed we have a weird friendship. once every two or three months we come together to be grounded and have a spiritual high. it was a very good high. it’s the first time i’ve properly felt high in a while, because i am so used to my weed. i realized it was happening when all of a sudden [redacted] started speaking to me, after i had been speaking the whole time, and i thought, “that doesn’t sound like her voice”. i forget how chatty i become. we lay under the sun and she told me that being high reminds her the world is beautiful. i told her it reminds me i can exist without anxiety. she read out loud her “high thoughts” note in her phone and i have never laughed harder; my face felt distorted. the bus back was nice. it was already getting dark, and i was reading. i felt so tired i put my face against the window; i am sure i will break out on my cheek tomorrow

i just finished doing my french and everything is very calm. i feel dumb, because the things i thought i knew in french i keep needing to look up definitions of; and the definitions confuse me so i end up re-learning the same crap i was taught two years ago. i just feel bad that i am not moving faster, and that i can’t without knowing the groundwork of course. i wrote a short poem in my journal before and i keep on thinking about how great it would be if somebody saw it one day and thought it was worth something, because i don’t know what to do with all the great writing i hide and do not bother to re-write digitally. sometimes i think journaling is a way of keeping the dream alive. i feel as if every great writer i know keeps a meticulous journal and maybe one day my daughter will read my own entries in a paperback book. it is hard to believe it would be worth anything. i can’t keep telling myself that something crazy will happen in order to hope, because one day it might kill me

i have this urge to tell you

april 16th, 2024

last night i watched a movie called cha cha real smooth and i have thought about it all day. i woke up late and felt too crappy to get out of bed, so i sat on the floor and read the first few pages of the margaret atwood poetry collection i got from the library. i like her writing a lot. it is so full of desire, and i found myself understanding it while being analytical very easily. i took a shower and put on my exchange jeans. i wore my white shirt and took off my bra. something i did this morning that i am happy about was that i finally made my plan for learning french at home; something i will try to stick to as well. i am letting myself get excited about going. mum and i watched half an episode of the crown, and i had ginger tea later in the day. when i came back to my room i did the french grammar stuff i set for myself. tried to teach myself partitive articles; success! read some more margaret atwood, wrote in my journal. somewhere in between i must have just stared at my feet, for i feel there’s a massive part of my day missing. mum and i went to the chiropractor. i can’t remember if i have mentioned this or not, but i love my chiropractor. she’s so interesting. and most impressively and amazingly, she seems to think i am interesting too. she said she’s excited about me going on exchange. i have decided my resolution for while i am there is to say “yes” to everything that offers itself up to me. i will never the opportunity again, and i need to make the most of it. it makes me sick to my stomach with overwhelm. i am finishing the night by writing this, so i can tell you that i want to feel good in the botanic gardens with [redacted]. my neutrality is optimal but also something i am adjusting to; i want kind things to happen to other kind things. nothing deserves a warm bed except for the moon. i wonder i wonder i wonder how does it feel up there

i am a rotten delight for an evening out doing familiar nothing

april 15th, 2024

i had a good day today. [redacted] and i woke up late, and had pain au chocolats for breakfast. i had ginger tea and drank out of my favorite mug. i love [redacted]. every time i see her i want something different, and i cannot describe it. she is so completely different and so smart, much more intrusive than anybody i have ever met. she has this way of discovering and knowing things just from basic evaluation of what she already knows about the subject. last night we watched teeth before bed, and in the movie there are giant almost kind of pollution tanks, or half cylinders, and they are behind the protagonist’s house. they leak massive amounts of thick smoke into the air, and i said to [redacted], “why are they showing it to us so often? there’s obviously something it is symbolizing” and she said “isn’t it just a cut-off dick?” as if it was nothing. if you’ve seen the movie, you know why it’s related, but you don’t know her; and why it is astounding that she can make such incredible observations like that. this all sounds ridiculous and i am doing perhaps a poor job of explaining how much i am fascinated and moved by her existence. she has a quality that makes me feel unintelligent. yes, i know more big words than she does - maybe i phrase things nicer, but she has raw and undeniable genius. i cannot wait to see what she does with the world — i only hope she realizes before i do what it is she must do with herself!

we went into the city, and i bought my “exchange jeans” as i have named them. they are the jeans i am going to take with me on exchange. i told my mum that i needed one pair of great jeans, the perfect and ideal jeans that i can wear with every outfit (as a reference point, i have no memory of ever having liked a pair of jeans before i bought these), and i just so happened to find them in levi’s! at full-price, but perfect; exactly how i want them. i cannot wait until the initial guilt wears off from the amount of money i spent on them

[redacted] went to her grandma’s, and i walked home after the bus dropped me off. i listened to everlong on the trip and sat with my forearms on the chair in front of me, hunched over; face at my palms. can you imagine that? when i am old and grey will i imagine ever doing that? at home i tidied my t-shirts drawer, and put some in the box at the top of my wardrobe, and some into bags for an op-shop. i did this for my dresses, too. then i sat in the dining room and i watched a ted-talk, wrote something for a submission, then sent it in. it took me a bit more than an hour. [redacted] called me unexpectedly and asked if i wanted to meet her at our school’s oval in a bit. of course, i said yes. i am a rotten delight for an evening out doing familiar nothing. first, mum and i walked the dogs. i can’t remember what we spoke about, which makes me upset, other than how she told me about the book she finished reading. she drove me to the school. [redacted] and i sat outside watching the football boys and we had gin with cordial and shared a cigarette. we were really good tonight. every time i see her i want to cry and bleed out from affection. she makes me tender at the middle. i am at ease again

money at unreasonable expense

april 14th, 2024

i worked from ten til four today, which has significantly defeated my two day optimist streak. but i am well. i’m trying to look at both sides of things, too. the fact i was not so much an optimist as i have been lately does not make me a pessimist. sure, work was boring and it felt like a waste of time. i spend a lot of time in the back looking at the washing machine and waiting, nagging at my own shirt-sleeves. but i have made money, and without money i could not make myself delighted with sweet treats and trinkets. and i liked who i worked with today. [redacted] is coming over later. i am writing this a little earlier than usual, and my day has not quite yet ended but with daylight savings over it gets dark before i can properly put myself together and reflect

i think we will drink tonight. but i do not want to go out. my muscles are sore and it will be too cold and dark and unpleasant. so maybe i will put a blanket on the floor and fill a water bottle with vodka, and we will sip between each other. i don’t feel like getting high tonight. i am increasingly worried about the tightness in my chest, but i am consoled by my regular medical check-ups and monitoring. i wish there was more for me to do in the evenings. but i am much more likeable during the holidays, so there is less for me to worry about and i seem to always do the things i like without forcing it upon myself. somehow, books are read and movies are watched and poems are submitted. when i finish writing, i will try to write something in my notebook and read a few pages of the unbearable lightness of being

i need to move my plants to a place with a bit more sun

being sociable and personable simultaneously

april 13th, 2024

i slept for eleven hours last night. it is because it is school holidays and my body can allow for it. in the morning i showered and braided my hair into two parts. i wore my white collar shirt and pink pleated skirt and felt pretty. i did not wear mascara today when i went to the shops and spoke to mum in the car about the creative act or about how i am prioritizing creating over consuming. i did not cry today but i wanted to. my period ended and so did the bullshit story about the goats grazing in the greener grass, and beneath the bridge the pot-belly ogre. i wrote in my journal, a little poem i think is fine, and read some more. milan kundera writes about poetic memory and tereza dreaming about the stars below the plane. i write about noah’s ark and oblivious men

today i submitted to a new literary journal that [redacted] sent to me. i submitted but i also applied to be an editor. i hope that they will take me. i don’t know why. i think it seems right for me now. i have been getting that hopeful chest feeling a lot and i just want it to mean something. so badly do i hope it will just tell me something one day; if i will or will not do what i dream about so i can be above it like tereza and the stars

once mum and dad left for dinner i talked to a few people. i am having [redacted] sleep over tomorrow night i think, after i work. and i asked if [redacted] wants to go somewhere to do something on wednesday, because i haven’t seen her in a while. she says she has a LOT of weed that we can smoke, but we have no good ideas for where to go yet. i also sent [redacted] some inappropriate video snaps telling her i’m attracted to her, then telling her i am not sure what i really look like, then proceeding to laugh for two minutes straight. and i asked [redacted] how formal went. we got to talk while i made myself dinner. tonight was fine. i have been playing the sims and listening to the crocodile by dostoevsky. i think i will read until the end of this chapter of the unerable lightness of being and then do terrible things online until i fall asleep, or make a packing list for exchange

poor housecat. drink more milk

april 12th, 2024

i am so worried about her! my perfect loving housecat

and she is miserable

but [redacted]’s bed is warm when she showers. i have tidied up in here, and she is going to paint her nails once her hair is washed and dry. i find it hard to write when i am such a liar but such is an extension of the truth which is that lying with conviction is a special kind of creative cruelty. i have never been called cruel before but i expect the word better knows me than i him

thursday shitshow and prose

april 11th, 2024

dear me, a poem a day keeps the doctor waiting in the doorway, clicking a pen. a hand on your thigh keeps you warm and right until it is elsewhere and you have never rathered either fight or flight. coldness pays off until a steady income keeps you gold and glowing, but remember it will not satisfy you like staring down yourself in the mirror will do. clasp your scar and scoff as if it wasn’t you. because it wasn’t. remember that. being ready for combat is not the same as having a clue. being blind does not mean you are deaf. being blind does not mean you cannot see better than the person beside you. have you written yet? where is your scalding tea getting colder? where are the un-washed mugs and little spoons, or the big ones that you have never eaten with? being kind does not make you pretty, that is a lie; being pretty does make you understand how kindness works, but when you understand, you understand it is better to be unkind than expected. lying awake at night does not make you thoughtful or extraordinary, but it will make you sore come morning, and you’ll blame dad for it. blame is a bit of coal from the fire

i will not keep you wanting but i’ll keep you needing. i am a husband asking for a divorce at the kitchen table, serious as i am hopeful you will laugh at me for trying. i am curious to see how a taste of diffidence will sit with you. but you blink and cry and say, “okay” so i think i do the same. it is good fun every so often, we take each other’s clothes off, undress the parts ourselves you cannot see, and tell each other it’s all okay. and now we do the same. have you seen my back? how it becomes a band-aid when a little bit of blood licks me; i am only clean when my inside becomes outside. have you seen it yet?

he took me to the place we meagerly took a look at and i was all out of gold. i still bought something to make myself pretty. no matter what, i cannot just be kind. even if i was, i am not enough of it at once. someone is getting better at it. i sat beside her. we went up the road. mum bought me wildflowers in a bouquet; they’re beautiful. i have done well; bested you. he got me a chai latte and we roamed around. i gave five dollars to a homeless man with a nice voice. i realized he was on drugs when i handed him the money. i heard him say, “he is filling a cold place with a lot of warmth” and thought again about how he could be anything he wanted, and what a waste it is to be logical. the drive home was so long. thank you for taking my name; i really am flattered. we got high on his bed and i finished a bottle of water. my period has not hurt my feelings this time; i am flattered. we watched uncut gems and we were both thinking about how good-looking adam sandler is for his age. i went to bed without complaint this time

you look at your fingers too much -- BACKWARDS MAN

april 10th, 2024

i woke up to a message from [redacted] saying she is free at lunch. i changed clothes twice, and wore my denim jacket over my uniform. i had vegemite on toast for breakfast, but i can't remember eating it. i did my eyeliner well this morning. i felt good about it all day. i walked today, so that i could collect flowers and put them in a little jar along with my letter to [redacted]. i got her a pink flower i'm not sure the name of, some rosemary from my garden, and two lavendars. because of the long email i sent to my action project teacher telling him about how much i dread going, he took me outside class in the hallway to talk about it. i just said that i was bored. all he said was that i need to keep coming, but he appreciated my honesty. i don't like my group or our idea. i forgot to mention that last week we started aif in leap, so now i am doing two sace mandatory subjects for no reward (if ib works out, which i am praying it will). i sucked it up though. at recess i wrote my letter to [redacted], which i would include for evidence but i reckon it is rather important to protect her privacy. unfortunately. i finished the letter. in maths we had a relief, so i did my art all lesson since it's due tomorrow. i realised i am extraodinarily behind on all things in that assignment. i don't think i'll get it in on time. we'll see, i guess. at lunch i came upstairs to give [redacted] my little jar with her letter, the paradise rot book i loved by jenny hval, which is maybe fucked up and crossing a line by me giving it to her, but i expect she'll read it quickly and get back to me, and i included a photo my mother very kindly printed out this morning for me to give to her. it is of me holding a baby duckling at a farm, that i remember she said she liked. she told me she's going to hang it up on her office wall. i thought it was a pisstake but it's [redacted], so of course she will. we went for a walk. god! i am gripping onto her for dear life. something is very wrong. i am going to get to the bottom of it. at some point i was explaining my crisis of breath, and a boy walked backwards recieving a football, and she shouted very loudly, "Back-Wards Man!" just like that, but imagine singing. it was fucking hilarious. we also saw [redacted] who is coaching a very boring soccer team. i am sort of worried they will both kill themselves, but they are too good for that i think. [redacted] and i have already made plans to get tattooes and smoke weed after my eighteenth, so i don't think she'll be out of here any time soon. still, i am pretty concerned about her

went to french after and got [redacted] to give me a tampon. it was so fucking massive. it wasn't. i just have an insanely small vagina. but still. jesus christ. we did object pronouns. i still don't get it; i will never get it i fear. but i better, because i got accepted to the exchange program today. so that's a nice full circle. [redacted] says it's not the best idea i go to france for three months because i made a joke about drinking vodka instead of wine to get a headache instead of a sore stomach. i told him i will come back a raging drug addict, but [redacted] didn't like the sound of that. i tried really hard in french, though. my brain didn't feel fried at the end, surprisingly. i had science at the end of the day. god the boys in my class destroy all hope left. they sit at the back giggling and accusing each other of touching them. they are so fucking gay. i did maths all lesson. simultaneous equations. i can feel pre-methods already killing me. it's all right. just something to look forward to. i found [redacted] in the hallway and we went for a gallop to my locker. she had a boring excursion in the city all day, where coal miners lied to ib students about the impact of climate change. they denied it's existence, apparently. she seemed intense. a few of us took the bus back, since [redacted] and [redacted] have german after school on wednesdays. i talked to [redacted]'s ex-girlfriend on the bus. she sat beside me wearing fluffy socks under her track pants. i like her a lot. she's cool. then i walked home and listened to crime and punishment but the audiobook is twenty-one hours long so i really am lacking motivation with that. petit a petit!

i nearly never feel sweet anymore

april 9th, 2024

in the morning i've undergone long periods of waiting in the kitchen, to finish breakfast i've already eaten. i watch movement in the house and listen when my dog begins to bark at the front door, then quiet again. my mouth tastes like chocolate cereal when i clean my teeth with chemicals i decide taste nice and i assume always a doting but calculated partner. the bus always comes before i've had enough time to think, but way after i've required transport and i am over ever arriving. the bus is like you but i am more trying. i do not stumble when i tap my card; i tap it twice for good measure so you are satisfied and i can make up for the others that have forgotten theirs. my first class was quiet this morning and i tried to make things work, but i needed help. she told me to go and get it. i told her a lie but she made me go anyway. i've lost interest in the mean man who doesn't know my face at the front desk, who takes my laptop and scowls a smile as i walk away and the problem is left alone unsolved. in the break it is not really time enough for me to accomplish anything worth my rational mind. i just make a bed in the soil and wait for the stars to come out, but i am not special and the only times i see them are when others can too. i read and wait. i eat through pages like i am ravenous. i learn that if you want to see infinity, you should just your eyes, and i feel lonely again

the best part of the day is the little delightful in-between of ignorance and attention, when you pretend to want something better. all i do is watch, and feel ugly. until it passes and you nearly cry in sweet relief. still, all i do is watch. but my ugliness is no longer affectionate with me; it is just another person in the room. you just take a gulp of the cold air and hate the wind, and tell me about it. all about it. there is so much i feel like i want to die, but it is nothing at all, and i have been catching your fever of disinterest. we distract and i laugh so you don't sob. but i really would like it if someday you sobbed. [redacted] has told me she will come over later; i don't know what i will do with her. maybe we will lie on my carpet and smoke weed, and i will make her watch a good movie than i have never seen that she will hate. you are not worth sitting through, but i have started to ghost-walk. it feels awful to be inside you. i am taking a break from the drift. it's like evaporating in the best circumstances. he does not understand. we are going to talk later; you do not want me to call. so i won't. i am going to chew my fingers and look at myself in the mirror instead. english drains me. i know more than everyone else. i know more. "i know it", i want to say, but knowing is not what you want to hear. is there anything you can tell me that i haven't told myself? i take the laptop back from the man who can't remember my name on the sticky-note, and get mine back; unsolved. you are like the man, giving me back what i have always apparently wanted from you. i will never have a dark and brilliant achievement

my period is coming; so is the rain

april 8th, 2024

the driver missed my stop and so i fled into the city for the afternoon, after lunch where i sat beneath a tree with [redacted] and made dreary attempts at conversation. i felt very little. i wandered into the junk-shop and bought nothing. a lady held up two cards and asked me which one i liked more. one was a blue and beige landscape, a blurry beach blending into the sky. the other was a rainy city, with a pop of colour at the red umbrella. i wondered if this was a psychological experiment. i told her the rainy city. she told me, "me too" and "have a lovely day". i walked away. i felt worse than ever. i bought mum for her birthday a kind of english scottish sculpture made out of clay, painted, with a little tea-light candle to go in the top and create a chimney effect. i think it does that anyway. i bought her a nice card, too. the man who i payed at the counter was nice. he gave me a smile on the way out, and i hope he thinks i smiled genuinely too, because i did. i left and took the bus back, hungry. it was raining and i felt bad for a man and his son waiting, because at first they thought they missed theirs. they sat in front of me on the bus ride home. a business-man also sat beside me. he read a book, and i felt happy. i listened to a podcast episode with germaine greer, who wrote the female eunich and has controversial opinions and transexuality and gender issues. i agreed with her for the most part, but i think it's simply that she is an alluring speaker and inspirational woman. i am thinking about her now in a retirement home, eight-four-years-old, somewhere near melbourne. i wonder what she is drinking, and what she last ate. i walked both the dogs and fed them. now i plan to lie around in bed all evening, until very late, watching different netflix shows and replaying my favourite scenes from movies. nothing exciting has come my way for a long time. i find it very hard to grapple with the realisation that unless i grab on, very tightly to pleasures and horros, nothing ever will

if i love you i kill myself for it

april 7th, 2024

i smell like you and the beach and where you rolled up your sleeve and i put my cheek on the bus window you looked so happy. i’ve come to the blue chair to write about the world and how today it was not so evil, but do i mean that so completely or just to give it a name? because maybe i should treat it as a blanket that i did not have, and when i was cold i craved warmth but without option you still survive; things are incredible that way. in the cold we persevere. when overnight the city fills with fog we wipe our eyes and are fresh anew, fitting into atmosphere’s beauty as best we can. today i’ve bested you all, but bestowed upon myself nothing of necessary newness or good sense. morally i’ve been insensible today, but i’ve felt fine and thoughtful just not as if i’d die from having dwelled on you a little. i’m going to let you go now. the moon is clearing up and it’s offering me a chance in the sky to fill up with other pleasant surprises and futures where i do not suffer from loneliness in loving. i should not ever. i am so long to see this but slowly it’s making some efforts to reveal itself to me. i’ve really not wanted to see. that’s all. because i love you. unfortunately i am so fortunate to be someone who has been chosen, but cannot accept choice as part of love, or decisiveness and clarity and self-respect. if i love you i kill myself for it. there is no blindness or sight inflicted, just a following and knowingness. cult of oneself. i am like this with myself, too. i am destructive when happy, but it does not mean i am hurtful. in fact, i find it more hurtful than not to be a person of good dignity when i would rather die than not love something an ungodly amount. and a man will one day come to tell me there is such a thing as choice, or death with dignity. same thing. my indecisiveness will make me a sub-man but i fear i do not have the tendencies to deny as one does. i am tender and open but i am not a believer in free-will so much; i do believe we are free individuals and are subjective to ourselves, but the object that we are to others is a permanence, not a question or choice, and once death has been passed-on all consciousness and therefore subjectivity has automatically been lost. eternally, you are an object at others will. only for the span of a lifetime i am mine not yours, but perhaps materialisation has occurred too early on for me. the closer i am to death the more okay i feel belonging to another; existing for you. what a cruel choice to make about yourself. and how loveless it feels to live with myself now

things we've been and the list does not include lucky

april 6th, 2024

it’s not that i don’t like smoking in bed with you or watching the city out your window at night, but i am going to get away from you faster than i think is possible. i am going to get out of here before you can get me again. so you’ll remember and i’ll forget. [redacted] is a life sentence. i am sentencing myself to death for now. i can come back later but not if i don’t show myself i can come back from this. there are things i mistake for evidence of us but what i want is not a body or a soul quite so much as i want myself, and with disregard for empathy and attention to others’ feelings and sentiments to me, i may finally turn into god. but i cannot if i don’t worship myself. god is not humble! he is full of himself; he is probably stuffed. but this idea humbles you and makes you feel worse, so i will stop here. i am right enough. i am kind enough. but mostly i am desperate enough to do things the right kind of person wouldn’t dare do. like play meticulously at a game they do not understand they are playing until they’ve watched someone else win. you don’t know me anymore. i’m getting side-tracked. the reality is that i am unfaithful to myself, and this is all going to change now. watch me; i’m going to learn it back again. all that knowledge i am dutifully forgetting. i am depersonalizing and my dog is barking so loud i am going to hit myself in the side of the head with a red brick and forget how to think. someday soon you’re going to get it again. please understand i’m losing body and creating mind, and what else is a greater sacrifice? surely your mother has told you about it. it’s going to be very easy for you to feel loved one day. it will never be easy for me. i feel like i am going to slowly devour someone’s soul until i am not speaking in metaphors or turning the shrew. i don’t know anything but i know that you are asleep and i must write this or else i will breathe in too deep and not come out. i don’t want you like anything anymore, but i want to be loveable. somebody understands this, but no matter the words you use, you say things as if you live inside my mind; i know now this has never been true. please purge me, if so. i’m climbing out

maybe i'd say what i feel more often

april 5th, 2024

today i woke up in a strange place and felt better than i had for a long time, this stranger is no stranger than you. we had toast and water, and i washed my face but was too afraid to use a towel to dry off. i gave good advice and i had breakfast with your friends. who are mine too, but i know it is nothing like that really. i had muesli. it was so sweet i couldn’t finish it, and i accidentally ate a pecan when i don’t like them at all. i wore a black long-sleeve to school, even though i know it’s not allowed; nobody said a thing. they hung out in the bathroom and i was there too, but i know it is nothing like that really. back at school i tried to replace my stolen lock, but she said they are expensive, and i should wait to see if it turns up, seeing as mine has my name on it. i liked how my legs moved under my baggy pants today. i did not like how dirty my docs were. it was english this morning that i missed. i was upset, because i missed out on watching lady bird with my class for the film study, but i think it would have made me feel more hopeless anyway. i am getting used to my new phone but i miss my old one and the way i knew where all the keys were and the distance and everything. i went to maths because i like my teacher and nothing bad normally ever happens there. skipped action project after because it’s full of nothing, and sat on the oval with [redacted] for two hours. unfortunately i made her irrevocably miserable due to my poor mood, and we had a very mediocre conversation about the ceaselessness of life. i did not like how i was talking, and felt bored, and angry at myself and her. at lunch we were told to move by some teacher, who was old and didn’t seem to care about the noise coming from the first oval, which we had moved away from. [redacted] kept checking her phone as if she was looking for any opportunity to get away from me. to that i say, “no worries! me too”. i went to french, felt very whelmed and pleasantly bad. so i left. [redacted] has a two and a half week headache, and the disabled kid needs a community more than me; he spends every recess and lunch walking back and forth behind the community hub, listening to the boys playing footy behind him. anyway. i told [redacted] she needs to take a break, but she told me she’s just sleeping on the wrong pillow. i said, “well, okay”

on my walk i came up behind [redacted] and poked her in the back with one finger until she turned around. we hugged and walked around away from people she was with. she told me about her day, and her night. i listened but was distracted by my irrationality and couldn’t seem like i was paying much attention, but i assure you i was. she told me she had the worst twenty-four hours of her life. i said, “me, too”. i told her about how i’ve been, which is like how i imagine a woman in the third-trimester feels when she arrives at the hospital and is told it is just braxton hicks contractions. except i’ve got no baby coming at all anymore. i also tell her i miss her. she says, “me, too”, and falls into my lap, bowing to hug me beneath my chin. i shudder because i am thinking against myself all the time. i tell her i have been looking all around for things and people to make me feel the same way that she does, and that it’s been unfulfilling every time; i’ve felt lonelier than ever. i tell her that i realise now in this moment that looking for people who make me feel the way she does is pointless, and it is okay that she is the best and most beautiful person in my entire world. we just hug. i think she is going to cry but she doesn’t

she walks me to french and i console [redacted], who checks my attendance in the middle of class and tells me i’ve skipped every lesson. i pretend to be surprised. she frowns at me. [redacted] and i sit together and kick each other, and he tells me he is going to get a scar removal therapy, which he gets every year. [redacted] tells him she is happy he’s in class, and then proceeds to lecture the two of us about skipping. i do not tell her that i have never once skipped her class, and that her antipsychotics are not working. but i want to. she gives me a bat toy to play with. we do not french the entire lesson; she apologises at the end. i blow her a kiss and tell her, “it’s okay”, because it’s not, but i want her to know that i know someday soon it will be for her. i blow her several more kisses and leave class, pack up my bag; struggle to close it as it has all of my sleep-over things from the night at [redacted]’s, and i run to the bus-stop. i miss my last class of the day because i’ve told my boss that ill work. after the bus, the walk back home is long and confusing and i feel like nobody knows anything about me, including me. yes. it’s true. this is the farthest i have been from myself in a little while. i am like a cold shell for now, reaching trying to put the pieces together and exploring but getting lost in tight places. at home at the front door i panic because i don’t have a key, and i swear very loudly, and call every member of my family. i decide to go to work anyway, and my boss can just send me away if he doesn’t want me to be there in my school clothes. he doesn’t even care when i get there. he actually makes a joke about the fact i sent him a message to ask if it was okay. the girl i work with today is nice. she works through the week, which is why i have never seen her before. she is friendly and makes polite small talk with me. work is fine; i do everything efficiently and spend a lot of time out back doing end of day dishes and various other things. i walk home and post my be-real and send her a snap. now i am sitting out the front of my house waiting for my dad to come home and let me in. he won’t be home for hours yet; i am stuck. i might try to write something or read a bit more of the book i’m making no progress on but that i don’t want to end. the unbearable lightness of being. i wish none of this had happened, but if it happened again i would do nothing differently. but jeremy renner in arrival has a point. if i could change things maybe i would just say what i feel more often

i've been meaning to

april 4th, 2024

you hated me and i lost my nerve, so i dug my nails into my flesh and wrote nothing. i got cruelly drunk and high for nothing but spite. they don’t know a thing about us. today i am not allowed to write things like that. i healed up like a scab. bruise easily but boy do i repair as if nothing was ever there at all. thought you tossed me so i crashed at my friend who i’ve known since i was a baby her house, and i lay there watching bad improv comedy and the beginning of bridesmaids and why did you pretend like you didn’t know that today? why did i pretend like i didn’t see your message and say sorry for it?

i don’t remember the walk home but it happened and i was there and not remotely drugged for it. was i even thinking? this seems to me the first memory i have ever had now where things have been very different, very apathetic and emotionally-detached for me. you’re good, though. and right. and i know you feel shitty now, because even when you get like this you’re still sensitive and overly worried and think a lot. because you are like me. so i know you’re having a bad night and i’m sorry. me too. i am too. i am having a bad night. i ate ice cream and apple juice and thought about how you and i could eat it in your room a lot better than in the lonely kitchen which is too-big for anyone to live, even [redacted]’s dad. you have never made me feel lovesick, and even now i don’t feel it. i am never infatuated by your existence. but i love you. i know it. it’s awful but so sweet i know it because i don’t even question it. so i am sorry you are having a bad night. we could have one together, but i feel very apart from you, and you don’t know what’s coming or why you hurt me. it makes it hard to drink you up like i used to. i’ve spat you out so fast. things are chasing and coming up to me. i feel hurt and distant. you are not ready to raise a family. sorry. that came off wrong. i am not ready to understand what you mean when you say, “i’ve been meaning to”. i cried and cried so hard, you couldn’t have missed it. [redacted] said it’s the worst she’s seen me in a long time, but i told her i am not describing the worst; i just have the words to describe now how i’ve always felt. which is what i have been trying to say in different sugar-coated ways, but all it really is is that i don’t believe life is more good than bad. life is miserable and shameful and swallows you until you can’t breath, and it throws in a good moment, one you forget, then it is all upset and pining and confusion again, and then a moment of reconciliation and recovery that soon ends and turns into a blemish, and it is all waiting and confusion and horror, because when do beautiful things return again? this is all it is. for some reason this upsets people; it seems to kill a sought-after idea that one day perfection can be reached. when has it ever? you cannot aspire to god, in fact the idea of His existence for me heightens the idea that it is worth me trying to reach moral perfection; somebody already has so it is not in fact meant for me. i am not holy enough anyway. i left and was caught by vultures in the hallway; nice chatty people who feel bad for me. they say “poor thing” “what happened” and pout so much it makes me nervous and ill. i take you out of your class but were interrupted and i cry hysterically because you have said all you need to but you still want to stay. and so i don’t understand. that’s all. why in fact i have not been mistreated, just simply not treated at all. and way i cannot console myself this evening perched on a table with nothing to live for; why i cannot pick myself up from this headache and your painful silence between words i am somewhere in between those letters you see in the “…” where you wait to see what i’m up to, but not too fast, and i am better off not advertising myself at all; for it drives you to think i am sharing anything with you. what awful loneliness. still i have nothing to care for but it is not freeing, and would i want that anyway? have i ever wanted that

back at it; break's over and nostalgia isn't realistic

april 3rd, 2024

i walked through my old primary school on the way home from big school. my clothes smelled of weed and my socks had fallen from my ankles, now in little balls at my toes, peeling themselves off. i saw the old chicken coup and do you even remember the mad way i was in love with you by the basketball court? do you remember when i threw you down over something silly and stepped on your chest because i thought that was me stepping up to the challenge of being loved; like i’d show it to you in violence. do you remember the house with the new mum who decorated for christmas in july and stood on the front lawn with her baby, handing out lollies on halloween? i walked through the creek that was almost always empty, but when it was full we wore great big second-hand waterproof boots and played a game of lost and found; who would disappear on the boat and who would come around the bush and save them from the crocodile that was just a little boy we’d given a homemade cookie to, just so he’d help us pretend? do you remember the little boy’s name? i am mad in live at the basketball court and we don’t know how to play; we sit at the fig tree with no hats and frowning faces and say to each other, “the rules are unfair; promise me tomorrow we’ll play?” but we never bring our gates because we love being alone together too much to join in. i pass by the church we never went into, stil haven’t; and i stand in front of it. on the way home from school i cry because the garden is greener than it ever was when i went there, there are fresh tomatoes growing, and the little blonde kids have stolen all my favourite teachers

message for me

april 2nd, 2024

you won’t believe me but the leaves are brown and dry again and crunch under my feet. you won’t believe me when i tell you i’m sitting on a bench in adelaide’s central city outside the university. yes, you’ll be off doing other things and it will all feel like such a joke there was a time or place where you sat right here, and felt guilty for not sleeping and touching yourself in the morning to that picture of [redacted]’s back, or doing nothing in science, and waiting to stop thinking about if or if not [redacted] is thinking about you, and mum’s inability to understand your boredom and difficulties, and you won’t remember dad picking you up, waiting outside parliament house in the rain. what he told you in the car about meaning and the creation of it, or the four philosophy podcasts you devoured and ruminated on; the russian mum and sun on the steps, the blackberries and peach kombucha, waiting for the bus, and mistaking a homeless man for a confused european, wishing the earth would talk. why i am so clever, else and my english assignment, my brand new pleated skirt and ralph lauren polo. yes, please forget, and be off doing greater things

people dont love you as much as they used to now you like yourself

april 1st, 2024

unfortunately i'm not at my most loved. this feels very lonely and unsolveable. and rather unhelpfully, i have lost interest in suicidal ideation. i wouldn't say that. i just feel less toward it. it's shown me nothing in the past. am i not cool anymore? i don't think cool is the right word. i am retired from hate, is all, now it has been replaced with an apathy and removal from people. seems overwhelmingly pointless to me. and yet i'm craving it again. a real conversation with new things to say and hear. everybody, including me, is same old same old. but things ave shifting. just without notice from anyone. life is shame and loneliness. love replaces this with disturbance and confusion. what is better? am i laughing at what i'm writing anymore? it doesn't seem like it to me, so it makes this all so much more depressing. for now this truth applies to me. hunger is ever-changing. it feels like i'll never have you again or get my long hair back. and i cried too much this morning. why did i cry? that is not like me at all. i am kind and answer to you but you seem loveless

what i really want is to use myself, not chew on somebody elses fingers

march 31st, 2024

i've been tired all day and waiting around on different surfaces hoping you’ll let me know you know i’m still alive. what do i do? so far i've been wrong and making things up has never satiated love of my kind (our kind). i am a silly girl for trying to reflect on what i've not yet become. when you asked me if i learnt anything new and i told you "no" what i really meant was "yes, but if i say it out loud i'll remember i am a recipient of pre-understood knowledge, not the creator" and "what i have learnt is not the answer you're looking for" today i learnt that i am the oldest of all my friends, that the orchids love each other and wait, mum doesn't understand the sky either, you are okay regardless of my suffering and soon it will be april and i'll try to be kind even though my nightmares are blossoming into truth. my baby's a year old tomorrow. nothing i say or do makes me worthy of a drink or dying or undressing you in a nearly hopefully dark room

do you or do you not feel watched when unfolding

march 30th, 2024

i’m all sweaty and covered in hair. i smell like sweetness and salt and the ground beneath me where you ruined my night. nothing worse than a bloody bedspread or dried red waking to the smell. i’m ready to start again, but unfortunately i’m better than myself for ending it then and there, at most interested. if i started-up again like a machine i’d receive no pity but just a pit as an option again, and i don’t care enough to fall in and be watched. my skin is new this year. i like surprise and speechlessness. been there, done all of it. before beckons into after’s rebound; the terrible dark floorboard outside my bedroom door still creaks even when i’m quiet as the continuer. i’m over it all, but i don’t mind an occasional burn, and i don’t mind yours. did you believe my dream? crinkled up under my feet. all’s well for death, the most alive ever. why do they do that? make it last longer. pouring water in milk or giving yourself a baby. i can be good for one weekend; just here. just need to dry off in salt water and listen to the kids squeal. i won’t feel so lonely if you show me how to break a bone. dear boy, i want to rot like you until my teeth are blue sounds wrong and you were always so crazy. i’m piecing slowly, pacing back to you. yes, got sad and went to the beach to read a whole book on poetry about feminist gen x women. i got high and took my top off in the sand-dunes, and thought about the little girl with the sand-bucket. i wanted it to rain, but instead i came home and played a game with myself. i call it “do you, or do you not”, and i sit in the dark with my eyes shut, willing the risk of dying in different ways. sometimes i think the more time you spend adding details to describe fear, the less likely it will happen and you will fail. sometimes i look around at the world and there is so much to write about, but most of the time it ruins my day. most of the time i am so overwhelmed looking at my journal makes me slightly ill. do you ever think about the same day so many times it starts to tell itself?

welcome to my island

march 29th, 2024

i cannot take it with the finishing talk; i can drink and drink and i don’t forget anything, but oh god! i cannot take it with the finishing talk. someone wrote me a message this morning that must have taken them half an hour, about my poetry. who am i? how could you care enough? he said things i cant repeat and it all feels so very disconnected from me and what i know is true. the things people say about you are never true, so why would he do this? everybody is playing a very big joke on my; they have since i was born. but he was so particular. and, oh god oh god, i am starting to get in on it now! the joke. what did i do? to be looked at? did i ask for everything? this is what i want. i do want this, and everything else that comes to accompany it. but sometimes i can’t think to make myself happy or reward myself for understanding. nobody cares for a whining snob, and i am more sensual when talking about rejection. what a shame about all the nice things people have said to me over the years that i have never taken in. what do i do to have your reaction, or deserve your attention? maybe i can never have control over this area of misery. nobody loves a bad time, but good things are rarely enjoyed. where is the fine line? when will my dog stop barking in the middle of the night? i am not meant to be laughing; i am a serious girl who is going to write until i am all out of words, and leave two or three people behind to feel it, and all of the rest confused. i like that, but don’t make me simple. an artist is not an artist without targeting themselves as the misunderstood thing. a good artist is their own muse; i will not have been played by anyone else

march 28th, 2024

my hair is too short, also je m'en fous! everyone's more horrible than i remember

march 27th, 2024

i’m writing this at the hairdresser. there are foils in my hair and i look like a lunatic; i want my hair lighter. and i want to write! but with three and a bit hours sleep and a very-big-headache i don’t think i can. it’s a shame i need to write good things to be taken for good - if only they could see me face-first instead of on the surface. they just need to shake my hand, then i’ll be in. something about today has given me a stomach-ache. i hate everyone except maybe like two people, and those people can be horrible sometimes too anyway. i had a late start but i woke up to go to my nail appointment. i got them a little brighter red than i normally do. they call this dark scarlet red. i got my mascara after from the pharmacy, my good one that is no-smudge — for the criers who cannot wear mascara because it pours down your face by the end of the day — but it means it is impossible to take off. i can’t wait to open the new one tomorrow morning. i also bought a croissant. but i felt sick. i didn’t eat more than half. went to action project class, though. which proved okay. i am doing okay in action project, which is better than okay, seeing as i am always missing that class. okay maybe i like just one person. i didn’t go to maths after. [redacted] and i went to glenside instead and got milks from foodland, and we sat on a bench. she told me she thinks i am going to be a journalist, but a novelist on the side, and that against my interests i will have two girls. this seems painfully accurate for [redacted]. i did hers too. i let her know she is not to be worried; she will succeed no matter what. she is destined to, unless death comes early. i don’t feel smart around her. if i sound smart, i am not aware of it. i think this is because she’s known me since i was six. i feel no need to do anything necessarily. nothing matters with her or against her. i saw [redacted] but i didn’t like sitting with her today. i just wanted to wriggle off and get away. i felt miserable by the end of lunch, but i went to french. i am so so tired. there is nothing to say. nobody is changing and i find myself to be the most intriguing person in a room full of people my own age. this is unhelpful and lonely. one day i won’t be. what happens when i feel differently? i also went to science. [redacted] said there was something wrong with me immediately, and that i don’t seem the way i normally am in his class. i sat outside and wrote and tried not to cry. maybe because i am tired or loveless or a little worn-down and wasted. all four. when my hair is done and i’ve finally eaten something, i’m going to go home and write in my journal, then go to bed. i’ve tried today, but there’s nothing i can do to feel worth anything, so it’s better that i just go to sleep before i keep scavenging. i cannot be too hard-done-by for a bi-weekly occurrence that comes like anything else. it would be nice for her to bring home a brand new baby though

botanic gardens, best grapes, baby's good for the night

march 26th, 2024

had parents teacher interviews today. got very drunk. am very drunk now. between interviews [redacted] and i went to the botanic gardens. across the road from each other at the crossing we danced. we played cards and i barely beat her. she gave me a cigarette and i gave her some pot. we listened to the second sex. do i drink my own blood to show myself i am not afraid of menstrual bleeding? how can i know. i am not free to bleed. not anymore. i'm so tired. one last night of bad sleep and my stomach is growling at me. this is the only beast i have to hand-feed. grrr! well. dinner was fun tonight. i am all achey like an idiot. what can i do so i know how to feel? tomorrow will be better

i've made a mistake, and i love you again i love you love you! love you

march 25th, 2024

the thing is that i could name anyone to become and i would change into them without second-thought. so i know i would be happy for a moment, but soon the moment would end and i would rather end myself before admitting i’d made a mistake, but i’d write it in a letter and so here it is. here i am telling you i’ve made a mistake, and also that i am in love

i’m not a witch, but i am in the wrong body. i am a witch, and so i have binded myself to correctness; to balance and beauty. i don’t believe in god but something is happening to me that i can’t control - not an irresistible urge to dance! - and i have put it now into the hands of something i can’t ever feel is true. i am so in love with her. what is it about intimacy that makes it so very disturbing? by jeanette winterson, and haven’t you ever felt this? god! haven’t the religious ever been disturbed by their guilt? well of course, i’m asking dumb questions because i know you’re not listening. i know they are; we are all religious men. i know this by now. but i am not. i am not disturbed; i am not so deeply uncomfortable. but i am writhing in it. in what? this. i am so in love and you have said it before, but who ever tried to make it out as a good feeling? this is terror. this feeling is horrible. love has never felt good. intimacy is plain, and it can be left alone, but it cannot leave you alone. it is unparalleled to all else. haven’t you ever put your head in the lap of the woman you loved and thought you’d puke from a headache, but stayed there because what other palace on earth is so sweet as this one? haven’t you ever smelled her neck and kissed her collar bone and wanted to taste every part of her skin, to know you’d know? really, now. if you haven’t, i am not in love. i am something other. your actions are undefined by me and do not define me, but i know for sure then i am not in love; something else is with the way i am looking at us. in the mirror, and asking, do you like what we’re seeing? you know all this. there’s nothing i can say. haven’t you tasted bitter and taken it for sugar? this is done before; i am spoken for. i am not outspoken. mostly i am quiet and need a place by the sea to look at pictures of you, but then i’d scream and scream until the seagulls pecked at me. i’d peak in this way. i’d draw a flag in the sand, and then i’d come to you again with palms up, and say, “look”, and breathe, “i’ve thrown it away, so you’ll make new cracks and colors”, and begin to cry, “i’m not good, but who is? i am divine”, and look up. nothing is the same thing. not even the way that we try to trick each other into being lovely, or tasteful. don’t you know that everything is all the same? it blurs into one sacred word unspoken for. and that might be love, but it is definitely not a line i can deliver. but i will wait on you. so you will call out, and i can come home again

wouldn’t it be horrible for me to clarify any of this? i can’t take a breath and prepare to explain myself to anyone, or this. but please try. if by the end of the month i have not washed up at your side of the bay, or you have not gone out looking; i will end the singing out and look for something new to swallow or pick apart with my fingers. heaven on earth, do you hear it? i am changing now, and i have made a mistake

slept late, and a library date

march 24th, 2024

i woke up in the early afternoon. yesterday i told myself if i could do nothing, it would be fine; i just had to read for a bit, and i would not feel bad for it. unfortunately i am all or nothing, so i went to the library and read an entire book. i could correct this, but being in between sounds dreary and typical. it was the book i started yesterday, oranges are not the only fruit . i wouldn’t have known if i hadn’t read the book. it was good. i didn’t wear makeup today. i ate toast with bacon and egg in the morning, and put chili mayonnaise on top. i got a headache, and lay back down in bed

mum drove me to the library. i sat at the back of the top part, on the couch, and in uncomfortable overhead lighting i turned every page. it is not a hard book to get through. i borrowed two new ones; both poetry. margaret atwood’s poetry, and a book i can’t remember the name of; about being a woman. i think it is called what kind of woman? i can’t be sure though; i might get back to you on that. when i came home i ate noodles and took a bubble bath, and at the dining table in my flannel pajamas i started [redacted]’s favorite childhood book, the wee free men, by terry pratchett. my dad likes his books. mum gave me a glass of white wine at dinner; it’s my favorite wine i’ve ever had. then i went away again, and took down the washing, then walked the dogs around. mum and i watched an episode of better date than never, which is better than it sounds. i like neurodivergent dating shows

oranges are not the only fruit, you know

march 23rd, 2024

i bought new flannel pajamas today. they are light blue, with bunny-rabbits on them and little grey flowers. i feel like a child. oh! this is the best feeling in the world. i’ve gone away to write. i cleaned my room before; two tealight candles are burning. they are black cherry scented. i just had a rose tea, and i started a new book. oranges are not the only fruit, by jeanette waterson. for dinner we ate soy chicken, and for dessert i made milo cookies, but i have not had any. i like to make other people’s recipes. i am worried i am grinding my teeth in my sleep again. [redacted] hasn’t asked me to work this weekend, which means i can do anything i want. i finished my exchange application this morning, and submitted it. i am worried only because it is officially out of my hands. i have to rest knowing i have done everything i possibly could have. two nights ago i had the most disturbing dream of my entire life. it was the night a year ago when i overdosed, and i wonder if this had any part in it. it did not tell me anything, but i woke up so tired, and so unwell. with the driest, sorest throat. will i ever get away from her? is it my life’s purpose to be in her clutches? oh, god. it’s awful. that was what the dream was about. her. you know. her. i went for breakfast with mum this morning, too. does she remember what yesterday was? i got a breakfast burger, but it made me feel sick. i bought three things at the op-shop; a nice skirt which looks like it should only fit a ten-year-old, but fits me quite well. and i got a black dress-top. it’s hard to describe it. but it has off-the-shoulder long sleeves. it’s flowy, witchy. yesterday at [redacted]’s, she gave me her blue shirt to wear home. i wore it all morning. i also got a brown leather backpack today, which was very expensive. mum offered to pay for half of it, because i am going to use it for school. i am worried i will get ill again soon. i have this feeling that things are slowing down. but i’m trying to keep up with myself. i don’t think i am ridiculous about what i want, but i don’t think i am easy about it. yesterday i said that [redacted] has more dread (for the future), where i have more anxiety and regret (about the past). i feel unfortunate a lot of the time. i know that what is ahead of me will never make me happy. even if i make all the right choices; they will all eventually make me full of dread and disappointment. when has anyone ever made the most of anything?

i am in love, but with what?

march 22nd, 2024

a year ago today i woke up in hospital from an attempted suicide, post-vomit and swollen everywhere. my liver was fine. i was fine. i was disappointed. i went home and felt fine. i was disappointed. not because i hadn’t died, but because i hadn’t learnt anything from it. when i’d taken the pills, i’d thought to myself; this won’t work. never had it occurred to me, and still it hasn’t, that it ever would have killed me. i just wanted to do something i’d never done before. but i woke up the next day and i still had candles waiting to burn and journals in boxes from primary school. when i came home i walked my dog, took him to the park i smoked with my best friend in, and sat in bed, and i finished an elena ferrante novel which i do not ever remember reading. still, i have not learnt anything from this. i watch and listen to people who tell me about how they woke up, and knew suddenly they wanted to live. my problem is not this. i have never not wanted to live, and i have never felt particularly desperate to die. i don’t know why i took the pills; i still don’t. but i must have thought, what other time is there? and i felt like i was running out. of what? chances. feelings. i don’t know. i don’t understand. i wish i did. i wished something would happen to me; i still do. but i did not understand something particular then; that i cannot wait for anything. i was not miserable because i was alive. i was miserable because i did not know what to live for. and i still don’t, but i have since gotten better at lying and finding things every day. this is okay. this works for me. god works for others. their dog works for others. the fear of death works for others. there must be some persisting area of life that we choose to continue for. and this is my problem. i do not live for anything. i live for my inventions, which are ever-changing. i live for my soul which terrifies me, which some days i cannot assess without vomiting. i live for her, because some days she is so sweet i could rinse myself in her. other times i am alone. mostly i am full of myself, and indulgent. but being scarce never satisfies me. it does for some. some does for others what a lot does not do for me, or a little, or the between. i am at odds with myself. i am in love, but with what?

today i am alive and breathing in bed, and i am watching the blades of my fan in the mirror; spinning too fast for me to see. one moves and the next i see is the same, on it’s third rotation. i am very afraid of myself. but i am understanding. or trying to. i am seeing things i didn’t ever see before. i skipped school today; i left with my primary school friend and we drank chamomile tea at a café until my girl came to join us. she left and we ran. on the bus i breathed her in and it was silent. we had to walk up to her house; getting off at the last stop meant nothing. we ran on up the road and i was sweaty and thin. this day last year, i was cold and fat. i could not bear myself in the mirror, and i still can’t. nothing has changed. i have changed everything, and nothing has changed. i cannot outrun anything. see, we ran out of time to have sex in her sheets, and i left in the early afternoon. her little brother is going to be such a good man one day. he is not going to be me. and one day she will show you something to live for and an example for you to become; if not, just look at me and i’ll let you sleep in my bed forever. and everything will be okay. we can lie about lying together. are you reading this? can you give me a kiss? kiss your screen if you ever read this. kiss your palm and remember how i did it. i love you. the doctor gave me the all-clear, and i’m going to be in france in four months. not if i lose myself before then, or something bigger comes and gets me before i manage to smoke enough weed and get on that plane alone. still, i won’t outrun myself. in fact, there all i will have is myself. i’ve gotta get used to this awful language i speak at night, alone in my own company. i saw a movie with mum; we ate bad nachos in the theatre and i cried when she said “you can’t even dream a whole dream, can you?” because maybe not. maybe i won’t. and i am the person who bites off just as much as they can chew. because at least they are not hungry. but isn’t it better to be hungry than satisfied? and is over-indulgence not worse again? oh, god. i don’t know. still. nothing. but i am alive in bed

all i do is write and lie to myself

march 21st, 2024

[redacted] gave me back the school document today. i have to fill in the parts about my school grades and stuff, but then i can basically just scan it and put it in. and then that's the school section done. EVERYTHING IS SO ANNOYING. sometimes. like today. i have a headache and feel stupid. so! instead of smoking weed or drinking wine, i am going to make myself tea and digestive biscuits, then sit at the table, fill out my school report, then write my letter in french. and maybe after i will smoke weed... and start this book i've been meaning to start for ages. i haven't read in forever! it's all so depressing sometimes. it's okay, and only for the moment. i have the sports day carnival tomorrow and i can't decide if i'm going to commit to making the most of it tomorrow and having a good time, or just fucking off with [redacted] and doing other things. i don't know. i have to wear something green tomorrow, apparently. and i want to make money but ugh! i don't want to work this weekend, and i will. all weekend i bet. or he'll have me the whole day. i just need to make it to easter, then i'll put all my bad energy into the beach, leave it there, and come home with new idealogies. i'm meant to be taking action right now, or something. anything. i'm going to take action tonight; watch me. what do i want? i want to write, and so that's what i'm going to do

aced my maths test, action project can kiss my ass

march 20th, 2024

i've been meditating more regularly, but still it shocks me every single time i meditate and feel improved after. i recently shared the fact i've been kind of consistent with it to [redacted] and i hated her response. why am i not allowed to be healthy? i felt stupid sitting there talking about it, and she said "i only do it when i'm in psychosis" okay yes. okay yes. but? i am sharing good news right now. there is absolutely no need to take away from some general self-improvement on my end just because you aren't familiar with my version of improvement. i sound like an asshole. anyway i felt a million miles ahead of time this morning when walking to the bus, so i decided to do balance's "commute" meditation, and it was a lifesaver. basically my wonderful man ofasu just told me about how walking familiar routes can sometimes lead to you forgetting what you're doing, because you end up on this kind of autopilot, and your brain thinks about other things and it can be stressful. particularly on the way to something. and i was worried about meeting [redacted] for coffee this morning after yesterday. i was thinking about what i would do at my destination before i'd even arrived. basically ofasu told me to notice the things around me, and to not attach a feeling to it. to look at the tree and notice if they were dry or bright or dewy, or if they had fallen. are they on the ground? can you hear the cars? oh, yeah. there are cars beside me. loud cars. that kind of thing. i forget how fucking good for your soul it is. i arrived at the bus stop just thinking about what i was seeing, and actively stopping myself from looking into the future. and it wasn't exhausting. i'm getting better at it

i'm really happy [redacted] wanted to meet for coffee still. we had a really good chat, because i was calm and collected and just well-organized. i was really listening to her today as well. i got a hot chocolate. french was fine. we did listening and dictation stuff today. after i caught [redacted] in the hallway to talk about my application and she said she'd get it to me by the end of the day. i had maths after recess, and i'm so happy i took a piss before because i was bursting. i did so well on my maths test. i can feel it. i knew everything i was doing. i was sure of it. i knew how to go about it. i checked my answers. basically that might be the best i've ever done on a maths test in my life. i hung out with [redacted] at lunch and we talked about unlikeable people, and while we were sitting at franks a small little girl in a pink top came up from behind me and poked my back. i saw [redacted] at franks too, and asked if i could have her old uniform. she was with her friend, who was in [redacted]'s mentor. i wish i could remember her name. i had art after lunch, and we started this unit on movie posters and colour palettes. so i chose the colour palette from the documentary poster "fire of love" and got to write a little paragraph about why it's nice to look at. then i was going to skip action project with [redacted] but i got a little email from [redacted] telling me she had a question about my application, so i told her i was skipping and outside languages. she came, gave me a quick scolding, then we spent about half an hour wasting time and kind-of-writing, not really. she went away for a bit to go get the application stamped by the "offical [redacted] stamp person" but they'd already left for the day. so she left the application with them at the front desk and told me she'd bring it to me in the last lesson tomorrow. i don't believe her, but she gave me a pinky swear. she's going to forget. then [redacted] and i went to otr, and got slushies. i didn't finish mine, and i started eating my lunch. we sat outside the pharmacy. mum got me a bit later on and took me home. for the last two hours i've been doing the tricky bit of the application, and writing the bit about short sentences about me in french. i'm not sure how good the writing is, but it's fine. i'm confident enough. at least i'm doing it in french at all. once my parents come home i've got to get them to look at the massive contract, sign it, then sign the consent form and program offer, and then tell them they need to write a letter to my host family about me. and have them do that. so it's going to be really easy... but! i think i'll have time tonight to finish my science assignment, which means i don't ever need to think about it ever again, and potentially write something for my blog

and i'm totally not going to be disappointed if none of this works out for me. totally won't be at all disappointed

european pennies and gimkit scripture

march 19th, 2024

i feel hoisted up and light as a feather! don't worry, that was nothing

got a new english assignment today and my english teacher is literally the most knowledgeable person in the world. i can’t explain it. if you met her you would know. that woman is bursting with knowledge. i would go to her if ever i had to assign someone to co-direct my life. art has become tedious and boring. all we do is work on our folios, and i never talk to anyone. and it kind of makes me feel like a bad person, because i’ve been using photographs from a girl in my class’s drive folder, which she shared with me ages ago. so i feel guilty even breathing beside her. in leap i did a bad thing by sharing my questioning poem with [redacted], and she kind of reacted very judgmentally and skeptically. i’m meant to be meeting her for coffee tomorrow. not sure if that’s happening. i texted her and she didn’t respond. and after lunch i had pod, so i got started on my maths revision for my test tomorrow, which i should continue after i finish this entry, and i got to talk to a tutor i like about my exchange application, which is in desperate need of my full attention by the way. then i had science, and my relief looked like he was going to drop dead from boredom, but he actually looked more like he had just freshly killed someone himself. he let us out early because he wanted to go home, and then i went upstairs to get a cheeky hug from [redacted]. her class all knows my name now, but only by the nickname "bethie", so it’s good to know i’ve established myself amongst the twelve-year-old french students. this little boy talked to us for about fifteen minutes about his gimkit strategies, which was just ridiculously funny, and then a little bit unfortunate. but he was so fucking sweet, and he remembered my name when he said goodbye to me. [redacted] gave me some one cent euros, then told me to gaslight my mum into getting us a meeting with her so we can reunite, which i did this afternoon at home. but also i want to talk to her about exchange, and with my mum there, so they both know i’m serious about it. at home i’ve been writing and writing and writing, and drinking herbal tea in the kitchen. but i need to do my maths test revision tonight, and try to fill out a bit of my exchange application. i wish i could stay up late and write, but school is fucking me up and taking itself too seriously right now for me to do that

j'ai mal a la tete

march 18th, 2024

i haven’t written in a while and i haven’t wanted to, as i’ve felt like none of my work or ideas have been particularly there or new or worthwhile. i know it is important to even when you feel like that, but nothing natural comes out from force and what do i want that is unnatural, i am naturally an unnatural writer. well. anyway. last night i put something up that i had written a while ago, and i woke up to an email this morning from a girl who told me she had seen my blog and wanted to re-create it, and i could i just please “walk her through the process”. well. anyway. flattery is flattery either way. it was monday today and i had a sore throat and a little bit of anxiety. i had to present the action project assignment that aaryaa did most of by myself, which made me feel bad. i tried to step up as soon as i realised she’d been doing it all by herself because i don’t want to be the person who gives it all to someone else, as i myself am usually that person and it fucking sucks, but i knew from the beginning it has been entirely her idea and planning and video. i just did my small part. we had a nervous relief teacher. i had maths after recess and i turned in my investigation, which was a relief after last night. at lunch i hung out with [redacted], and some girls she’s friends with that i also am kind of parasocial with. they got milkshakes from franks but i had enough self-respect today to ignore my paycheck and not get one too. then i got my second email of the day, which i would insert but it was a whole essay. it was ridiculously nice, looking back; it was from a christian girl in america who told me she had started reading and devouring my poems late that night, and defended me about my choice to write about god even as an atheist, as i have been publically slandered online for that. but she sent me a nice long email, so i sent one back to say thank you. i had science and failed to start my assignment, then went to french and had an almost-panic attack. i gave [redacted] my school document to fill out for exchange, but there is some confusing shit on the form that i don’t know if either of us will figure out before the deadline. it is what it’s become

i also forgot to eat today so i ended up coming home and eating most of my lunch-box food, an entire block of chocolate, passing out on the bed in pain, and doing “forgiveness” meditation, then crying because it was so fucking sad. i was also going to take a nap, i now remember. but instead i sat in the bath for a bit too long and tried again to get myself to write something; nothing came

my meditation sounded like this; “imagine yourself on the side of a very tall wall. on this side of the wall, which you cannot see over, there is only you, and nothing else. just the same, plain every day. on the other side of the wall, there is opportunity, growth, freshness; meeting new people, enjoyment, indulgence, pleasure” and i didn’t think it was all that bad, until my meditation man went on to say “now imagine the person you are trying to forgive, trapped behind their own wall” and i had to stop fairly soon after that because i was heaving in tears. “you can’t control their choices, but you can make your own. you notice a wide entrance opening, allowing you to pass through the wall… "

suffering through the five stages of grief within five hours

march 17th, 2024

i worked from 9:30 until 4:00 today. jesus christ does working make me want to blow my brains out. sorry. but it does. i am not built for that shit. i know everybody is miserable most of the time at work, but oh my god we are so silly! if everybody did the thing they were passionate about and could profit off it we would be oh oh oh so much happier, it is fucking devastating. this is a part time job but goodness are we tedious little animals. oh i’m sorry NO i don’t know who stole all the sugars from table twelve, WHAT. anyway. it’s just like the five stages of grief. first i’m there and i’m in denial about the fact i’m going to spend however long doing the same thing i do every shift, and then i get angry at myself because why did i agree to work for this long, and then it’s bargaining because i start convincing myself i can make this worth my while and i just generally start gaslighting myself, then i descend into deep-seated depression because there’s still another four and a half hours to go, and i’m hot and sweaty and look gross and i gave the lady the wrong coffee, so i hide at the back dish-pigging to cry, then i reach final stage, acceptance; where i realize i’m going to get paid and i’m going to make it out alive and as long as i maintain a level of self-estrangement on the job i can make it out unscathed. today was really not that bad, that aside. i liked who i worked with today, and my boss told me i was doing a good job. and i had a good time on my break

anyway i came home and had about fifteen minutes to clean my room and skull three glasses of soda water, then [redacted] came over and we watched the entire K-12 movie on youtube by melanie martinez, and we knew all the words and dance moves still. [redacted] has moved hyperfixation person and it’s fucking hilarious and borderline torturous to experience second-hand, because i have that too. we went to the park after and got high and she told me she really just wants to be an artist, so when i asked her more about it she told me the only reason she really wants to get into the industry is to feel praised and to meet celebrities. which is fine. i get it. kind of. but i also really don’t. i know i mentioned this but as soon as people have started reading and having opinions about my work more frequently the novelty of it has died, and maybe it’s just my rejection sensitivity but i fail to believe it or feel good about it at all. it’s daunting and horrifying knowing people are trying to understand you. anyway, i’m not worried about [redacted]. she will end up doing something she loves. i know it. she is determined and passionate and well-meaning, i think. i also had to do my entire maths investigation once she left, because it's due tomorrow and i'm not waking up at 5am. jesus i need to go to bed

saw my old teacher, saturday mental breakdown and weed self-compassion session + taiwanese erotic dancers with my parents

march 16th, 2024

i saw [redacted] today! my favorite teacher from primary school. we met at norwood and he brought [redacted] and their two little girls. my mum stayed. we got coffees and caught up, and the girls went to the park so he and [redacted] had a little less to deal with. unfortunately i don’t have anything to say. he is exactly how i remembered. and i did a good job i think of not acting like a piece of shit, which is kind of what i was concerned about. i remained neutral and passive. we left and bought printing paper so that we could print out the exchange forms, and i got a small stretchy animal, made out of like the jelly material, which says is an axolotl, but looks like a magical lizard. then i wasted some time watching snl. mum printed out my documents for exchange and came in to give them to me, and to cut to the chase, on the medical document i have to get my doctor to fill out a report on all of my past hospitalizations and diagnoses, and now i don’t think i will get in. mum made it clear she was concerned about it. if they say i have tried to commit suicide, what host family will accommodate for me? i am not like that anymore, but there is no box to tick for “lots of self-improvement, easy-going and low demand, full recovery”. so i’m fucked, and i cried about that for most of the afternoon, because i really really want it to happen, and there’s so much to possibly go wrong. i have a tiny amount of time to complete the application and so many people to rely on to get it through. i know it’s out of my hands, because i’m doing my part, but i hate feeling out of control. particularly when i am so excited and passionate about doing this. it’s not beneficial to expect disappointment for everything, but i feel like i should be expecting disappointment about this. so anyway, that was my mental break-down. it was from about three to five in the afternoon, so it was decently long. i also got violently high during the peak of it, consistently too. i have to give the school document to [redacted] to fill out on monday. i am writing that so i don’t forget it

so post-getting high, my parents thought it'd be a great idea if we went to see a fringe show, which we never do, but they picked out the worst possible performance on that night. i don't know how they did it. we somehow ended up at this taiwanese all female acrobatic group, which to preface sounds amazing and worth seeing, but it was not that. i don't think i have it in me to go into detail, but basically fringe shows should not have high expectations. ever. this one had no expectations from me and i was left speechless by the end, and after my afternoon i was tripping out. spinning out. it was just nonsensical and not all that impressive and just so uncalled for and forgettable. even now i can't believe that is an experiencing that just happened to me. it was like intense derealization. one woman put her leg on my mum's knees and asked her to draw a love heart on her ass with a red lipstick. oh my god

short cause i'm shot

march 15th, 2024

i don’t want to talk about anything today. i am happy to forget about it all. it was boring and tiring and i felt like a small floating bit of matter. but i got lots of homework done after school, including action project and french, and i got my exchange application sent to me by [redacted] today, so i started on that and did two hours worth. i also wrote a little bit. mum and dad got drunk at a piano concert tonight and came home mimicking the pianist, who was apparently an autistic swedish man

psychotic breakdown or mastermind syndrome

march 14th, 2024

so. i'm going on exchange. nothing's finalised but i had my interview today with [redacted], the nice lady who coordinates all of the australia - france exchanges, and i really liked her and she really liked me, and she wants me to go for it. i am going to do it. i am i am i am. i am but i'm not sure how. i don't want to just bite my cheeks and get through it, i want to really enjoy it and feel all kinds of different and insurmountable things that i've never imagined. but i don't want to go to school and i don't want to miss people and what about my poor doggy and all my creative freedom and i am going to have such bad days there, just like i do here, and what if i never have a good day there? and what if i don't like my host family?

i am really really worried about not being the best version of myself. every time i start to think about it i get this tingly feeling in my toes as if i'm about to float out of my bed and into another body. i just want to know what it will be like already; if i will make it out alive. that kind of thing. i know it's what i want to do but what if i'm not meant for it. nothing is meant for me and i need to make my own opportunities and i don't want to eat from the hand that feeds me all the time; but what if i bite it and then it never comes back? i come back and it doesn't. what if what i'm leaving behind is worth staying for. i know deep in my bones i will leave and go regardless, but what about [redacted]? how can i leave her? and what if she is fine without me, and i without her. what do i do then? is that good? and what if by the time i'm home [redacted] has been driven mad by psychotics and forgotten joy and me and me and me? i am going to leave everything behind and come back stripped bare and new, and i am not sure if i am ready for it yet. i know i am i know i am i am i am but what if i'm wrong and know nothing? how do i get all the worry out of me? i'm not going to be able to smoke weed or write when i want and the school days will be so fucking long and i just want to do the right thing

mum let me sleep in this morning because it was raining outside and i didn't sleep well and yesterday was bad. very good, and so bad. but i came for recess and sat outside with my mentor group girls and talked about things i can't remember, but i know did happen. in leap we checked our privilege by standing at a line, and taking a step forward or backward depending on the question about privilege. it was interesting, and in the classroom we talked about systems in various societies. science was shortened, and honestly i tried to do my work, but all i could think about was how miserable and tired i was. i started joan didion's documentary on netflix at the end of it. i spent lunch with [redacted] at the back of new building. i felt off and sad i couldn't be present for our conversation. and hungry. then i had art, and we learnt about shutter speed, ISO, and apertures. in english we had the worst relief teacher. he's not the worst, but i can't tell if he's really demented and unwell or if it's just a massive pisstake. walked home in the heat and had my exchange interview. now i'm going to make quiche for dinner and submit to a journal

what a mess i've made of things i care about, and i must be god to have made this work for me

march 13th, 2024

today i am in excrutiating pain in which echoes all throughout my body so loud i can hear it, and i am begging from within to write something above and beyond, so i am desperate to write in another language of which i have never known exists, so that it feels fresh as this day. how she wraps me up in her! how she calls me baby in the hallway! how she lets me sit with her for hours! how i am the best part of her day! how i eat with her! how i talk to her about the weed and the witches and the worst weeks of my life! how she looks at me the same, and how i look at her when she talks to me about all the same things. all the new things i forget and will never remember, and how i sit there begging to pause time and freeze until the feeling is dwelled-in. upon. over the top of it, i am going to kiss her on the mouth because of it! don't you ever wish you could breed yourself with another's brain and just devour somebody whole because of your horrible fascination. how i love her like never before! and she like nobody ever has! i am going to drink until we die and get our inky tattooes and how i am going to break down sobbing at the very thought of parting with her. this is unforgettable love, but i forget it anyway and yearn for it when it goes. what horrible writing that she drunk like red wine! and i cried and cried and she wiped everything away, called me baby baby baby, oh baby! i could eat her. i could swallow her. i could lay in bed with her forever looking at the ceiling. i look at her with a fresh pair of eyes every day. i am so in love but i am just a daughter. she doesn't know that i lie in bed at night and do not catch a break from the fever of feeling my bones on her body, inside of it. how i long to leap into hell with her and feel the burn of our limbs to laugh it off and live a little worse but be together, be mended together; how i know it doesn't matter when the airplane gets too close and the blanket on the end of my bed sways in the wind. i am going to get so much older and tell so many stories. she is the best thing in the entire world, and i am just here for it; i am just a passers-by. she doesn't know she is my muse, my mother, my mellowed-out art project. she just wants to kiss the bridge of my nose and make me feel a little better. and oh god, how she does it. she is a talented lady with a tortured streak. i could i could i could, and i won't because it will jump out of me and i will run after it but be too late. i cannot ruin the lives of those i love most. this will not be my ruin or hers, it would be wicked for me to wonder why she could not just take me home with her, but i do anyway. i am wicked, but i prefer it to being something i don't understand any better than her. god how she cried when she read the poem i made about her, a blend of the worst and the best of what i have seen. what i know, how "how do i live if i am not the only person with a pair of eyes?" i am a mess, i am fucked for her. i am fucking myself over and over; but not to her, for her. i am no better than what i am born to be, but i can live to see it for her. i will see it out so that at night when the high wears off i can put on a new shirt and get over it

is having very high hopes worse than having nothing to look forward to

march 12th, 2024

i’ve gotten the all clear from [redacted] to go ahead with the three month exchange, so to have an IB leader assure me that those dates are okay and will just need a work around is pretty great. the only other thing i need to do now is talk to [redacted] about changing my timetable for semester two so that i have the subjects to get into IB at all. it’s just a stupid thing my school does, because they want us to have the perfect preparation even if we don’t need it so that we will have the highest possible chance of being high performing. i have my interview with [redacted] tomorrow so that she can start my profile, and then after i’ve completed my full application to the program i am basically in, and it’s just a long wait to august 31st. then my sole purpose on earth is to secure my place in IB by the time i get back and to just fuck around and try not to think too much about what i’m doing. if all i need to stress about is contained to this week and everything that comes after is three months in france and two years of IB then i’m set. we’re all going to die but what are you dying for? that is the question

also i went to podgress this morning. i don’t want to talk about what that was. it was actually good. everyone in pod likes me and i am 88% sure they are grooming me to be the next pod prefect in year twelve. we’ll see about that. anyway, i had good ideas and i was an active contributor. it was so bloody hot today i nearly died. my leap class is deeply depressing at the moment and we all were sweltering for sixty minutes. at lunch i talked to the ib leader, who is just on the side fucking hilarious so far half of lunch i had a blast, then the other half i sat at the back of the new building with [redacted], [redacted], and a girl who i really like that nobody else does, [redacted]. then i had english, and we talked about why roderigo from othello’s virtues become his vices. i don’t like any of the characters in othello except for emilia; she is excellent. anyway. i should’ve drunk more water today. then i tried to find [redacted] but he wasn’t in his office, so i sent him an email that i really should’ve looked over, as it is viscously passive aggressive, but i was so fucking stressed and he kind of really needed to be there today. then i went to pod and sent emails and replied to emails and realized i have one day to finish my art assignment, so i am going to do that when i finish writing this. i also realise now i need to do my english and action project reflections, but it’s just so pointless i lose my will to live every time i start typing. mum said something an hour ago that i vowed i wouldn't write down so i'd have a better chance at forgetting it, but i think i want to remember it after all. she said that she spoke to her scottish friend today, and learnt that university tuition is free in scotland for residents, or someone with settled status. mum said she and dad want to live in scotland when i graduate from high school, but that maybe i could take a double gap year and become a paid employee, and get dual citizenship with them there. then my tuition would be free. it's all a bit too good to be true. i wish she hadn't told me

my poetry was accepted into a literary magazine today and i feel absolutely nothing about it. it feels like nothing. art feels like nothing when people finally approve of it, and yet somehow all i look for is praise and approval

thank god life is hard but also sometimes what the fuck

march 11th, 2024

i sat at the beach today and shut my eyes on the shore and when a wave came for me i imagined that i didn't know what a wave was, and i was a deaf and blind person hearing for the first time. i love the ocean. when all you can hear is the wind and the waves and the salt is licking you dirty, scraping it off beneath fingernails. i fucking love it. exchange seems to be getting hard to navigate, unfortunately. by that i mean i need to arrange an interview under limited time and i'm starting to think i don't really want this and all along it has been an underwhelming attempt to escape australia and prove to my family i can do it, and now i am finally starting to like my life. but writing this now makes me think i need it more. it is so difficult. what if i am making a huge mistake? do i even want to go to france? why don't i choose somewhere a little more worldly? i am going to miss out on so much, and the big thing holding me back is IB. i want to get in, very badly. i need to make sure i can get into IB before i leave one exchange, but organizing that with MY school is ridiculously hard. i don't know who i need to talk to about it, either. i want complete assurance that i'll be in IB when i'm back for year eleven. if i stayed it would make that all very easy and quick, but isn't the whole point of me going away breaking up from the easy? to challenge myself a little? each time i convince myself into it, i convince myself out of it. this isn't just a "i'll find a way", this is a "oh shit, i really need to organize this for myself" and i don't have the time. i need to decide within the week, have the interview with the lady sometime in the next two days. i'm driving myself mad. i can't sleep on it. i'll send an email to the lady tonight who i'm meant to have the interview with and that will be all for tonight; i'll have all of tomorrow to think. i just have to do it; i have to say yes to exchange and in the time leading up, devote all my time to getting into IB. fuck. i had a good day. after we got back from the beach, i went to [redacted]'s and we complained about the heat and smoked outside anyway. i think i got burnt because her little brother called me a lobster. anyway. it's all been fine; i feel very tired. but i have so much to think about. god, i need to get it over with. why does this feel like such a big huge fucking decision? i just know i need to get into IB and everything else comes after

i like growing up by the beach

march 10th, 2024

as much as it pains me to say, going away to aldinga this weekend was a good choice. i needed the break from reality and detachment from regular self, even though i don’t really like this version of myself that much. the best way i can describe how i feel about myself when i’m here is that i feel wasted and useless, as in what good is it that i try to do anything here except the very bare minimum? i cant quite figure out at what times i need this, but i figure maybe i should so that i can work out if coming here on another random weekend will result in disrepair and complete self-estrangement. anyway. i felt mad today, as in crazy-mad, not angry-mad. we went to the beach in the afternoon and i forgot to eat, so every time i stood up i felt as if i was actually going to pass out from heat. i drank two vodka tonics and finished boy parts by eliza clark, which i borderline hated. so i’m happy i managed to get through it within two days. i’m going to start the king’s general by daphne du maurier tomorrow; i still haven’t read rebecca but i read jamaica inn a couple of months ago and really, really liked it. in the most literal sense, when i’m in love with someone i feel completely stupid. i don’t know who doesn’t also feel this way, but i imagine lots of people find some divine wisdom and knowledge in love, but instead of feeling like god i feel naked and powerless. i enjoy it a lot. i think it feels like a break, but it also makes me uncomfortable and helpless when i think about it. i have no other profound thing to say about this. i hope one day i am worthy of myself. does this make sense to anyone else?

the waiting room to pre-eminent death

march 9th, 2024

my teeth are going to start rotting and i’m not going to do a thing about it. mum says the chip in my tooth has gotten bigger and i feel like there is a small army of ants charging toward my bed at night. i am afraid they’re getting in through the window ceil. and my french is getting worse and maybe i never even meant what i said because i wanted so much, like going away forever. maybe i’m not going to go away in an even more horrible way. people need to stop telling me that if i go to a different country i’m still going to take myself there. NO I WONT. i’m not going to take myself there; i’m going to smoke a lot of weed and feel very good about the life i’ve made for myself and i’m going to stop saying i’ll work things out at the beginning of tough things and i am literally going to stop leaving the fan on all the time because it wastes so much electricity and i’m going to be poor and the poor awful terrible little creature i’ll have with me will take on so much but i’m going to work things out. in this ungodly waiting room before the crisis sets in or the impending of eventually no outcome finally reaches me i will live a totally pre-woke life where i remember “the good old days” in the waiting room. this fucking waiting room that i keep talking about is where i am now in the little time-slot before life, but life is nothing once i work out what life is. all these religious assholes are just jokers and clowns dressed up like us but at least they have someone to talk to. remember that fucking dream because i can’t stop fucking thinking about having nobody to pray to and nothing to hope for when the sky was falling down around me. i might be high but i am not paranoid, i just feel this terrible lump in the center of my chest as if it’s a breath caught there, halfway in and out just like me. like the jellyfish. theo says they are somewhere between conscious and unconscious. what do you do here?

my dream about the sky-bridge and why witchcraft is not a practice, but a way of life

march 8th, 2024

it’s waning crescent and i am sleeping better. it’s waning crescent and i am having bad dreams and feeling spiritually inclined. we listened to a podcast on witches today in the kitchen with empty stomachs and gin and tonic, and as he was speaking i wondered why indigenous australians were never (that i know of) put on trial for witchcraft. their beliefs revolve around spirits and the earth and the community and health. they used herbs and flowers and practiced rituals and story-telling. for 60,000 years their beliefs and culture were entirely untouched by modern-day and untampered with by current religions, and they held these beliefs. where did they get them from? i am so curious about the land i live on. everything is fruitful and fertile and damaged by us, but we just refuse to return. i am so hungry to be connected to something as big as earth and the idea of returning to soil is something that calms my mind, it actually brings me to tears. i want to tear out of my body and take a form where i don’t feel as blind or like i need to make up for things. if i am the shoulders for so many women that come after me why do i want to punch them all in the face? i feel so fucking angry for no reason; today has been just so good and yet i get this sense that i could just throw someone to the ground. it makes me feel so indefinitely bad, because why do i want to be violent? i dreamt last night that a bridge in the sky made of cloud became a real bridge, and suddenly it was falling, falling way down and becoming real planks of wood that exploded all over the city, and in my car as i fled the city i knew i wouldn’t make it out and that i would die. but as this feeling hit me, the very first thing i thought to do was pray, so as i looked down and away from what was happening around me, i suddenly couldn’t think of anyone to pray to

it all matters so so so so much but why does everything taste like garbage

march 7th, 2024

if i spent the entire day kissing ass i still wouldn't be so humbled or mystified by my own lack of self-respect. and i think i have a lot of respect for myself. i'd think that if a member of the monarchy asked me to do anything for them i'd first think about what was in it for me. and what the fuck is self-respect? most days i feel like i really do have it and then something comes along where there is absolutely (you would think) zero opportunity for any display of self-respect of any kind and there isn't, and i don't, and i can't even sit up straight when i'm looking right at it. i don't know what i'm saying. clementine ford today; she was good. [redacted] made me want to blow my brains out and i can't figure out why, but the world was rotating slow. i can't see the moon at the moment, and it's distressing. who stole it? i keep writing the same things, which is aggravating because i feel fresh and new with good ideas but i cannot accurately express them; i can't figure out a way to compute them. i am off pizza, i've decided. i hate the taste. i never thought this would ever happen. it's become completely disgusting. that was dinner tonight, and what was theoretically meant to be traditional italian pizza tasted like dog-food. i had schwepps lemonade from a can. at home i found myself doing absolutely nothing and developing an itchy throat. i am worried about my dreams. the ones i've been having and the ones i have that i want for myself; i don't think it's all working out how i really want it to

pip williams is lovely. is amy dunne a psychopath or my biggest female inspiration?

march 6th, 2024

writer's week was good! i think. a lot happened today but i didn't feel it happening to me. as in i was a very stable unemotional brick wall, which was what i needed to be so i didn't cry in the field in front of great writers. on the bus there i sat beside a man who i felt sad for, and i really wanted him to know how empathetic i felt so i just sat there silently and played lorde's meoldrama album with the screen tilted slightly to him. i bought "boy parts" by eliza clark and saw pip williams talk about her book "the bookbinder of jericho" and she spoke about how most working class women before modern times didn't have enough time to leave anything behind. i wonder what good art we were deprived of. i saw her at the book signing table with [redacted] but i forgot to bring my book so i just stood with him while he got his signed; she is very very nice, but seems very busy. she signed [redacted]'s chest with her signature and he got [redacted] to take photos of it. i listened to jenny hval's blood bitch, then i hung out with some girls i don't really know, and they were nice. they were good. we watched the last interview together and then i went back on the bus even though i could've been dismissed earlier because it was too hot to do anything else

i just finished writing for english about different kinds of revenge in pop-culture, and so i talked about gone girl and i am getting amy dunne more and more and i think i want to go to dinner with her

tried to be a good friend but i went home and took a nap

march 5th, 2024

i hate days like today and it is because there is nothing to hate or love. this is a day i feel totally indifferent to and won't remember, and there's nothing i can do to try to make it more interesting at this point in the day. i just want to burn a candle and finish watching real women have curves and go to sleep. i stress myself out with things i don't have to do. a teacher today called me a "moral perfectionist" and i just sat blank-faced at him because yes i think so. if a moral perfectionist begins her statements with, "i just want to be good" and questions with "how do i be good?" then yes i think so. i am not so concerned with being bad as i am with being good. i am reading an essay at the moment by lamarr jurelle bruce called "how to go mad without losing your mind", and i think i pose this question to myself so freuqently it hasn't even registered as a question yet. for me i pose two pieces of information together that totally contradict each other, of course once you see the other side of something you see the side you were on much clearer in a less haze than ever before. i try to do this too much and i feel mad, as if i should stick to my corner and fight my battles as they come instead of just looking for fights to pick

i went to the doctor by myself today so i'm definitely not a child anymore. i caught the bus to the city and the to school and watched a documentary called "fire of love" about two french volcanologists / filmmakers and i really did think i was going to cry but i didn't because it was so beautiful and they left behind such great stories and footage and facts that it's impossible to be sad. i went to an assembly about atheltics day (which of course i'm not going to participate in) and had to do a silly chant so my year level coordinator stopped frowning at me. then i watched [redacted] and [redacted] referee the netball, teachers against students, and in science i filmed [redacted] for my assignment, so that was possibly the best part of my day. mum and i were going to watch past lives but she's too tired and i am too. i made nachos for us and we sat outside and she looked like she was going to die from heat stroke and exhaust, so i told her to ice her face and lock away the wine and work as much as she could then pass out in bed. i think she's asleep now. i'm not walking dogs because it's way too hot. i have my writer's week excursion tomorrow so i have to be there early. i think i'm meeting [redacted] for wednesday coffee too. i'm having a day where no matter how many times i wash my hands they still feel absolutely filthy

empathy as an act of aggression

march 4th, 2024

today nothing really happened. it’s a crime to live and be tired. really, why am i so exhausted all the time? just from getting up and walking around i feel like i need to go back to bed. [redacted] said “i love you very much”, to me today, and when she walked away she whispered to the girl beside her that i’m her best friend. i am winning off that high, yet also deeply miserable for her. my empathy destroys me; i would do so well without it some days, or just in lesser amounts, particularly with [redacted]. she is too close to home for me to be around and not immediately feel what she is feeling for her. it’s no burden, it’s just something that happens. when i do well, so does she; vice versa. i went to all my classes today, even the really bad 100 minute ones in the morning. and i wasn’t late to school, even though i only left the house ten minutes before i had to be in home-room. i guess all that matters from today is [redacted] wasn’t at school, so i was sad at recess and lunch, and in french [redacted] nearly cried, so i did too. but that’s all. the moon is getting lesser and i am too. i feel burnt out and day feels so bright. i want to shave my legs tonight and finish or start a book, but i don’t know where to go from here. i should finish my homework or take the dogs out. either way, i am going to end up going to bed early with un-brushed teeth and a pimple that won’t go away.

a night with hamlet

march 3rd, 2024

vladimir holan writes in a night with hamlet, “art is a lament, something for somebody, nothing for everyone”. and i think this is how i feel too. i just finished recording a podcast episode for my podcast which i have not even looked at for months. i don’t know what to do with it, but i figure it means something. i talked about how i am desperate for one goal, and like i’ve never been before; desperate to be a writer before a person. i want this thing to define me like nothing else, and i’m uncomfortable because i don’t know what that looks like, but i know it feels like i am finally able to understand what surrounds me. nobody ever can comprehend what is out there and in some way i feel as if being close to the universe is more intimate than being close to yourself. i am trying hard to order my thoughts, but it’s hard to be coherent and explain something which i have a million branching thoughts about the moment i think to begin

i spent today at writer’s week. mum and i saw suzie miller, who wrote the play prima facie. she was amazing. i linger on her every word. if i could get anywhere near to the amount of change she provoked in her audience then i have succeeded in becoming morally perfect. that’s not true, but she has done the most amazing work. the most amazing things have come about because of what she has written. mum and i also saw a panel of writers talk about how their families inspire their writing, it was very interesting. mostly, anyway. the sad writers have the most beautiful words. the funny writers are the best speakers. the old writers make misogynistic jokes and fill the room with their laughter. i don’t know what kind of writer i want to be (or the kind of writer i am) but i know what i don’t want to be. i want to be well-spoken and well-read and have poise and precision like a ballet dancer but with literature. this seems a great deal too much but in my head it is so simple; i will get there somehow. by doing things i don’t do and things i know work. maybe. we will see. and when i came home i journaled and finished panic room, the movie with jodie foster and kristen stewart, and i tried to annotate more of holan, but he is so depressing. i need to take it day after day, and i don’t know what book to start next

trent dalton and dune part two

march 2nd, 2024

good things today and yet i feel rotten. rory became a monster last night and so i didn't sleep well at all. i saw trent dalton at writer's week this morning. he said, "if you don't live like it's a story unfolding maybe you are missing out" which is something i've been thinking about a lot. so many people explaining how you can only feel truly alive by "romanticising life" and even more in disagreement. i think that trent dalton means to take romanticism for involvement out of interest/love. by choosing to romanticise something you are really choosing to become active and involved, so if the only way you are able to take interest and stop watching life pass you by is to consciously observe and glorify the things around you then you are only doing yourself a favour. this is how i took it anyway. i try to do myself this favour but sometimes it is too serious a commitment, so i simply end up more guilty than before i thought to have guilt for it. self-authorisation is harder than death inertia is all i'm saying

i came home from the event and ate breakfast. then saw dune part two at marion with mum, dad, and theo. i liked it. it held my attention and there was a lot to take in. i love movies. sometimes when i see a movie and think to myself "i love movies" i know that i have made a good choice to see it. it's a bit like greta gerwig answering "what is cinema?" by saying "i know it when i see it". my boss called me but i can't work this weekend or the next weekend so i'm having an adhd freeze-up about calling him back. i know i just should but for some reason i feel so fucking freaked out about it. i want to get my exchange interview over but i still haven't heard back from [redacted]. and i was meaning to write, like really write not just journal, today. i feel impossible to deal with. i wanted to start a new book this wekeend. maybe after i clean my room and take the dogs out and call my boss back. i really just want to be asleep in bed, but i have homework to do. yet not enough that i will end up doing any

leap year day at the lemonade stand

march 1st, 2024

i went to all my classes and didn't freak out and i had energy for people that i don't normally have. french was a blast. i fucking love that lesson. it's so immersive and i always walk away with new knowledge. it's a curious person's dream

my maths teacher thanked me for sending him an email the other day about how helpful his lesson was. then i walked to the pharmacy and waited for mum. she ordered her perscription and bought me an expensive candle ("guava and lychee sorbet"?). i need to buy myself another cherry candle because mine is running out now. then we went home and i called dad to ask if he wanted to go to the fringe with me, because i haven't been. i got a bus there and wrote in my journal on the way. [redacted] sent me a message to tell me he was on the bus and saw me writing and that it was everything. i love writing in public. the fringe was good. we didn't see a show but we ate a lot, and got to check out both places. i still think gluttony is better than the garden of unearthly delights. i got tapas with three different dips, and i had strawberries dipped in chocolate. there was a nice man at the lemonade stand who really wanted to sell us sugar-coated nuts, and gave us free samples. he had great lemonade too. i played bjork on the way home and now i'm in bed, about to go to sleep. the all-nighter is finally hitting me