MySpace Blog Posts 2008

and again…

Monday, December 29, 2008
the trees
Current mood: animated
The trees- this is the end of the beginning. Watch her eyelashes flicker against her cheeks now. She is tired. The weight of tragedy is bearing her down.

Boy- where does this story go?

The trees- it goes where is leads. Linear stories have a way of becoming tangled in the telling.

Boy- from start to finish should be simple

The trees- then tell me boy your story, where does it begin or end?

Wednesday, November 05, 2008
fighting the fear
Current mood: discontent
so maybe all the fears about myself are real

maybe they’re not just my broken self esteem

maybe i am as truly broken as i believe myself to be

and all the fighting the struggles to disbelieve that have been effort wasted.

time lost.

i am trying. i am trying so hard actually.

to believe that my mistakes dont completely cancel out the worth of my attempts….

there’s something i’m reaching for…but i have no words….

Tuesday, November 04, 2008
travelling into darkness…
Current mood: bummed
driving into a blacked out area of town last night i realised how dark it would be if we did actually turn out the lights…

half of the town was blacked out and the rest wasnt and as i drove home from work into the blacked out half of town, driving into the darkness

it was like driving into nothingness. it was eerie. everything was dark and still yet so unlike night driving as i passed house after house and they were all so stll and dark. creepy.

on a completley separate note. communicating is hard. everything is so open to misintepretation. its so easy to see and hear what we are expecting or wanting to hear rather than what is actually there.

i also greatly dislike text messages for almost all conversations on those rounds, because you have no idea what the other person is trying to express at all, there is no body lanuage or tone or voice to guide you..just blank open words. and the problem with words is that they completely lack any inherent meaning. they have the meaning we imbue them with both as givers and recievers which often dont match.

i am very tired and confused and drained today and feeling like i have stumbled into a minefield naked. i dont have all the answers. I’m not infallible. I’m really tired. really really tired.

and disapointed, at a lot of things. I’m going to go and write lesson plans, and dread tomorrow and quite possibly cry myself to sleep.

be safe

have heart

life happens when you’re busy making other plans

Saturday, September 06, 2008
the baby play
Current mood: anxious
Scene 1

A familiar face inside a memory

She has her fathers eyes

Sits inside her mothers silence

She is the could have been

The moments without a mothers tears and a fathers broken dreams

We ruin our own hearts

Follow past the moment

We know how to hold onto

Children have such small hands

Such real shadows

Can anyone hold onto that.

Scene 2

Some words have no space to breathe

Stand-alone on the edge of forever

Breathe deep now little one

I lay a hand upon her brow

Her skin feels hot

She is so small



for anyone going wtf? I’ve been reading a LOT of harold pinter lately.

miss u ria.

Thursday, August 14, 2008
Current mood: tested
I have had a hard but beautiful day today..

this is my response to the movie atonement…which I actually saw and wrote a few months ago but wasnt ready to share….


There are so many ways to fail people.

Different ways to fall down

Into ourselves. Into the world.

Have I failed you? Yet? Will I?

And her eyes are so clear and she see nothing. NOTHING. The layers of a life. The window frames we build and glass we buy. She SEES NOTHING>

The weight of these things mocks me. The searching quality of grasping onto words. Words within silent things. Still things. Things that have no name. Label. Beginning.

I want to list them and tick them. And give them meaning. Articulate the weaving beautiful agony of them. The swirling patterns of weight they create underneath my collarbone. Laying underneath my skin. Where my imaginary love heart shape is meant to pulse. That’s where they are. these nameless things. THINGS. Things that have no name. Weights that have no substance. Feelings that have no reason. No rationale. No beginning or end or explanations. Just these moments. With skin as fragile. Even more fragile than paper. Rice paper. Tearing and bending with tears. And tiny bones underneath, underneath it all bending and swaying and creating something for me to see. To give to you. To somehow give names to nameless things.

This pointless agony of living of breathing. The value that has to me has no name. Because its beauty is so tearing. So shattering, and I want to shield my eyes from it. Take it into myself and make it something bearable. But it is this. Only this. This shuddering breathing. This weight of agony. The slow curl of despair.

This cheating fall. Their clever sneaky creeping telling. The story they give to me. You can’t give hope and then take it away. You cant take it away. That’s breaking the rules/ and you have to have rules. We’re just cards. And without rules we fall down. We tumble.

If hope is all we have. The hope for happy endings for love to conquer all.

It’s a shell of a building. and they fill it with possibilities. We fill it with them. With images and roads to take to FIX it. To mend it, to heal it.

But some wounds never heal. They tear slowly open. And trickle. Trickle sand. Trickle words. Trickle out your whole world. Until you don’t know where you end and the wound begins. Until you are a walking talking trickling wound. A wound that never heals.

And its not fair to let me think that. Its not fair. To let me build that behind my eyes and then take it away. And give me nothing. NOTHING. You cant take it away and replace it with empty. With however empty you think the world is.

How can I bear myself. I’m not a broken doll. I’m not… I’m living. Breathing.

And I exist.

That’s breaking the rules.

There is something that means something. That can make something. Worthwhile. Beautiful, without agony. Not all sound is an echo of silence. Maybe its that, that makes it so . Maybe its all those things that I cant really bear. The agony of knowing. Of knowing what I have built. And what I have broken.

How do you measure that. Heal that. Bridge that.

Make that whole again. Those nameless. Nameless things. Things without beginnings. With no endings. There are no endings for things without beginnings. Because they don’t exist.

I exist.

In tiny bending bones layered beneath skin. And agonies I create. I fold myself into those things. Those THINGS. I make them into this. Because. Because why.


Its always three (3) with me. With me. The echo. The breathing silent weight.


You cant un-melt ice cream.

That’s a stupid rule. Un-melt. Unmelted.

Don’t know how

I don’t know how to make it all mean something

Because that’s the fear. What if it doesn’t.

What if the words are just letters.

I don’t know how to make the words mean something. How to put them together and change anything. Create something.

I cant bear it to be for nothing though. I cant bear that.

I was thinking in your arms. How do people bear their whole lives when it hurts this much to feel. When there’s so much pain and agony and horror and trickling wounds without endings, but I already know the answer. Its because there’s so much joy. Its because people have rain to listen to. And sunsets to see. And children to love. And lovers to kiss. How much does it all cost. Does any of it weigh the same. I’m afraid I’m not big enough to feel it all. That my skin isn’t strong enough to hold all the feeling in.

And that is my response to the movie atonement….which I cant actually decide if i liked or not…..

Monday, August 04, 2008
Being a passenger
Current mood: vibrant
a number of people have said to me that being on a bike (motorbike) you see more…

and I’ve been thinking a bit about this…

and have come to the conclusion…

that I see more because I’m awake. as opposed to being in a car where as a passenger you can just go to sleep

but more than that I experience more than in a car. because you are right there, in the cold and rain or sunshine. You are forced to be present in those moments.And it changes how the hills look, how green the grass is, when you can FEEL the road rushing beneath you and the wind pummelling your helmet.

And I realise how much I actually can bear.

I think we all get too used to being comfortable. It really is so easy to become complacent. In a car we turn on the heater, the airconditioner, the radio, we adjust everything to suit us. We create all these little bubbles in our lives and just avoid the uncomfortable or the scary. On a Bike you have to adjust yourself to suit the environment. Or at the very least just bear it.

One of the most interesting thing for me as the passenger is the complete giving over of control. The letting go of staying safe.

I’m a safe kind of person. I don’t take many risks and when I do they are very calculated.

but being the pillon, I have no choice. I can’t slow down or stop or change my mind at any moment or any corner where I feel unsafe. and I can’t freeze up or wobble about or do anything that might unbalance the bike. I can’t avoid the uncomforatable or the scary…

All I can do is lean into the corner. Lean into the fear.

and thats a stangely liberating kind of lean…

Sunday, July 20, 2008
the weight of myself
and they believe all of these things to be things.

things to shape and mould and step outside of and understand.

and who sees how my anger shapes my hands

folds me into smaller things again

You are the bows from which your children, as living arrows, are sent forth.
by Kahlil Gibran

must everything in my life be sent into the world from violence.

is that my only expression of life. anger and pain. violence and agony.

these are my shapes. they are as deep as shallow wells.

dented vessels.

the weight of myself. a weak thing. a thing to carry through these moments.
what is the rightness of anything.

I want your answers not your questions. Your lies not your truths.

I have no space for you.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008
nothing at all
see this is why i hate computers because they dont even make sense. they make me cross inside myself somewhere.

and I am cranky and out of sorts and my brain hurts quite muchly.

and you are all stupid for not doing playfest coz it will wreck it for me. cry cry.

I really have nothing of import to say at all.

but you are important.

or impotent

maybe. whatever

Thursday, May 08, 2008
the empty well
Current mood: vibrant
I’m actually ok. this blog makes me sound like I’m not. but I am. I was trying to articulate something to myself about myself and I kinda like what came out artistically so I thought I’d share it…..much love all. xx

This is the ache of emptiness that no one can reach. Touch. Heal. And I am this thing.

This breathing breakable echo.

And what this means

I have no answers for. Only the tap, tap tapping of keys. The shuffle of a pen against paper. Always, always trying to explain myself to myself.

This frailness tells lies to me. Whispers words I cant bear to inhabit. Its there. And the walls I build are see through. I reach my hand through them inside myself. And the colourless place I rest inside of.

My words. My aches. My bones and blood. My spit and hate and hair. My tragedies. I build them. With every layer I build to keep them all out.

I cant define myself because I am too transient in my own eyes. Too changing and fickle and unpredictably sad.

That’s what this taste always is. It’s the hollowed out hollow of sadness. Sitting beneath my collarbone. Resting in my feet.

Shaking the strong things I create. I cant un-create emptiness. Maybe I’m just deep because I’m empty.

I crowd myself with thoughts and feeling and things I should be making. And all the shelter I need slips away from me. I create this and this alone. This cracked inside.

And the wood grain against my hand. Asking me to give in. to love a little more wholly. Without all these indecisive faces. And my lined hands with these futures engraved into my skin. What are choices. Nothing but bad memories.

Like addictions. Like lovers, like empty rooms behind our eyes.

And the curving curve of wanting you. you press your hips into my belly. Knead your hands into my skin. You melt into me. Or I into you. I want to consume you.

Friday, April 04, 2008
the movement of stillness
Current mood: vibrant
the quality of my life is a constant suprise to me.

the gifts I’ve been given. deserved or not. they exist all around the edges of who I am.

my tiny child is a little boy now with thoughts and feelings and fears. His half brother died the week before easter. how do you explain that to a 5 year old. how do you say I’m sorry sweetie but your little brother who you’ve met a handful of times was crushed by a wardrobe yesterday.

its not a fun conversation. but maybe an important one. because we remember those things dont we. and I wonder what my child will remember. what things I give him will sit there quietly in his memory bank and build the picture he sees of me.

the funeral of a one year old child is an aching thing. a tiny little white box holding a tiny broken body. an un-aswered promise. and my hateful heart was glad it wasn’t my child. and I grieved for all the things i can never share with them. Tehy will never go camping together. Or fight or laugh. together.

and zach asked me in woolworths the other day. “did my baby brother die because he was bad? did he do something naughty?”

So he and I sat down on the floor in woolies next to the tomatos in the fruit section and talked about death and love. and people just had to walk around us. and I didnt care that they were staring at us.

his father and his current girlfriend are expecting a little girl in may and zach said. “mummy it is sad that my baby sister wont have our baby brother”.

and I said “yes it is sad. but she will have you. and you can tell her all about your baby brother alex. and that we loved him very much.”

and he said “yes and I can look after her. and make sure no one steals her when I’m there”

because thats what family do. look after each other.

I am quite potentially in the greatest danger I have ever been of falling in love with a man. just to go off on a completely unrelated tangent. you know who you are.

a dangerous situation indeed.

and yet paradoxically I feel safe.

I value me.

I miss every face. every memory. and I’m glad for that. it means I’m moving forward. creating new pages.

the words I really want to say. sit there on the edges of my fingers. and I can’t quite artuculate that need. the layers of sorrow and love and agonizing joy.

I am so ridiculously alive. its fucken hurts in a fantastic kind of way.

maybe its the endings in sight that give us the urgency to exist. death yes in the big picture. and september too and my footprints leaving. maybe thats why we matter right now.

I watched your eyelash flickering against your cheeks while you slept. and all I wished for you is joy. absolute joy. Even if I dont get to be there to see it.

I wish you enough sorrow for your joy to be worthy of your passion.

For others to see the quality of your stillness and what it means to me

Thursday, March 06, 2008
this yearning restless ache I can never shake
Current mood: discontent
the shadows slide around his face

and the light echoes itself against his eyelids

its in the order of small things

the checking and unchecking of a life

his movement hangs around her

she doesnt even realise shes waiting for him

its an awareness of time passing

life moving

and she’s hungrier than shes ever been

to begin learning all the things she knows she needs to know

to fill the ache in her

the ache of creating a world she can bear to inhabit

her care folds itself around her like an itchy winter blanket

she cant escape the feeling of wanting more FOR YOU

and your tiny fingernails mock her

she aches to create

to find the words to say this is how much I am. the care in me.

The music tangles in Her hair

Friday, February 01, 2008
Current mood: drained
she’s as young as we believe her to be….

and she aches in a way she doesnt want to. She’s trying to escape from the agony of wanting you. she layers her words above your eyes.

and what she says is this… dont leave me. dont lie to me. dont listen to me. dont look too close and really see me.

she’s a broken ephipany.

today a young woman said to me “love is confusing” and I could almost taste her fear. her fear had almost the same texture as mine.

do you even realise that all these words I throw at you are my way of keeping you out of my head. I layer reality against my face so that no-one looks too deep.

so no-one sees the secrets I keep/

last night I was falling apart a little bit because I shared something private and lost and tearing – with people I maybe wasnt ready to. And now I’m a little vulnerable and a little fragile. And a whole lot drained.

and I see that blurry black and white picture echoing everywhere I go.

thankyou all for the gifts of time you give to me.

I VALUE you.

the care I give to myself perhaps needs a little adjusting. maybe I’m ready to run right now.

or maybe not.

divine timing is a dangerous equation. my head is full of that cotton wool pounding.

come and drink coffee with me. we can lay on the back lawn and count the stars.

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