I am the mistake in you, you are the mistake in me, we are the mistake in each other

The broken doll, watery eyes, her delicate skin
Over years, emotion too bold has scratched her paper thin
A soul, in time, blackened with lies and slush
From the very man she thought she would be able to trust

Told to play in the garden, mocking her with this farce
this marks the spot where she attended life class
that between her legs, little cunt, not worth much more
An innocent version now, soon to be someone's whore.

The hatred runs deep and over years, daddy dear
I know I'm not worth more than what you paid for that beer
For myself, be assured, that I won't gamble
or dare to even think, you may be slightly culpable

But appear he did, in an unconventional tide
the broken boy, too,matched my pattern, similarities couldn't hide
I was swept into his soul, a patchwork quilt like mine
the promise of a fix, it would only take some time

I never felt so high, my desperate fingernails clung in cracks and all
So this is what it's like to be free, floating up on a pedestal
the passion, custom cut, soft felicitation
But this euphoric little band-aid covers nothing of the fatal laceration

Foolishness gags me, lies sit heavily on my chest
With one whisper, poison is infected in his breath
holding up the mirror, truth and hope again are torn
the scars reminding me, of nothingness, my skin adorns

You threatened to drain this new life, this cure from my veins
Cannot you then see, that this unlocked insane
He wanted you to feel, I wanted you to see
The crude oiled pain that was infected into me.

But alas I take my cue, and now play out my part
Slowly killing what little left there is of my pathetic heart
The shape of a circle, the message that it sends
Tells me this fiery red hell of mistakes will not ever end.

Goodbye Prahran, Hello Abbotsford.

I should be packing. right now.

But of course packing is the pits and so I am procrastinating on the net, oggling other peoples blogs wishing I could write, take photos, style, review as well as them.

Already I have come to the conclusion that I own copious amount of shit that has no real use at all on my life. I sit and wonder how I have managed to accumulate so much stuff in the last 29 years - where did all this stuff come from? You begin life with nothing but your bare naked self and then suddenly you need a massive truck to move all the things you own.

Although moving is.... well..... such a pain in the arse... it is also a time of opportunity. To shed. And be free from everything tying you down. To start a fresh. To lighten your load. I have moved that many times I'm not sure I could even count them any more. I just recently found out from a work mate, as we walked the beaten track towards the coffee shop together, that she has never moved once in her life. Not once. She bought the house she grew up in from her parents. I can't even imagine this - and it scares me to imagine what stuff has not been gotten rid of because of it. I can't imagine living in a world with no new starts, no change, no freedom.

Suddenly the opportunity of moving isn't seeming so bad after all, here's to the next chapter in my life... and whatever that may bring.

(photos of the area near my house, beautiful no? Can you believe I am moving closer to Melbourne city!?)

WTF: Ikea

Um, can anyone tell me what the fuck this is?

Train Girl

Just playing with the iPhone

Scene 1 take 5, Rolling, Background action, and Action

Well I don't know what you have been doing for the last two days but I have been making some serious coin for sitting on my arse and having a ball with some stella ladies!  That's right, I was being an extra... on a pilot for channel 7, I literally was on set for about an hour and a half for each 12 hour day I did.  It;s quite and experience and I would highly recommend it if you ever get the chance.  It's a whole lot of chaos, a whole load of wannabe's, a whole lot of catering, a whole lot of streamlined jobs (Mr Ford would be proud), a whole lot of gaffa tape and a whole lot of waiting around.  Still beats doing your actual real job.

We were in a scene where we were girls attending our 10 year reunion from our all girls high school.  It was quite funny to see art imitating life and vice versa.  In two days, 50 or so woman had made their little groups and cliques, we all knew who the bitch group was (it was Kate Nielson by the way, the psycho chick who used to date Wayne Carey before she got fucked off her nut and tried to glass him - hasn't she fallen from Grace, although I'm not really sure she had far to fall.  One of her croonies seriously looked like a tranny, in was awkward) there was the daggy group, there were the loners, their were the annoying group, and then there was my group.

Kim, a member of this group reckons we were the cool group, I'm not sure about that but I can definitely say that we had the most laughs and cheeky behaviour.  We had a freakin ball.  Hanging out in that condensed amount of time was like going out together at least 20 times so of course we had got, very quickly to the sex talk and the dirty jokes.  We were a misfit type of bunch and I don't think I would have ever met these ladies had I never been an extra.  There were 2 ladies with 2 kids, a youth studies teacher, a jazz singer from Frankston, a sailor tatted metal head from Elwood, an International Studies student from Mildura who was having a long distant relationship with a fat frenchman, a quiet but lovely girl from Interplast (an amazing charity that my work actually sponsors) and me.

Anyway if you see a show called winners and losers look out for me and my girls, we are the ones mouthing the words, knickers, pissing, penis, balls, vagina, cunt, fucking in mimed conversations hoping that some sly viewer will pick it up.  We are all adults aged 26 and up, but put us together in a school like situation and we may as well have our skirts hitched, chewing gum, hiding at the back of the building, smoking a ciggie (which we also did!) good times.

Assignment Time

I'm totally bogged down with assignments at the moment so not feeling particularly inspired to write anything creative at the moment, however I did happen to come across a great quote which I thought I would share. To give you context I am currently writing an ethics essay on the subject of confidentiality and privacy in Psychology.

"Recently I have been both amused and concerned by a sign posted in the elevators of a local hospital that reads "Remember Patient Confidentiality!" as though "confidentiality", like an umbrella, might have been forgotten and I could go back & recover it from the hospitals "lost & found" Office".

(Baklar, 1996)

I think I may add to this entry every time I see a sign like this - or even add my own like "Careful of this crack, right here, don't fall down it", "Don't stand on a swivel chair to change a light", "Don't forget to breath" , "Smile, someone's most likely having a shittier day than you" or "Don't forget to clean up after you kill someone" or "Remember, the easter bunny is not real", you know, stuff like that, that's important to remember and without a sign, one might forget.

Off with the birdies....

Stencil, comic strip and animation artist, Solomon Yeone, is bringing nature back into the big smokey cities with his new guerrilla art campaign "Off with the birdies". Next time you are in Sydney city look into the corners of the streets and stations - you may find yourself standing next to a little feathered friend who is waiting for a train with you. And keep an eye out in Melbourne also, word on the street is that the flock may very soon, be flying south. Yay for street art! Become a "fan" on Facebook and follow the campaign making cities prettier places.

The Girl

5.30pm. The city heaving back to life again, the air filling with the symphonic sounds of heels clip clopping on the blue stoned pavement. The tires of cars meeting a rain soaked bitumen road, creating continuous images of fizzy drinks at the moment of their ring pull. The impatient bleats of horns, like lost goats, in search of the flock. It was dusk, the ageless time, neither day nor night. All that walk it's halls is layered with a film of deep blue, masking their timelines, they tread weary but with satisfied expressions of another day of punishment done with. At this timeless moment, we live in a world all equal, free from titles, creases, veins - all angelic and harmonious, as the sea of movement doesn't skip a beat.

I sit at the edge of my bed listening the distant sounds this world makes outside my window. My towel is draped around me lazily but consciously, I am still cautious of being seen naked by that gluttonous presence that sits patiently filling up the empty spaces of my room. My attempts to dry my hair properly have failed, yet again, as pear shaped droplets, unsuccessful in their attempts to cling to the tips of the strands, fall in succession and roll in a steady stream down my back, lightly tickling me. I close my eyes, desperate to remain focused, in this dark empty room there is nothing but a playground for an army of thoughts beating down the boundaries of my mind.

I part my legs ever so slightly, the fused skin of my thighs prickly complying. My fingers ever so softly take over the function of my sight, and trace a familiar path between my legs. Trodden enough for this to be easy and time efficient but not so new as to be a redundant exercise. A diamond flash of light appears from the movement of my arm, the outside light of the world for a moment met with my metal, I don't see it but the transparent curtain of my eyelids tell me it's there - my eyes are still firmly shut and will be until the end.

My next deep breath cements my body and like the cascade of lined rows of dominos, falling from a simple flick of a finger, I harden from my heart through to the very ends of my finger tip and toes, the weight I always know is burdening me has finally appeared in it's physical form. It is time. Silent. Steady. Slicing. In the same moment of time a violently penetrating burn meets an arctic freeze, both loyal friends and sworn enemies. With each tick of time, each increasing movement, my rigidity, my rigor mortis is eliminated, as each element of my body is detonates into gold burst of dust. every sound that exists unites, crystalizing into one perfect note - a moment of harmony.

I am a million particles, all seeing, from every angle, every time, outside and in, so real and so clear, so still, I see everything and I see nothing, all becomes meaningful and meaningless, I am shrouded in enlightenment and confusion. I am a whole perfect moment suspended, weightless and complete.

Dark, velvet tears weep from my flesh, it's always this that wakes me, my mortal being reforms again and I am disturbed. My thigh is crying, wetting me. I concentrate on the paths these tears choose to take. Each hair on my body has it's own emotional encounter with each traveling droplet, welcoming them, embracing the harmony of matter meeting matter, like a chorus starting to sing one voice at a time, all the way down to my toes if I allow the chance. The locks on eyes are released and once again I perceive this created reality. The weight settles back into my skin, like an old friend.

I pick up a towel I had set in preparation for this moment and press it against the inside flesh of my thigh, the outline of the cut has become a million needles and all the feeling I possess, has moved into this area of my body as if nothing else matters. An enemy infiltration and the troops have been called in for support - what they don't understand is that the enemy is one of them. The gold dust of my alluring perfection begins to fade, I always try and hold on with desperation, to it for as long as I can manage but inevitably it disintegrates through my fingers, an impossibility, like trying to hold onto water. The fat, grotesque form of guilt comes and sits heavily into my lap. I feel sticky and sick, why did I do this again? Why do I need this so much, why does my body, my every bit of being yearn for harm?

I head to the bathroom to wash the sin away, the coolness of the water soothes the burning fires, subdues the in-fernery of foolishness. My hands cupped like a human bowel, I watch as the water finds its way through my imaginary ceramic fingers. An impossibility. I am chasing nothing, I am running from nothing, I am afraid, of nothing. Nothing but a dream, a fantasy, a monster created by the electricity running through my head, fabricated through perpetual thoughts, a monster of thoughts, thoughts that are me. I am my own monster, I am afraid of me.

I look into the mirror and see myself looking back at me, knowingly, and I wish that I wasn't.

(This story is entirely fictional and the topic is serious. If you think you need help or assistance with self harm go to reach out, life line, Kids helpline or beyond blue for more information or to find support)

What the Bleep

Following my last post about firing neurons, I watched the DVD What the bleep do we know, the other night. It was fascinating. It was based on the concept of quantum physics - and encouraging us to re-look at the world that we take for granted, to question our being in the world. It reminds us that we live in a uncertain world, that is plastic, that is able to be changed and manipulated purely by thought. Big concepts huh? But to a certain extent it is very true.

I mean you need to take things carefully, and not blindly believe everything it says - but the film states this themselves. They are presenting some opinions to get you thinking - they don't say that what they say is true, they encourage you to make up your own mind. But for instance they present a finding that a Japanese man, Masaru Emoto happened upon. He claimed that water changed it's physiological properties when thoughts (words of intent) were directed towards the water. He showed this by sending words of intent towards bodies of water then freezing it and take a microscopic photo of a single water droplet. The positive words/thoughts showed beautiful crystalised forms and the negative thoughts/words showed grotesque and ugly forms. Some of the forms are indeed beautiful and spectacular, I have shown one below which takes the form of "thank you"

Anyway Mr Emoto does go on to say that transformed water, if it is positive, will then have healing properties and he goes on to try and sell the secret to releasing the thoughts of water and I highly doubt this is true, I mean it could be but from further research (googling) it seems he hasn't tested it enough in a scientific setting. He also hasn't passed James Randi's 1 Million dollar test (this is to the healing claims). But I do believe that they are quite confident that water does change shape and this is what is quite amazing in itself because it means we actively affect our world, which has been supported in scientific settings time and time again and this is the remarkable point that to me is far more weight to it.

We actively affect our world.

So often we think we are passive players, take for instance the healing sell from the concept of positive thought water, people buy into these types of offers because we are all trying to look for the external answer that will help, change, decide the path for their lives. In fact, people are so passive and become so complacent and believe they have no control and inevitably it becomes a truth, the brain and body physiologically change in accordance to this belief, and ironically the 'observer' has just controlled his/her life into being controlled. How amazing is that concept! If you don't look at the world differently after that then you are blind and cannot read.

Actually let's take the concept of vision and perception to further explore the unbelievable beings that we are. Basically, we operate like a machine - we are data collectors and users, we do not see with the eyes but with the mind (Shakespeare knew this when he wrote A Midsummer Nights Dream! Sorry I'm digressing, back to it). Scientists have shown by mapping our brain, that when we see something and when we imagine something, our brain is doing the exact same things in terms of information processing - so there is no difference between what is real and what is unreal, we understand something to be there because we have a built a collection of infinite information in our minds, assisting us to understand what something is and to consciously acknowledge that it's there - we have created neural networks for quick referencing. And those neural networks can be different for everyone based on experience, why are they different? Because we create understanding, we are not born with it only the capacity to create it. So you see the brain is plastic and it can change. I won't go into now but if you care to know more about neurons firing together and wiring together then Norman Doige's book The brain that changes itself is a bloody good place to start.


But back to seeing, are things visible if we don't have a reference point for them or the ability to access the information for them? There is some experiments that have shown this may be correct. This all shows us that our realities are indeed ours and different from others. So we have created our reality which means we can change it, we just need to be conscious of it to change it and thats where I think we are lacking but when you are conscious of it - life become amazing because the simplest and smallest intricacies of life will seem different and complex, constructed and changeable - we start to live in a really dynamic world full of infinite possibilities.

The very next morning I went to have breakfast with my friend who is a casting manager and she told me a story from her work. She was running out of time to cast her final actors and the director kept asking her to get more people because he didn't feel comfortable with the people she had already put forward, however she did not have time to find more people, get their profile pictures and put them forward for submission. So she became conscious of her choices, and how information may look to her director. There was one actor that she thought would be great but he had not passed the photo test with the director - she resubmitted all the same people but different photos of them, and she had all the photos looking away and the actor she wanted she used a photo looking directly at the camera. Not only did the director (after scrutinizing mind you over these photos) not only not know that the submissions were all the same but he chose the person she wanted out of the 20 faces. Was it magic? no, it was psychology in action, it was understanding our brain and using it's skills or rather lack of skill to save time. Magic, no. Incredible, yes.

Next time you make a choice - become conscious as to why you are making that choice. does it remind you of something? Have you chosen it before? Does it relate to something in your life? Is it attached to a positive memory? Are you repeating the choice because you make to any of your choices unconsciously?

Only when we become conscious, do we really understand the infinite possibilities of ourselves and our lives. We hold the most powerful tool ever known, and it's sitting right behind your eyes.

xx