fact:

if anybody gave a fuck about me









they should have started panicking hours ago.

the war on lads.

Lads.
I've had them beat up, throw shit, yell and other such gestures at both me and more friend than you'd think I've had.
I've heard some bad things, and I've seen some bad things.

But this doesn't mean anything to me, when I see a lad "hate group" on facebook.
The term hate group alone irritates me, certain supremacists and dictators come to mind, and if you ask me that's weak and it's stupid.
These misdirrected people, banding together to create a group against a people, generalising like crazy just because they've had a black eye, or maybe a bruised ego.
This xenophillic neologism is just totally outdated, and very hypocritical - because looking at the people who join these groups, all these individuals who'll cry blue murder if you so much as question their rights, who go out and join larger groups, so they can pick on individuals who picked on them as a part of a group when they were individuals...
If you're getting a headache, I don't blame you.

I'm not trying to say "can't we all just get along", give peace a chance if you think you can rock that, because thats an excellent attitude, but when it comes to hate groups, I'll stand up by myself, and until the hypocrisy and the absurdity of this situation is seen, I'll remind you what a douchebag you are.

If you don't believe me, ask Ken McVay.

I fought the HSC

and the HSC won.

My current mentality, being how it is, I've begun to think of the HSC as a war,
contributing factors could be; my newfound addiction to the history channel, my habit of listening to Richard Wagner whilst excercising, my lack of a fight in the past...year, really.

This HSC, this thing is the enemy,
but why should I feel under attack?
I wish to both defeat and conquer,
I knew of my enemy, the habits, before my attack.

My great battle,
why should I be worried?
I'm resilient, and I don't go down for nothing;
I threw myself into this hard,
and I'll fight my hardest 'til the end, no less.

My knowledge, my army will follow me into that stupid cold room.
And I will storm that bitch like you read about.

attitudes.

If there's one thing I can't fucking stand right now, it's the shitty, angry, what seems to just be collective appearance of perpetual annoyance of "my generation".

I've had a lot of shit go on lately, and while I don't take it out the normal way,
or sit around with a bunch of people acting like I'd rather be anyone else in the world,
I get that people with a different emotional and moral capacity need to deal with things in their own way.

But come on.

people who get pissed off after taking something the wrong way,
people who get pissed off because they think of something they want, and can't have,
people who get pissed off just because you can make a better point than they can.

So, you're girlfriend of nine months left you, hey, here's an idea;
act like someone died, and mourn the fucked up and stupid relationship -
hell, spend three months dwelling,
sure doesn't make up for how much you whinged in the relationship,
and how little effort you put in.

I'm sure this is an entirely personal thing,
because all this FML bullshit and that channelling rage at other people who do nothing wrong,
all it does it make you a mean, bitter person, who people dread being around for fear of being dragged down, and I've seen it and done it and it has so little appeal.
I just think it utterly selfish that you can be buried so deep in your own issues that you'd be willing to let it consume you completely, not only that but to bring down people who want to help you - these people you call your best friends, obivously meaning something different to the both of us - by projecting your negativity left, right and center.

everytime you begin one of there heinous cycles, I want to put the words in your head;
"to what end?"
where is all your whinging getting you?
what does this acheive?
what do you want to be doing right now, and how could you be doing that?"

and I know it's simple, and cliche, but only because it's the truth.
All those excuses about "venting", it doesn't go worth mentioning, because to people who do this, venting is a euphamism for totally draining the people around you.

I'm just not into it.

I'm not having a go at anyone specifically,
but when I find myself acting like some kind of vigilante, I think it best to allocate my irritation to one point, so that one may avoid or have there nose rubbed in it.
Shit, maybe I'm venting.
call me a fascist, if you will - reading over this, thats probably what I'd do -
but you better believe if I was in this situation, I'd rather have it pointed out than have people gradually drift away from me in disgust.

In the last few days, I've felt like hell,
nearly the emotional worst I've ever felt - but that doesn't mean shit to anyone, I don't let others measure my depth of emotional damage.
The thing is though, nobody knows or has noticed,
sure, my current situation has been assessed, rationalised and explained,
well, most of it.
This to the two wisest and least likely to emotionally overreact people I've ever met.
And I feel better for not having brought these people down with me.
The only thing I've let this feeling do to me is push me, and remind me how important it is not to let it change anything.

I know how different the world looks when things go rotten, believe me.
But it's no excuse.
And tomorrow, I won't feel any different - I know it.
Tomorrow, I'll be out of Sydney, in a totally unique place, with a totally unique girl,
tomorrow, maybe one of these people will gather some friends,
sit around complaining, acting like they've got some terminal illness,
in fact, I know someone that will.

but who could waste such greatness?

a real friend.

who acted like a real friend,
who recognised when I needed help,
and who wasn't afraid to ask for help.

I haven't known you for a very long time,
and I'm speaking too soon -but-
you are the only person ever not to look at me like I'm an alien,
or tell me I don't make sense, come from another planet, etc.
This is why you are my exception;
if I have to be alone, you said you were willing to join me
never more grateful,
I shall try my hardest and never shall I ever ruin you.
thank you.

advancement.

Leaving on thursday,
no internet where I'm going, will return + post writings monday
last blog tonight.

with me I will be taking:
jeans, t-shirt, hoodie and pyjama set per day.
6 Diazepan
1 pack Mercyndol
1 2l bottle of water
2 large packs of tictacs
5 books, of my choosing - not including those held within my computer
tweezers
facial sterilising products
laptop
brush
headphones
3 individual packs of cancer
2 pairs of converse.


my plan.

written the night before the previous post.

before I royally fucked up, yet again.


I don't really feel anymore,
just follow music with my emotions,
though one day, and I'm sure of this -
my feelings will listen for me,
and I'll follow with a song.


follow me.

Johnny Blog-a-day.

I'll be interested to look back at this.
I'm in a horrible, horrible mood, regressing.
Regressing because I've been again reminded what a fuckup I am.
I lost a friend today, a friend who means a fuckload more to me than I was willing,
so much more than I've let myself care about anyone in the past three years.
fucking stupid, stupid decision.
I hurt him because I became defensive, and I lost his trust.
I am an evil and horrible person,
I unintentionally fuck up everybody I love and care about, and I can't do it anymore,
this people are amazing, and they shouldn't have to deal with that.

This is why I need to distance myself.
right now, I believe the wisest thing to do would be to make people back off,
however annoyed they may be,
it's better that they hate me, think I'm a snob, then develop and excellent friendship that I will undoubtably fuck up.
I can't hurt anyone else.
I'm saving the world from myself.

I'll leave for France at the end of this year,
live with my aunt.
Then to America to stay with my cousin in New York.
If I don't get a job there, I'll go to Melbourne,
or get a job at that restaurant in Brisbane, and live in the flat again.
Either way, Munich will still happen.

But until I can figure out a way to break this cycle,
actually get close to someone again,
mature, and make sure that I can't harm anyone with my clumsiness and stupidity,
until then, I'll be on my own.

not to say I wont have friends, but I won't allow myself to get close.
I'm hurting like fuck right now,
I feel like the worst person in the world, and there are a million ugly thoughts in my head,
because I fucking unintentionally destroy anybody who gets too close
even my family.
these people who I love so much,
who mean so fucking much to me,
who make me happy when absolutely nothing else does.

All I want to do is protect them, give them love, make them happy,
and the only thing I need to protect them from is me.
wise words are keeping me from flying off the handle right now,
but they're just words, and I don't know how long they'll last me.

so fucking selfish.
though I'm quite sure there will be an excruciating pleasure,
watching the parts where I would have slipped,
screwed up, hurt,
watching people keep going the way they're supposed to, happy,
without me.

how I do love them all,
I don't feel anything but shame and resolution right now.

10 things to be happy about. (and I am)

In no order;

1. My sweet escape on thursday.
2. My face burns healing in the next two weeks
3. Pinney taking his prettypictures
4. 50% maxin' relaxin' at 3:40 this wednesday.
5. Wonderboy visits before my departure.
6. More couch and loling times with Leish and Silas - Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants!
7. Bondage time with Crisp tomorrow.
8. I have a constant supply of Nirvana right now, its making me smile.
9. New diet starts on weds.
10. I love all of that but I know without it, I'd still be happy, because thats how my brain works.

thanks, life.

down the rabbit hole.

An impossibly large and greying tree stood in front of a blindingly bright and bleak day, It’s branches curling downwards, as if they wished to touch the ground, under it, sat a wooden stool with a plump cushion and upon the cushion sat a girl, petite and pale, peeling a red apple.

The girl’s hair fell, covering her, though a careful concentration radiated from her face, her lips pursed,

She peeled and peeled, more furiously, her eyebrows raising, joining, her tiny bow mouth twitching. The cuttings of the apple curled to the floor, below her feet, nestled into the wet, green grass, and though movement was improbable, it looked too still where it lay.

The chilling realisation that no mindless task could move her mind from its present state dawned upon her and her hand trembled, shook slightly, cut away the last of the apple.

She stared at the shaven core and it stared back, unselfconsciously, as it had nothing to hide behind, it did not question her obvious sadness, perhaps under the assumption that she did not want to be asked. For a few minutes they contemplated conversation, but each became too focused on their own words, inadvertently ending up talking to themselves.

Becoming too drawn in to the conversation, the girl let her head drop, her shoulders sag, her arms go limp, so that the hand holding the apple fell to her lap, her fingers unclasping, the apple rolled to the ground, and finally settled next to it’s skin.

“You out to watch out m’dear”, called the apple from its place in the grass, “should one drop of blood from that cut you just made reach your dress, it’ll grow and grow, and I’m afraid you should turn quite red yourself!”.

Having no idea what the apple core meant by this, the girl glanced down to see bright red, she had cut her hand peeling the apple and was now bleeding quite profusely from between the first and second knuckle of the index finger of her right hand.

She soon became quite overwhelmed by a feeling, a familiar feeling, but not one that she could find a name for – she felt the shame behind being scolded, the loss behind seeing the last of something she had loved so dearly, the irritation of dropping something she had tried so hard to hold on to.

She then reprimanded herself, she had been given one task so simple it was rewarded to infants – to take care, to remove herself from harm’s path, and yet the only harm caused had been that which she inflicted.

Unable to hold the tense burning feeling in any longer, a tear, far too hot, slid down her cheek, burning her face, she tried to blink away the oncoming flood, her wet eyelashes were so long that when she squeezed her eyes shut, blinked and blinked, but it was futile.

The first tear shot down her cheek and slowed to roll over her chin, making a vast drop to her cold chest, which immediately reacted.

The tear sizzled for a second, before making a cigarette-sized burn in her chest. The girl was astonished to see that the burn was black, and, placing a finger on it, further surprised to see that the burn did not end, she could not see a bottom, just a small, black hole.

The girls eyes flew open with shock as she watcher the hole, with a silent burning around the edges, the hole grew.

Grew and grew, and yet she could still see no end to the hole, the beautiful and terrifying blackness that swept across her chest. “my” uttered the girl, “I am not so big that there is much of me for the hole to consume, I wonder will it finish at my edges, leave me as an outline? A black hole in the woods? Or shall the hole spread to include more of the world?” growing more curious by the second, feeling defenceless, she crawled inside the hole.

The girl was fast to observe her surroundings; sure she would have to make a note of them later, her first instinct being to measure the space. She felt as if she had accidentally locked herself in the cupboard – it was dark and she was unsure of what was around her, this made her nervous, tensing her neck and bringing her arms closer to her face, knowing that she’d have to find a far better place in the hole if she wished to survive with an ounce of sanity.

Telling herself she had absolutely no choice but to be brave, the girl climbed over the beaten and dusty rock in the depths of her chest, up into the cavernous landscape of her mind. A wall, marked with the word ‘conscious’ was the whitest, most noticeable thing in the room, which appeared to be lit by fluorescent lights, though she could see no ceiling, in this wall, there was yet another hole.

Thought the girl to herself; “all this business with holes lately, you’d forget the door had ever been invented! And surely people know there is a much simpler way to enter a room..”

She continued, nonetheless, wondering if this hole would sizzle and expand as the other had, she pushed a hand to it, searching for an answer but her hand found nothing but cold marble.

Without hesitation, she rushed to the other side of the room, planning to run at the hole as fast as she could, but before she could start sprinting, something across the room caught her eye.

‘Revelations’.

How she had dreaded thoughts anywhere close to this! And yet here she stood in front of the embodiment of all she’d tried so hard to escape. Hideous and irresistible, she thought, as she began to rifle through every one.

Stay true to the people you love, never tell your mother you hate her, never sit alone and smile, she grew increasingly frustrated as she pushed away the simplest of all, to get to the deeper, something she needed, there was not a part of him she could stay away from.

Relief and mourning ran cold through her veins as she found what she was looking for. A memory. A revelation all used up, criticized and forgotten. She remembered the day she had sat in the branches of rather a tall tree, not sure how she would get down but enjoying the thrill she felt being so high above the ground.

As she sat, she watched, and as she watched, her eyes fell on a mass exiting the church. Her mind stayed on this for a minute or two, contemplating.

She became increasingly curious as to why people felt the need to keep this faith in a large, invisible entity that had done nothing for anyone in a long time.

She remembered so clearly the day that the concept of faith had been dissected and pieced back together in her mind, realising the formulaic and intoxicating manner.

Faith, she had found, stemmed from a need to hold on combined with an admiration, the result of this combination was often an immovable dedication the whatever the person would choose to cling to.

She had been watching the boy, this new presence in her life, as he leaned back, exhaled smoke; she was stunned by the way he exuded confidence, lived without apology as exactly himself. Beauty and truth, and nothing more.

His smile, an archway to perfect words, words that would calm her, words that one could live by. His hands, mockingly steepled, like a child reciting a nursery rhyme, catching the light and creating patterns more magnificent in her eyes than any stained glass window.

Beauty and truth. Poison, opiate of the masses, the un-self actualised, the lonely, the afraid.

He was to her as a bottle to a drunkard, a mass to a catholic, they learnt from what they coveted, refused to see reason in anything else.

But though Catholics will ache to be saved by their lord, though disease will eat away at the drunkard, they stay; her temple of faith had abandoned her leaving her to live by nothing but a memory.

New revelations appeared before her on the floor as she reflected on this, but before she had time to examine them properly she had found herself falling back through the hole, back, until she was sitting in the grass among the apple peels, her hands empty.

Without faith, the girl was afraid she may have to rely solely on reason, and at this tough she grew colder still, aching, wishing for even the memory of the magnificent creature with the steepled hands.

As the full weight of the futility dawned on her, her neck went slack, her head reverently bowed, so that she may see the place where the hole had healed, the pink of scar tissue, skin twice as tough. She drew in a painfully deep breath of the chilly air, knowing that is the was to go on at all, she must accept what had happened.

And to her surprise she had grown to twice her normal size.

all of the time.

I have a plan for the next two years.
A dissapointing but not unexpected UAI will exclude the possibility of university.
Because of this, I'll secure a full time job, learning German on the side.
The next year, I'll move to Munich, living there for eight months.
When I return, I'll work up some money, deciding what I really want to do next,
if I haven't already.
As soon as is possible, I'll move to Melbourne University, as a mature age student,
study journalism and political sciences.

I'll work my way up as best I can, as a writer.
If this means I have to get a job in a shitty newspaper so be it.
Thats as far as I can plan, and it still looks shaky.

right now, though, I'm scared shitless.
I'm feeling what I guess is a pretty common combination of tension and dread.
Year fucking 12, and I'm only 16 years old.
I don't feel like I'm doing my HSC,
I don't feel anything right now.
I can't feel anything.

It's when people make sillhouettes against a sheet,
you recognise them, know they're there,
but they aren't quite there, something stops full recognition.

I know what emotions I should be feeling,
I feel them vaguely, but they don't effect me.
I found out today that my stress has taken a physical toll on my body.

I'm unwell.

It's not enough for my head to be fucked,
now it has to take a toll on my weight, my skin, my ability to keep my food down, my time of the month, my energy, my heart.

year 12
16 years old
60% of the HSC
2 more terms
2009
2 more years
3 more exams.

it's all fucking numbers, isn't it?

I used to crave intelligence,
someone to hold my hand,
more time to work it all out,
more independance, or more,
more care, more of anything.

Not anymore, maybe not for a while.
Now I crave clarity, an end that shows me I'm actualy working for a means right now,
show me I'm not just giving, not just dealing.
no, I don't want to take, I just want to see.
I want to be able to think again,
no excuses, just think.

so whats stopping me?
If it was a little colder,
If I had you,
If everything was clean,
If I was thin, beautiful, clever,
If I could give everyone what they wanted,
If I had more time.
It's all fucking standard.

I want to be looking back at myself already.

predictable.

my life has become clean,
cut with sharp edges,
everything in bright blue, light, cold and immaculate.

I step lightly on my feet, almost dancing,
knowing that if I make the slightest tremour I'll feel enourmous and swollen,
unable to focus my thoughts until I spend a solid hour pedalling away on the excerbike.

I pause my audiobook, throw down tablets for my headache,
whip up a coffee, microwave set for two minutes,
I use this two minutes to refill my waterbottle, stick it in the fridge,
pee, walk back to the microwave with exactly three seconds left.

Bring my coffee back to the room, knowing that by one ciggarette, it will have cooled to my exact temperature of preference.
sit on my bed, write on paragraph of english practice, then check my twitter,
another, check my facebook, rinse my mug, repeat coffee process.
another, post on my twitter, rinse my mug, drink the water,
another, refill the bottle, piss, more coffee, check my myspace.

and the whole time, you know I'm not really into it.
I love keeping myself busy with these things,
love exactness, the precise manner of being clean,
being cold, putting everything in order, falling into place, following my path.
it's only the tiny things I can control.

I write this blog and the microwave is beepbeepbeeping away because I've gotten distracted,
writing this here blog,
oh well.
my mind has even fallen into a pattern
school-boy-school-boy.
it's sick, and I feel like a child, but I could care less.

I'm happy.

walk away

so I've taken a whole load of painkillers,
I have this headache,
I've been watching WWll documentaries allday,
I'm fucking exhausted.
I haven't talked about what I'm going to write to anyone but here goes nothing.

I was sitting here browsing images and listening to music when I heard this;
And it's so hard to do and so easy to say.
But sometimes - sometimes,
you just have to walk away - walk away.

The day I left you, you told me that was going through your head,
this was how you felt.
I thought how unfair it was, that you have such a warped perception of yourself.
See I know this girl, she's one of my best friends now and she's totally one of a kind,
one of the prettiest girls I've ever met, the most selfless, incredibly talented and wise,
this girl thinks of herself as just one of the worst things, and it's totally not true.
then there's you.
when I became sad after that girl cried,when you sang and played guitar
you got mad at me
said if she was crying it's only because you were so good.

I've been trying to come up with some positive memories from our relationship,
the only words that go through my head when I think of you are "you ruined my life, you took everything you possibly could for me, and instead of being back you just hurt and manipulated me".

so there's that...
unless it's a joke, it's so rare for me to say "fuck you", and then come give you cuddles the next day or whatever, because I've had it said to me too many times not to take it to heart, but if I thought I could talk to you again without vomiting, I can assure that my very first words would be fuck you.

fuck you fuck you fuck you.

Know what I remember?

I remember opening up to you, telling you something nobody else knew,
then I remember you calling me a slut.
I remember youtelling me how you didnt care about my past, even a little, you swore,
then I remember walking you to the bus stop, as you told me you hated my past.
I remember you telling me how you hated all my friends,
then I remember you lying to them about me.

you are the most selfish human being I have ever met,
and that says a fucking lot.

The foundation of our relationship was a lie, you took on the role of the poor little sensitive boy, the innocent, and you used it to manipulate, dominate and use me.

hypocrite, fucking hypocrite.

You were going to leave me, saw other girls, stopped giving a fuck.
this was when I told you I needed you.
then the next week, when you decided you needed me, you cried for hours when I didnt say hello to you properly.

Even when you tortured me, I tried to make sure everything would be okay for you,
tried to do it without you knowing.
When you found out, you picked out something I didn't do and called me a bitch.
thats a fuck-lot better than what you are.
you're a child, a liar.
you change and adapt into who you think you need to be for people to like you.
because of this, nobody does.

I would say I hope you realise this, I would say I hope you change, but you don't deserve that.
you don't deserve to be a better person,
maybe the world deserves that, but I think I speak for most of us when I say we're better off without.

Ideally, there would be some kind of containment policy, where you and other such repulsive beings as yourself are put in a safe place, able to fuck up nobody but your own kind.
Even then you wouldn't get clarity, because all people like you will do is take their own worthless point, fight with it, manipulate all the other, whinge and bitch.
The advantage I see there is that one day you might all kill eachother.

for so, so long I got all up on my high horse about how I didnt hate anyone
well congratulations, you single-handedly changed that.
fuck you.
I hate you.

silver spoons.

So here's me.
this weekend, I'll be holed up in my room,
I've already had enough coffee to fuel a small army, and I'm on day 3 of a headache that wont quit.
I had to take a break from writing up Frankenstein and Blade Runner notes,
I've two english exams next week, then two weeks of holiday...gooodness.


So, anyway, I set myself up, took a nice shower, threw on an audiobook, got warm,
started typing like a motherfucker, and I suddenly became amazed at how annyed I was with American spell check.
Yeah, so you'll piss me off and put that antagonising red squiggly line that points out what a literary fuckup you are under any word I use the "u" or "s" that is standard in EVERY OTHER ENGLISH SPEAKING COUNTRY IN THE WORLD, but when I write "Christ" with a lower case "c" you get all up in my grill and autocorrect me, something that wouldn't piss me off half as much if it actually recognised any other name.
What, you know "Christ" but you don't know "Bukowski"?
Then maybe I don't want your fucking help.

Around this time I find myself furiously taptaptapping away at the keyboard, right-clicking and correcting my "mistakes" and I have no problem with this until I find myself very quietly calling spellcheck the c-word and muttering "fuck you, America" under my breath, and I think hey, maybe it's time to take a break.

I liked the idea of keeping my blog as a regular thing, so I decided to post something on here, albeit after telling twitter what grinds my gears, so I went on to photobucket to look for an image to throw up here for the virtually needy, and I started finding all these photos from years ago, remembering the exact day that I took the picture, what was happening, what had happened recently, occured to me it might be a little odd.

Thinking about it, it might be kind of interesting to put that up here, for rememberance sake, because thinking about those pictures I was hit by a big load of clarity, and it was one of those moments, you know, where time totally changes, because I feel like no time has passed at all, and while I know I've learnt a lot from everything that happened way back when, I feel like there's been no time in between.
I know its only been three or four years but there are all these monumental events, that shouldn't even be real memories yet and their significance has become inescapable.
I'm finishing school this year.
I'm in year 12, I've completed 60% of my HSC, and next year, I'll be working and learning German, so that in 2011 I can move to Munich and start the 8 months that will, without a doubt, be some of the best memories of my whole life.
I've already decided, that despite my best efforts, I'm still a fuckup, thats just a part of who I am, always will be - not saying this is going to prevent me from kicking more ass than you can poke a stick at, but hey - and because of this, I probably won't get a good HSC or UAI mark, and get in to Melbourne.
I want to study journalism and political science, but I have absolutely no chance of getting in there as anything but a mature age student, I'll be travelling and doing LIFE SHIT.

Anyway, thats where I am, it's 2009, I'm sixteen, still practically a baby, and I'm nearly out in the big kid world for good.
And it feels like I've been shot out of some kind of time machine/ cannon, into right now from four years ago when I was 13 and stayed in my room for two weeks when I got grounded for...we'll just call it my moral ineptitude.
Everything is totally different, may as well be in a parallell universe.

I know, growing up.

I don't really sleep anymore, so much as I lie in the dark listening to audiobooks and wait to sleep, but when I'm doing that I spend a lot of time wondering what I'm going to remember of year 11 and 12, freshwater, my time with Wheals, my time with my parents, time with Cristin and Leish, new friends I've made, and the constant stream of times with Amelia, our friendship comes up to 11 years by now.
I'm starting to get sweet little memories from year 10, St. Lukes, all that kind of thing, which suprises me, really, because I was pretty much just drunk all the time.
One memory that I really love is my week in brisbane, the neat little hotel with the ensuite bathroom, waking up at one every day, reading Irvine Welsh, and Benjamin Nugent, lying in the bed that took up most of the immaculate space to a cold and empty apartment that spelled like coffee, overlooking a park and a lake, watching all the people do a whole lot of nothing, then going out to the nice reastaurant across the road, drinking appletinis and eating pretentious dinners, drinking bottles of shitty white wine with my family and stumbling down to see if we couldn't get a video from the convenience store.

I wonder if there's a clip show of the top 10 "get off my lawn" scenes on youtube...

Right now my hair is wet, and the last thing I said was "I don't care", I have to pee and I'm cold and sick and not feeling the slightest bit productive, but I don't feel tired either.
Imagine how satisfied I'll feel in the exam, smug with how full of imformation my usually void brain has become....

but probably not.

I feel bad for not being able to attend zinefest with Leishy today, and I did so want to go. I'm starting to feel selfish for wasting my time here, so I'll wrap it up with a little something from the future.

I'm looking forward to some time on the excercise bike, my two days sleeping in the holidays, the exams being over, my next visit from wonderboy, Pinney's visit to take my picture, my sweet escape suprise roadtrip with Silas, emaciation, sleep, schoolies for two weeks at nan tien temple, meditating, sleeping, drinking tea and shit all else.

So here's me going back to study, I'm just doing my job here.

in an attempt to stay relevant

I've started this blog;
because I always feel the need to rationalise.
because sometime's it's better to write more than the twitter-standard 160.
because at this point in my education, it's vital that I keep my writing up to date.
because this will be a perfect place for my zine work.
because this is allegedly "the best year of my life", I can look back at this and say "it wasn't all that hot".

because there's always so many pretty pictures, just begging to hover around distracting you from my mindless babble.

s'all.