"i think you are the kind of person who can take that mist and turn it into a mouse"

layers

after a journal-writing-drought lasting maybe six months, i started writing for myself again. sat up all night, feverishly scribbling in anti-prep for stressful family christmas times; finally doing the birthday present (a hand bound, blank book with heart-wrenchingly beautiful sunbeams of friendship) justice, that lashna made me in september.
it feels good to be home, regardless of immediate immersion in the mess of convoluted family politics that is christmas. i arrived back in melbourne late last thursday; already missing the chaos of thommy's house in hobart, and a few people in particular... but just as much as i miss it, i am glad to have left. seeing lara and indra, grant and skye made me feel safe and loved and home again, as the fluidness of plutonic physical contact was reinstated - something that is essential to my happiness and was fiercely scarce during my month in tasmania.


Earth | Time Lapse View from Space, Fly Over | NASA, ISS from Michael König on Vimeo.

do the right thing

Letter from Tasmania.
The names have been changed.

Dear _____,
I miss you already. It's been a while since we haven't had proper hangouts multiple times in a week!
I'm sitting in the Botanic Gardens with my sister, Ben. It's warm so I'm wearing my bunny skirt and feeling good, though simultaneously emotionally and physically exhausted. Ben is living in a beautiful, massive squat with seven other people (two of whom have kids - Niamh, who is four and Joel who is six). Niamh and I dressed up as princesses on my first day here, while Jeff, her dad, was aving some down time. The next day I got to look after Joel for the day while his mum, Mel, sold ribbons for Aids Day with Tom (Joel was too sick to go to school). We drew rainbows together, played lego, made fruit salad and read to eachother. It was really nice because I'm missing my little brother already. Dave, another housemate (total babe), has a dog who I've been having lots of cuddles with, which is helping me heal about Johann (my dog who died two weeks ago). I think, so far, I've spent more time with Dave than I have with Ben. I find him incredibly attractive but I noticed quite early on that there was a complete absence of sexual tension. We've been having some pretty full-on, gritty conversations (positive nonetheless) and through this he shared the extent of, but not too much detail of, his sexually traumatic past. Very confronting. I don't think I've come to terms with it yet.. but that explains the lack of sexual tension, hey? I've been reading lots. Really enjoying the feeling of being in a full house, in constant company but not feeling up for conversation 100% of the time. So I read in the backyard with sunshine, new pals, cigarettes and gin. The other people that live here are all lovely, but Dave is the only one I have really connected with so far. I read one of his comics yesterday called Slaine. The art is no good but the storyline was excellent, including a refreshingly autonomous and powerful damsel in distress who had to single-handedly break free of her constraints before the male could assist her. Have almost finished that Sophie Cunningham book, Melbourne, that I read a bit of to you at the shack. Still really enjoying it. Also read another comic called the Original Bondage Fairies - fucking hilarious! Hardcore pornographic manga with fairies and bugs; quite overtly non-consenual, but the whole thing is so preposterous that I was laughing real hard the whole time. My eyes hurt though, from reading too much. Think I need to get a higher prescription. Jeff has been giving me massages (...plutonic I hope) and is real good at finding pressure points. So painful and kinda humiliating because he makes me moan and squeal... but I feel like I'm floating afterwards.
I love you. Hugs and a big sloppy kiss
xoxoxxo

"don't know what you cunts are on about, getting a fella for the winter. buy a fucking coat"

tasmanian hospitality. the best.

more news from nowhere

http://hologramcity.blogspot.com/

also; this is excellent:

'specially the moves at 6mins 15

on an unrelated note, last week my little brother was trying to convince me that boys are more hardcore than girls. we went back and forth "boys do this...", "but girls do this..." etc; i said, only girls can give birth, that's pretty hardcore. he replied that "sexual intercourse is pretty hardcore, boys do that".

i was shocked and appalled, my feminist senses in overdrive... but also somewhat understanding of the fact that those kind of thoughts are a natural product of the gender stereotypes reinforced by our culture, and are something that, growing up, we all struggle with and learn deal with/fight against in different ways.

i got a really interesting email the other day from the boy who, maybe a year or two ago now, tried to put his hands inside me while i was sleeping:

I am sorry to contact you but I'm going through counselling at the moment and my counsellor said it was something that I had to do.
I have gone through quite a bit of counselling since what happened and have been diagnosed with episodes of sexsomnia. It's triggered by a few things, but in that case excessive amounts of alcohol.
I understand you most likely won't believe me, but I am not lying. I have absolutely no memory of the events and am sickened by the thought that I, could do something like that no matter how unaware.
I am going through a lot of work with a counsellor and taking Clonazepam to make sure this never happens again and felt that you should know about this because it may help you deal with what happened.
I'm so sorry I've fucked up your life, I wish I could do something about it.




i replied:

_____, that's really, really wonderful news.
whether i believe you or not is irrelevant, you just need to do whatever you need to do to make sure that it never happens again. 
so i'm really glad to hear that. i hope that seeing a counsellor is a constructive and ultimately positive experience for you. which is very possible as you sound committed to working through it.

and received this response:

you're sentiment means a lot to me, thank you. It has already been both of those things. there is no way I am letting it happen again, I can't live with myself as it is. I am more committed than I have ever been to anything.

painfully beautiful that my seven year old brother thought that my friend walks the way he does because my friend thought it was cool and not because he has a disability

backward cap

directed by lara kose; one o' my main ladies featuring lloyd and indra's luscious locks
yama boy was one of my favourites for a long time
http://www.myspace.com/yamaboys


Backward Cap from PURE POTENTIAL on Vimeo.

"i would call you a cunt but you don't have the warmth or the depth"

die allgegenwärtige Hause

done... ish. 

the title (probably grammatically incorrect) translates as 'the omnipresent home'.

just need to stick it all together so the zine accordion folds out of the rectangular depression in the wood.

cedar pine, embroidery thread on paper, acrylic, magazine clippings, paper tape

i have been listening to this, maybe you should too.

  nikki sarafian - bizarro blush by nikkisarafian

Keats

 I wrote this essay in a practice exam last week, leading up to my finals next month. It's quite possibly one of the best things I've written under the duress of time constraints (two essays in two hours - the other was on Hamlet). I got a 17 out of 20 for it, criticisms being a weak opening sentence and the need for clearer structure, perhaps by flagging new paragraphs with a topic or linking sentence. I would very much like to read a 20 out of 20.

I think the poems in question were 'On the Sea', 'Ode to Psyche' and 'Ode on Melancholy'.

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

The three poems taken from John Keats' 'Major Works' clearly evoke the themes and motifs that pervade Keats' poetry. Just as Keats' peers, romantic poets, used nature as a vehicle to explore the depths of the human condition, the poet in question does so too. 'On the Sea' begins with the far-reaching imagery of a body that “gluts twice ten thousand caverns”, but gradually the concerns in the poem focalise to end in a specific location addressing the subject as “ye”. This identification of human life can often be surprising in Keats' poems, as the richness of his musings upon nature almost erase the presence of a speaker.

The movement from large images to a specific location also mimics the reoccurring struggle Keats' poems address between imagination and reality. This is evident in the last line of 'On the Sea' as “ye start”, emerging from an inwardly focussed “brood” to the present. This idea can also be seen in the poem 'La belle...' in which the distinction of reality and dreams is almost unidentifiable. Only the notion of impermanence, transience and mortality remains.

In 'Ode on Melancholy', this notion is evident through the image of “Beauty that must die”. One cannot stay in the world of the mind or the present forever; everything, both good and bad will come to pass. Keats uses this notion throughout his works in an effort to champion a somewhat hedonistic approach to life, believing that if you “drown the wakeful anguish”, if you do not feel both sorrow and joy, embrace both pleasure and pain, that you have not fulfilled the potential of all that life has to offer. Those who “burst Joy's grape against [their] palate ... shall [also] taste the sadness of [Melancholy's] might”. This poem links in with 'When I have fears...', another of Keats' poems that explores transience and the fulfilment of potential through the fear that the poet will die before he has reaped his mind of all its creative splendour.

The motif of balance and reciprocation is illustrated in the paradox “pleasant pain” found in 'Ode to Psyche'. One cannot exist without the other, just as the “gentle temper” of the sea could not exist without times when the “winds of heaven” disturb its surface. The advise Keats gives through 'On the Sea' is to rest one's eyes when they are “vex'd and tired”, but “brood” not for long because there is too much beauty and love to be experienced in this world to separate yourself from it for long.

Keats' poetic voice seems to find beauty in everything, not just nature, but also ancient ideas which act as a vehicle for him to express the depth of human emotion. In 'Ode to Psyche' the forgotten Greek Goddess is lamented. Though she is beautiful; a “happy, happy dove”, she has “no voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet”; none that devote themselves to her worship. Through focussing on aspects of beauty that are marginalised in creative culture, Keats encourages his reader's to open their eyes to the omnipresence of beauty in the world. This is also evident in 'To Autumn', a poem that attempts to convince the reader that Autumn is just as worthy of “song” as Spring. Though Spring brings birth, flowers and abundance, Autumn reminds us of our mortality. It reminds us to cherish the present and the beauty of existence because all experience is fleeting.

Thus Keats' use of natural elements to reflect the human condition is entirely apt. His constant references to plants, animals, other worldly creatures and geographical formations weave together to illustrate that beauty and abundance is transient. The “blue, silver-white and budded Tyrian”, the “wild-ridged mountains” and “moss-lain Dryads” will live always in spirit just like the bird in 'Ode to a Nightingale', but not in reality.

Keats uses duality and paradox throughout his poems to explore the contradictions of life and the struggle he constantly experienced between his imagination and his reality. Though the poems were composed in 18^th Century England, Keats' works remain relevant today because of the universal nature of the torment that creative minds experience through their art; in both a positive and negative sense.

sehnsucht

eine seltsame Zeit in meinem Leben

seven months worth of developmental work

dear year twelve,

i will not miss you.

yours begrudgingly, 

maddie

 http://www.carsonellis.com/

 http://www.beautifullosers.it/index_eng.html

http://www.stickyinstitute.com/

 http://www.irtroit.com/

 http://www.flickr.com/photos/shidaart

 http://ghostpatrol.net/

 http://www.juxtapoz.com/Features/featuremitch-and-gina-of-powerhouse-productions-and-the-story-behind-juxtapoz-in-detroit

http://www.juxtapoz.com/Current/ben-wolfs-other-work

http://www.juxtapoz.com/Current/the-detroit-photos-of-yves-marchand-and-romain-meffre

http://www.juxtapoz.com/Street-Art/swoon-at-metro-gallery-in-melbourne

 http://www.killpixie.net/

 hard copy of the post 'meine mutter erwartet zu viel von mir'

 http://hiromihotel.com/

matryoshkaz-fo-lyf

birthday moneys busted already. from 'lo-life' under flinders street station. fuck off wheels = no more falling on my face. i can even skate over grass on this baby!

tattoo city!

first tattoo! been thinking about this guy for a long time. finally manifest.
my friend paul buzzed it in on monday in his studio on elizabeth street.
his blog; http://smellslikebepanthen.tumblr.com/

please and thankyou

Please Say Something from David OReilly on Vimeo.

Schokoladenkuchen zum Frühstück

101

k-k-k-tie

on an unrelated note, under encouragement from a strangely attractive jerk, i've been watching john cusack films; 'say anything' and 'grosse point blank'. both i recommend. maybe thinking about re-watching 'high fidelity' for the fifteenth time.

also, this makes me feel good:
http://kitbaker.tumblr.com/

do it.

http://andre-piguet.com/

melbourne based artist with a beautiful face.
i go fucking wild for his art. more please.

the background screamy parts are so good!

Pablo Neruda 'The Captain's Verses' - highly recommended.

Always;

"Facing you

I am not jealous.

Come with a man

at your back,

come with a hundred men in your hair,

come with a thousand men between your bosom and your feet,

come like a river

filled with drowned men

that meets the furious sea,

the eternal foam, the weather.

Bring them all

where I wait for you:

we shall always be alone,

we shall always be, you and I,

alone upon the earth

to begin life."

The first book of contemporary poetry I have gone fucking wild for. Beautiful.

http://lipstick-feminists.org/
http://feistyfeminist.tumblr.com/

"slave"

I had sex for the first time last night, three days after I turned eighteen.
I started hanging out with much older people than myself when I was fourteen. Being blatantly honest, positive sexual attention wasn't hard to come by, so I got used to saying "no" relatively early. I'm glad about this; somewhat proud that I was okay with myself enough to deny boys (only being heterosexually inclined at the time), that had many more years than me and thus had much longer than I to perfect techniques of emotional and sexual manipulation (I'm not trying to demonise, merely being realistic).
After a number of negative sexual experiences (for example, relentless pursuance or waking up with a boy's hands inside me) saying "no" became more than a conjunction of youthful nervousness and feeling intimidated. These experiences, though terrible already, perhaps had additional weight because I didn't have any positive sexual experiences to balance them with at the time.
"No" mutated into an assumption, a state of mind that began to affect me physically as well. I'm a very sexual person; I watch a lot of porn, I masturbate often and am sexually attracted to 80% of Melbourne's population.
Unfortunately, my sexual defensiveness subconsciously came to eclipse how attracted to or how in love I thought I was with a partner - whenever I entered into an encounter with a person; female or male, there would be a point, up until which I would have been incredibly turned on and 100% consenting, when my desire would completely shut off, like a light bulb blown, never to shine again. This usually happened as soon as any chance of a situation progressing to some kind of naked tomfoolery or penetration became apparent. Alongside the instantaneous disappearance of sexual drive came a slight sexual repulsion for whomever I had previously wanted to be with.
I was afraid of concretely pinning this process on psychological trauma because it was an idea that most definitely had the power to justify and exacerbate the prevalence of a, however understandable, reaction to sex that just acted as a total head fuck to whomever I was involved with.
Consequently, I have a number of people, some that are still close friends (others that disappeared as soon as I told them I wouldn't have sex with them) who have tried to have be with me since fourteen or fifteen, and yet, it was a perfect stranger that I chose to take home.
Feeling the happiest I have in three years; namely due to recovering from an intense illness and the reinvigoration of my appreciation of my health, my family and my friends, I was out at a street festival, seeing a friend's band play at a pub. A friend of a friend introduced me to an boy with a beautiful face. I danced hard with my pals to the alt-pop tunes of a band I have seen play many, many times, but never enjoyed as much as I did that night. My new acquaintance and I shared ciders, had nice chats and danced to the DJs who played later that night. I introduced him to my friends, whom he seemed to charm with ease.
Around 11pm, I offered for him to stay the night at my house, responding to his unassuming confidence and nice smiles. It seemed so silly, how comfortable I was around this perfect stranger. We left around 1 or 2am. At home in Richmond, we drank more, sat on my balcony and listened to Bill Callahan. He turned out to be much older than me; nine years my senior. I was surprised, but only because age isn't something I think about often. I preemptively explained that I probably wouldn't have sex with him and made sure that if I said "no", that would be ok. Subsequently, through speaking openly, about my nervousness and insecurities, things progressed rapidly, but I felt good. We got naked to Why?'s 'Alopecia'.
Though a confusing mix of pleasure and pain, I felt sexy and happy. We slept naked.
In the morning, I cooked us omelettes whilst he bought take-away coffees from around the corner.
I felt terribly embarrassed only after applying an insensitive nickname - whenever I ask people to do things for me (i.e. fetch coffee, make beds, drop off a library book etc;), I call them "slave" - joking about myself and how demanding I can be. I did this to him twice before feeling ill because I realised what I had done. He has very dark skin, being first-generation American with parents from the Caribbean. I apologised profusely, explaining that it had no cultural references at all. He said he had wondered what I was getting at. Oh dear, oh dear!
We hung around in the courtyard until 11am when one of my lady-friends arrived to ship me to the beach for the day. He had to go to work later in the day, so we parted ways with a kiss. Maybe I will see him again sometime, as we swapped digits, but either way, I can't imagine a first-time scenario that could have been any better.

pals!

excellent clip

probably the sexiest thing i've ever seen. prime side boob.

Tiffany in Azul [trailer] from CafeGlow on Vimeo.

‎"If U find urself in a dark room with vibrating walls full of blood all around U, then don't worry. U r in a safe place, U r in my heart."

taken from a book a friend dumpstered called 'SMS4UR Friends & LOVERS'.
amazing.

"maybe this will help"

my parents were together for twenty five odd years, but my mother always felt like she forced my father to marry her.
he would have been happy never to marry, to spend his life with her (or perceive it to be possible), faithfully, without the need for formal documentation. she knew that, but in her early twenties, believing wholeheartedly in the notion of forever, she was scared that she was wasting the best years of her life with a man who wasn't prepared to commit to her.
under pressure from mum, dad had, not too reluctantly, conceded and the couple purchased a pair of rings that they were waiting on to be resized.
they were living together in queensland, it was one of the hottest days on record. mum was sitting in a cold bath in her bright pink, one piece bathing suit, sobbing inconsolably. she thought that dad had forgotten the rings or just didn't care (why she didn't or couldn't simply bring this up in conversation or just pick them up herself, i have no idea). dad attempted to comfort her, but after hearing the reason for her tears, he left the room, causing a fresh onslaught of tears. he returned later with a tall glass of lemonade with crushed ice and lemon pieces in one hand and the pair of rings in the other.
"maybe this will help", he said.

october 2008 - january 2009; aged 15

pages from my journal; july - october 2008, aged 14 and 15

xx

finished this a while ago.

these are the only photos i have.

two balls of finger knitting fill the inside