Chasing lies no one believes

Who doesn't like a man playing the piano?

Essay writing is going woefully. I know I keep bitching about it, but I can't help it. I feel...stunted.

My father, in his aggravating existence, does not help the issue much. I seriously cannot believe that one person can be such a pest, let alone clearly enjoy being such a pest.

I hope it keeps raining. I love the rain when I'm prepared for it. I want to wear my leather jacket and my tights and swan about, Starbucks in hand. I'm kinda channeling the Mary outfit vibe:



You know, I really think she's quite pretty in this. Not as stunning as Morgana, tho. Obviously.

Also, since I'm looking at screencaps [from here btw]:


Just. Too. Cute. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Even if my mum completely doesn't get it. But then my parents continue to do their best to try and warp my perception of Jack, so it's hardly surprising that I refuse to listen to them. I'm fairly certain this whole Torchwood fandom completely perplexes them.

Speaking of, I'm amused that my Torchwood folder has randomly taken to displaying a picture of Jack Sparrow. I don't know where it came from but it's hilariously apt either way.

What? I keep telling you I am easily amused.

I'm meeting Mandy tomorrow to talk about my project. So hopefully that goes well. I suppose I should come up with some ideas to talk about? I don't know how this works. Trial and error I suppose.

Guess I'd better return to the essay. Le sigh. But perhaps shower first. It's amazing how many showers one can take when one is procrastinating. I will forever remember Lizzie's random blog while doing an essay (was it for Power and Change? I think so) on Myspace (God forbid, when we were still dabbling there) which had to be the most accurate stream of conciousness type set of blogs ever to catch the academic process, including the eventual descent into madness. Brilliant.

Music: I promise you walls - Shiny Toy Guns
Mood: Malingering, clearly.

So monochrome and so lukewarm

Reasons I'm not going to class today:

1) Couldn't find parking at the station
2) It's raining.
3) I don't want to walk in the rain.
4) I don't want to leave my car in the rain either.
5) My work shoes are uncomfortable (especially in the rain.)
6) I didn't have a jacket with me and I'm cold.
7) I'm hungry.
8) I figured I could work on essay for class instead.

Now I'm at home and I almost wish I had gone to class cause at least my father can't bug me there. It's really unbelievable how annoying he can be. I don't know how I meant to put up with it. I am not a child! Bah.

This weather is conducive to nothing other than wanting to bake pancakes and watch movies all day long. But we are not doing that, oh no, we are working on our essay (we being myself and the conglomeration of voices in my head). I have come up with a title for it - 'The Author as 'I' - Blurring the line between fiction and autobiography.' I'm not quite sure if that's the kind of thing they're after but it's atheme of experimentationa dn inventiveness in creative approach, right?

I also paid for my graduation though I'm still kind of pissed off that I have to pay. And then I can only invite three people! I had more than that who wanted to come! Bah. I don't even want to graduate but my mother has guilt tripped me into it and I know Lizzie wanted me to graduate with her. I could have just graduated next year "with honours", provided I pass of course, but I figure I do it once then I don't have to do it again. I am really not looking forward to it.

Finally had someone show some interest in being my supervisor, I am just waiting to hear back from the co-ordinator if she's eligible or not. I hope so. I think I can work with her, she's quite odd and I respond well to odd people. I don't think I'm much work, I don't need my hand held every second, I just need someone to make sure I'm doing the right sort of thing.

But yes. Work awaits. To the book depository!

P.S. This cover scares me -


P.P.S. Why is there a reality show about celebrities in rehab?

Music: I still remember - Bloc Party
Mood: Working

Half-awake in a fake empire

Ha! I have found my Beauty & The Beast dvd. I have also spent the last couple of hours sitting here rocking out to my iPod. Singing along, dancing, the whole lot. Some ridiculous show is on UKTV in the background. It all makes me feel way better than I have felt for probably the last week, if not longer. I have at least done a bunch of research today, so all is not lost at least. I might discuss the interactive nature of fiction, relate it back to hypertext and focus on that whole passage about the hedge in Proust's 'Swanns Way'. I should be able to get at least 1,500 words out of that, I can't imagine this essay would need more. If that doesn't fly, I can stick to the whole the blurring between autobiography and fiction and touch upon authorial intent and the idea of a middle voice, so still Proust, but with Sebald and Cixious thrown in for good measure. The ideas are there. But for some reason they only make sense at quater to one in the morning. Silly brain.

Music: Fake Empire - The National
Mood: Cheerful

Keep your soul like a secret

I need to write this fucking screenplay. So many creative writing ideas just bubbling and no fucking way to get them all out. That's the worst thing. I hate it. It makes me feel really lost and, well, frustrated I suppose. It's all I have you know, I hate the thought of not being able to do it justice or letting them get away. That's why I always say I want to hook my brain up to a computer, solve the problem. My fingers can't keep up with my thoughts, time won't keep up with my thoughts. I can never get around to all of the projects and ideas cause I simply don't have the time.

I'm running over. Seriously. I can't listen to a song, or read a paragraph, without getting an idea for a story. Not fully formed, but it's that "Oooooh! Lighbulb!" moment that with a little nurturing can usually pull through all the way. But as I said, simply don't have the time.

I have a fucking essay to write that I just can't decide on a topic for. It keeps shifting and changing and I'm so sick of it. Blah.

I'm just generally feeling frustrated, agitated, controlled and trapped. Add in whatever you want. It's always the same, isn't it? Rather pathetic. C'est la vie. Tomorrow we do it again.

And if they get me and the sun goes down into the ground
And if they get me take this spike to my heart and,
And if they get me and the sun goes down
And if they get me take this spike and,
You put the spike in my heart
And if the sun comes up will it tear the skin right off our bones
And then as razor sharp white teeth rip out our necks I saw you there
Someone get me to the doctor, someone get me to a church
Where they can pump this venom gaping hole
And you must keep your soul like a secret in your throat
And if they come and get me
What if you put the spike in my heart
And if they get me and the sun goes down
And if they get me take this spike and,
Can you take this spike?
Will it fill our hearts with thoughts of endless night time sky?
Can you take this spike?
Will it wash away this jet black feeling?
And now the nightclub sets the stage for this, they come in pairs she said
We'll shoot back holy water like cheap whiskey, they're always there
Someone get me to the doctor, and someone call the nurse
And someone buy me roses, and someone burned the church
We're hanging out with corpses, and driving in this hearse
And someone save my soul tonight, please save my soul
And as these days watch over time,
And as these days watch over us tonight
I'll never let them, I'll never let them
I'll never let them hurt you not tonight
I'll never let them, I can't forget them
I'll never let them hurt you, I promise
Struck down, before our prime
Before, you got off the floor
Can you stake my heart?
And these thoughts of endless night bring us
Back into the light, and this venom from my heart
And these thoughts of endless nightbring us
Back into the light, kill this venom from my heart
And as always, innocent like roller coasters.
Fatality is like ghosts in snow and you have no idea
What you're up against because I've seen what they look like.
Becoming perfect as if they were sterling silver chainsaws going cascading.

Music: Vampires will never hurt you - My Chemical Romance
Mood: Frustrated

Colour yourself back in again, your secrets keep you sick

"Oh honey, you're so fucked up."
The pencil clattered on the stone floor, echoing around the cavernous space. An eyebrow arched delicately at the intrusion, a slight quirk of the lips, all visible only briefly before the shadows fell again. The air was heavy with an oddly familiar metallic tang and the faintest trace of suplher. Everything was caught in a soft laugh, an arched back, and eyes that scorched the darkness. A lilting voice that was designed to both soothe and tear apart became as immediate as oxygen. Permeable, it sank through conciousness and into the blood stream.
"You really have no idea."
A soft thump provided the only answer, but he was dead before he hit the ground. The walls seemed to close in on themselves, denying what they had just seen. They clamped their hands over their ears as the soft laugh played between them again, passing from one end to the other. Silence descended. It was a pink haze, light and decadent. It was anything but oppresive.

We're in trouble now.

Also,

I've learned a lot this past week, I learned my friend LeVar Burton is on Twitter, I learned how to tie three different nautical knots, I learned who William Beckett was, and I've learned how hard it is to find a rust-free 1979 Trans Am in California, near Los Angeles, that isn't brown, gold, manual, or being sold by a diehard Burt Reynolds buff.

Oh Gerard *shakes head* How we adore you.

Music: Some ridiculous Charles Bronson movie
Mood: Dispondent

Unkempt and over-caffienated

Head is going to explode in some horror movie show of overacted violence and gore. Hopefully some interesting blood spatter, would hate to be a boring clean up.

Soft light, total silence
So tired you take the table near the door
Sat back under fire
Only as stable as I choose to show
If I choose to show

Stuck on the essay questiosn that seem to be perpetually on the fringe of coherency. A creative piece for one? Something I'm familiar with for another? Ideas hinge on an understanding of the theory, the theory I do not care for. Underlying problem in the compatibility of my brain and overwhelming amount of theory. Still, work must get done. It must. It. Must.

Well, I feel that this is an explosion
That nobody else could ever really know
Well, I would follow you anywhere
You say you don't believe in science
You're always afraid of what you can't control
I would follow you anywhere
But where were you that night when I was

I need Starbucks. Venti. Four shots. There isn't one anywhere near me.

When I was calling for the answer that you probably shouldn’t know
Well, it feels like flames surrounding me here
When you were calling with your question when all I needed was to know
That it feels like flames surrounding me here

Perhaps a shower to clear the mind, give the pills some time to kick in and kick the headache. Then just sit and write, write anything. Just to get somehting down, get something done. Hopefully there's an idea in there somewhere.

So this is it, so this is it
So this is the silence, this is the silence we became
It's never quite, it's never quite over
It's never quite over in the silence

Huh. I feel as if time has suddenly compressed. It's lost all meaning.

I've never watched Supernatural but this line of dailogue I picked up somewhere really stuck with me - I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. Hm.



Music: 40 Steps - The Academy Is
Mood: Quixotic

Sprawled on these cathedral steps

Note: the following post was started at 2.30 last night/this morning (semantics!) and is rambly and looney like posts of that hour tend to be. Thing is I would have posted it last night, and probably rambled a lot more, but my laptop had enough of this stupidity and cut out before I had even finished it. I have decided to post it in it's unfinished form as was automatically saved by the draft function because it's what would have gone up and hell, I want to stay true to my own idiocy. I spent a good hour afterwards still scribbling in my notebook. But yes it's quite abrupt and you can imagine me sitting there, struggling to keep my head up, banging at the keyboard in a perplexed manner as the screen blacked out. Much like Gwen in the first episode of Torchwood. Anyway, have it.

**

Feeling blurred around the edges. Have reached that state of sleeplessness where everything seems to slow, you can feel the tiny mechanics that go into something so ordinary, so arbitrary, such as blinking your eye. Closeted and wrapped in cotton wool. Breathing shallow and barely susceptible. We're the closest thing to being both in and of the world. I want to go out and feel the city breathe again, like I used to. Walk the streets after hours, when it's so quiet it's almost as if you can feel a heartbeat underneath the pavement. Get lost in the haze of steam rising from a coffee from the only place open on six blocks, and pull the jacket closer while stumbling like a drunkard down a street flooded in artifical light, both drowning and revelling in it. Hood up, gloved up, cool air ghosting across cheeks. I haven't done that in years, I've lost that person in the ebb and flow of all that's passed. Grown up and moved on. Changed so much, and subtly changed together. The imprint lingers somewhere on my concious, a ghost of things past, things that form part of the very fibres of your existence. You may lose some things but maybe that doesn't matter as long as you never forget. Sometimes I want to go out and wrap myself in the very essence of what it is to be someone else. Someone clever. Someone witty. Someone pretty. Someone easy. Someone normal. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that I can't be those things, that I feel so disconnected and removed. There isn't a single light on in my street - I know, I can see it all from where I'm sitting. There is no one awake but me. At times like these I own the night, I own this street, I own this city. It's mine for the taking, mine for reappropriating. I can shape it to be whatever I need, whatever I want, whatever I feel. It's mine in a way it can never be anyone else's. It's enough.

I get so nostalgic in my sleepless nights. So existential in pre-dawn hours. There is no other time better suited for pointless whims of fancy, and can one really be blamed for questioning when your very environment forces the questions upon you by mere circumstance? It's hardly the norm and you have to ask why - why, what, how, when, and where? It doesn't help that late night television is possibly the strangest thing ever. Inane ads and infomercials, what possibly makes this the key demographic for this sort of thing? The reasoning behind this must be shocking. I can't think straight, I'm seeing in sevens. Too tired to move and so fingers keep typing fo their own violition. This won't make any sense. I won't remember even writing it in the morning. Sleep typing? Does such a condition exist? Don't see why not, many other 'sleep' conditions are available. But then I'm not asleep. That's the whole problem. Although perhaps some part of my brain has shut down (perhaps for it's own protection) and that's why I can sit here typing out this inane chatter as I talk in circles to myself. It never shuts up. I wonder if I have a future, I wonder if it matters, I wonder if I will ever stop feeling like I'm outliving myself. Reading this Milan Kunderra book in which one character suggests death is still concious, you can hear everything that's going on around you, you simply can't make the "outside" world realise this - a nightmare that you can't wake from, you can't scream yourself out of. True disconnection. Being buried though, you wont hear anything. So what? Perpetual, concious silence? What about cremation or that sort of thing, would the various parts still be concious even though it's been dispersed? I suppose silence in such a context would be better, easier to just zone out and drift. If you could here everything that's happening around you and yet know there's no way for you to reach out, that would be pretty rough. Actively being denied life with every miniscule action that takes palce in your vicinity. How odd. No one cares anyway.

**

Music: Wind rustling the trees next door
Mood: Pensive and sleep deprived

Can't tell if I've been breathing or sleeping

Em and Roze were over tonight. We had a study group, which is something we're doing every Friday from now on. Cause clearly, we are the nerdiest 21 year olds around. What are you doing on Friday? Oh, study date, you know *shakes head* It worked well. Roze got her powerpoint presentation done and we starred in Em's media project. We struggled with converting Roze's Mac files onto our PCs and vice versa. Fun and games. 'Cept of course, helping the others, I hadn't done any of my work. Sigh. I have two essays I need to post ideas for this week and I am so royally fucked. Sigh. Tomorrow. Definitely have to write something tomorrow.

In between it all, we sort of watched some of the MTV Australia awards. It is just so lame. I mean really. I never understood why we even had our own MTV awards. We're just one country. The MTV Europe Awards is a collection, so that's alright, and the main MTVs, well it started in the US so that's justifiable as well. But honestly, this is just stupid. It's always a huge painful waste of time. This year their biggest mistake was letting fans accept awards on behalf of artists who weren't here. It led to many painfully awkward moments and stupidity. There really was no other way for that to play out. Hilarious to follow all this via the wonders of Twitter though as all week I've been watching Pete Wentz and Mark Hoppus' tweets as they ambled about my city. First was the hysterical laughter that came from Pete being trapped in the airport thanks to our impromptu storms (for some reason this really amused me) and Mark just generally being touristy. The thing that really got me however (other than MTV fucking up everything as I try to take a shortcut through the SEC parking garage and Town Hall being a mad house) was Pete deciding to hide two passes to the show in Dymocks George st. Where I spend a significant amount of my free time. He also hid them in the classics section, which is awkwardly located and I couldn't help but picture the staff's faces as various incarnations of emo kids came scrambling into the store, manhandling their Dickens novels. The thought of these WTF faces alone sent me into a hysterical fit of giggles. Too bad he didn't hide them the same time yesterday, I could have picked them up up and started my own treasure hunt, leaving post-its in my wake. Really make them work for it. I'd have put it somewhere really silly (like on the monorail), or somewhere difficult (like Centerpoint), or somewhere random (like the Marble Bar)...or perhaps give them to the 'Free Hugs' guy, who was back in Town Hall again (still wearing the purple suit). Just because Wentz doesn't have the time to make this needlessly complicated doesn't mean I don't have the inclination to do so. Such a mind fuck. Sadly, I missed this golden opportunity for pointless mayhem while getting my hair done. Well you know what they say, priorities. Ah well, next time.

Still, I'm going to miss the inane updates of random people from around my city, it's always fun to observe things you take for granted from a slightly removed perpective. For example, I love how visitors are always completely obsessed with the size of our bats.

Now let's see. I need an short essay idea that "shows some appreciation of the ways in which a writing self calls upon key problems about where and when an 'I' exists to be written about." Any ideas? In fact, any ideas about what that actually means?

How about this one - a paper addressing "the themes of experimentation and inventiveness in creative approach." Hm? Anything?

Ugh. I really need to get a move on. Really. Not sit around watching Moulin Rouge and Across The Universe, which is what I did last night.

I've been eating so much lately. It's disgusting. Don't know what's gotten into me. Stress? I've never been a stress eater. Hm. Need to drink more coffee methinks.

Oh yeah, have to mention this. Yesterday on the train into uni, I was sitting there minding my own business watching Merlin as I am wont to do on Thursdays, and this woman gets on - perfectly dressed business woman - turns around and starts talking to me. So obviously I blink stupidly and remove my earphones and politely ask her to repeat herself. What do you think she says? "Oh, I just wanted to say you look like a beatnik", before turning around again. I have been called a lot of things in my life, but I have to say this is the first time I've been called a beatnik. I don't even know why. I was wearing my Beckett jeans, cowboy boots, Jack Sparrow shirt and waistcoat with my 'Kill Hannah' and 'My Passion' buttons. And really, I was just minding my own business. Very strange. Class followng this was similarly perplexing. It always has the same effect on me - the one that imediately makes me question what.the.fuck I'm doing there in the first place.

Anyway. I think I'd best go to bed and do some reading. I started Brideshead Revisted last night and I'm already in love with it.

I shall leave with some random lyrics, for I decree it necessary and have been obsessed with this song all week.

Well you can hide a lot about yourself,
But honey, what're you gonna do?
And you can sleep in a coffin,
But the past ain't through with you.
'Cause we are all a bunch of liars,
Tell me, baby, who do you wanna be?
And we are all about to sell it,
'Cause it's tragic with a capital T.
Let it be, Let it be, Let it be!
'Cause we all wanna party when the funeral ends.
And we all get together when we bury our friends.
It's been eight bitter years since I've been seeing your face.
And you're walking away, and I will die in this place.
Sometimes you scrape and sink so low,
I'm shocked at what you're capable of.
And if this is a coronation, I ain't feeling the love.
'Cause we are all a bunch of animals
That never paid attention in school.
So tell me all about your problems;
I was killing before killing was cool.
You're so cool. You're so cool. So cool!
'Cause we all wanna party when a funeral ends
And we all get together when we bury our friends.
It's been nine bitter years since I've been seeing your face.
And you're walking away, and I will die in this place.
You'll never take me alive. You'll never take me alive.
Do what it takes to survive,'Cause I'm still here.
You'll never get me alive. You'll never take me alive.
Do what it takes to survive, and I'm still here.
You'll never take me alive. You'll never get me alive.
Do what it takes to survive, and I'm still here.
You'll never get me. You'll never take me
You'll never get me alive.
'Cause we all wanna party when a funeral ends.
And we all get together when we bury our friends.
It's been ten fucking years since I've been seeing your face 'round here.
And you're walking away, I will drown in the fear.

Music: Kill all your friends - My Chemical Romance
Mood: Working

I like my coffee black just like my metal

You know what disappoints me about the Harry Potter books? Draco's complete wimpiness. I always though there was some greater part being set up for him, either redemptive or just being quite kick-ass evil, but really he doesn't do much other than stand around being cowardly. Ok there's the whole plot to kill Dumbledore, but he wasn't going to do it and he only got as far as he did under duress. He's just a lot of talk, and in the end he just falls apart. Quite disappointing. The again, this might just be because I think Tom Felton could play evil overlord quite well, who knows.

I should have stayed home today. Complete waste of time. I sat with two people I haven't spoken to before and we spent the entire time snickering and being bored. Eventually we all three ended up leaving early. The girl is a lot like me and we were both bitching about no one ever leaving us alone and lecturer's trying to "include" you when all you want to do is sit in the back and mind your own business. We also generally bemoaned how slow the class seemed to be picking up on all this technology stuff. So the only thing I really ended up doing today was spending money at Borders. I acquired:
* Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
* Identity - Milan Kunderra
* The way by Swann's - Marcel Proust (first part of his epic book of doom)
* The inheritance of loss - Kiran Desai
I shouldn't have but it's uni related, so I feel I can justify it.

Now I have to do my readings for tomorrow, all of which is centred around "walking in the city". One of the readings uses the World Trade Centre as an extended metaphor throughout, which I find to be rather unfortunate. Because, clearly, that didn't work out so well. Lizzie pointed out to me the other day that it's almost been 10 years. It makes me feel old. But anyway. I really should stop leaving these readings till the last minute. It's so hard for me to absorb any of it, it's just so...blah. I really resent using the same word in every sentence of a paragraph.

Until I've done that, I give thee this random site of things weirdly translated to English.

AAAAH I am an idiot. I just realised Adrian/Ozymandias from Watchmen is played by Matthew Goode. That explains the immediate reaction I had to him *shakes head at self*

Oh, and this kind of struck me as wrong: "Mostly straight, multiplex-going audiences don't want to see a romantic comedy in which two dudes get it on; unless it is meant as a joke," commented Scott Stiffler, author of Why Hollywood Avoids Gay Movies. It's all fair enough until it got to the "unless it's meant as a joke" bit. I take that to mean movies like 'I now pronounce you Chuck & Larry' (because yeah, that did well *cough*). If you ask me that pretty much highlights a major issue in representation within the industry, let alone society. It's from this article over a new Jim Carrey/Ewan McGregor movie

Music: Shut me up - MSI
Mood: Working

Your rip my heart right out

In the last three working days, we've seen close to 80 patients. Up until this morning. That is a lot of patients. When we finally got a break today before I had to leave I could only sit back and think, what now? It's funny how calm can feel really foreign when you've been very busy and harrassed. It feels as if you've forgotten something. Hope it settles by Friday.

We watched Hard Candy in class today. Woah. Fucked up much? I'm not complaining since I didn't have to come up with some ridiculous conversation point for something I couldn't find. Our guest speaker was talking about fairytales and subversions of master narratives, and so the film was a case study of sorts, tying in with some of her own work. As Abs would know from that short story, this woman doesn't mess around. I quite admire it. I mean, we don't exactly write those happy, moonshine-and-roses type things either. Cause, let's face it, life is fucked up. I was trying to argue this point with our actual lecturer but I think he wants to be lieve in the idealistic redemptive side of humanity. I'm very cynical, and violence is so engrained in my take on life considering where I grew up, so I'm more inclined to take a Suzie look at life "We’re just animals, howling in the night ‘cause it’s better than silence."

As always the class ran over time. It amazes me that in a class with five people in it, we go for the full three hours. I had a class with double that before and we barely made it to two. It's strange. Anwyay, point is I didn't get a chance to ask her about supervising. I'll stop by her office tomorrow. Hopefully she's eligible, idk. I think she might be useful since she's at least done a creative thesis herself. It would seem it's not really the done thing.

I'm completely exhausted, the most menial tasks requires an absurd amount of focus. I manage to hide it quite well though, but I suppose I've had years of practice. Regardless, my eyes do feel like they are receding into the back of my skull. Still, I've managed to have a recurring dream in the 9 hours sleep I've had over the last 48 hours. How strange. Possibly I didn't even get past REM? Who knows. Anyway, it involves the entire cast of Torchwood (cast, not characters, which is interesting in itself since I generally prefer to ignore the fact that actors are involved), a convention setting, a poker table, and fans. First I insult the onlookers, then I proceed to clean everyone out. I wish I was as good at poker as my dream self is. I've noticed that this dream self is quite rude (rude and not ginger). I haven't been able to remember a dream in ages and I haven't had a recurring one in even longer, so it's all rather amusing.

Library workshop again tomorrow. I am tempted to stay home (in bed). But then they'd probably do something important. Bah. Oh crap I was meant to do something else. I need to get a birthday card for Ally...voucher. Um. Something else. Damn it. It'll come to me hopefully. OH right, tickets. Ha. Ok. Will try to remember that.

How I've had you once
Oh, I can't forget that
Sometimes I wish
I could lose you again

You're winning me over
With everything you say
You rip my heart right out
You rip my heart right out

I am really quite fond of this song. Reminds me of afternoons spent in Borders, when it was still nice and the object of my affection still worked downstairs, stitting in the corner reading music non-fiction and just chilling out while they played this album. It had such a good vibe. Sigh. Borders has clearly never heard of the 'if it's not broken, don't fix it' notion. Either that or they were trying to get rid of me. Can't entirely blame them for that.

Anyway. Brain has shut down so not even going to pretend to do research. Whoniverse Tuesday? All evidence suggests indulgence.

Music: Your house - Jimmy Eat World
Mood: Exhausted

I won't let you on my stage

Sydney has really gone gangster lately. Must be the popularity of 'Underworld' that has spurred it into action, not wanting to get left behind by Melbourne. Or whatever. Seriously, biker wars in the domestic airport, drive-by shootings...even the sharks are in on the action. Ok, that just reminded me of this cartoon that used to be on when I was little that was set under the sea and the sharks were gangsters. I wasn't particularly fond of it so I can't remember the specifics, but it seems apt.

I didn't get anything done today. I've never been this busy at the surgery before. Never. We saw almost double the amount of people we would on what I would normally deem to be a busy day. It's crazy. I don't know what the hell is going on. Of course it happens when I'm already resembling a zombie. Only got about four hours sleep last night, my insomnia always comes along at the perfect time. Kept having mental blanks and muttering at the printer, which was purposely defying me all day. It's a personal vendetta, I swear! Everything thus leads to my being thoroughly exhausted. It feels like there are ants crawling around behind my eyelids. I am this close to throwing it all out and crawling into the fetal position on the couch with trusty Torchwood to protect me.

I didn't even have time to do any uni readings at work! Bah. Yet again woefully underpepared. We have a guest lecturer coming in. I might ambush her into being my honours supervisor. I'll ask anyway, can't hurt. My search for one continues to go poorly. It's not helped by the fact that all the elegible staff appear to be on leave for the spring semester. Fat lot of good you are. I wouldn't have this problem if half the creative writing staff were not casuals and thus not elegible. Siiiigh.

I need to take in something that blurs the boundary between fiction and autobiography *strokes beard* I've got this Jeanette Winterson book that's apt but I studied it in Genre Fiction and I'm beginning to think they think I am incapable of bringing in anything original. But I'm busy, I'm sorry. I can't spend twenty hours a day trawling through databases looking for texts and then going out reading said texts. I have to make do with what I have. Also, it's meant to be contemporary, as in the last four years. I cannot think of anything. Grr.

I am looking at alternative theory though. That's something at least. Found a great article last night linking a bunch of sources that relate to the space/place work we're doing in Cultural Studies as well as the interactive fiction of the Writing Workshop. Currently reading Walter Benjamin. Afterwards I better check what the other girls have posted. Pretentious art stuff no doubt. It's weird to feel odd about taking in novels for discussion to a writing class but everyone else is always bringing in language poetry or sound projects. Then there's me with Don DeLillo or Tristram Shandy. Tristram kicked serious ass last week though. I knew he would.

Anyway. Enough uni rambling. I shouldn't subject the world to my suffering. I like getting it down though, getting some out of it out of my head. It helps lower the stress levels a little.

I want to go see Let the right one in, by the looks of things there's only one cinema in town playing it. Weird, but ok. Also want to go see 'Travesties' at the Theatre Company. Add this to Em's desire to attend 'The Nutcracker' ballet and hey, we're being down right cultural.

Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet

Music: Ugly Side - Blue October
Mood: Working

I'm not crazy cause I take the right pills everyday

I haven't been very productive today as I have been too paralysed with fear and horror at the immensity of what I have gotten myself invovled in. Need to suck it up and move.the.fuck.on. I know, but it's easier said than done. Where be those anti-anxiety meds? *scrabbles around* Blah. Priority number one is to find a damn supervisor. I have posted everything online that I should have, I think, so that's something I suppose.

Had brilliant idea for my cultural studies final assignment. I think. Will have to check if it'll fly, but if it does, it should be quite amusing.

Got caught up with card games as I invariably do when I'm meant to be working. Black Jack today. Strategy program. I suppose it's sort of pointless to try and learn Black Jack startegy since you're going to lose anyway unless you count cards, which has been firmly established as being beyond me. Sadly. It's probability. I was never too flash with probability. Still, won 90% of my games. I was quite impressed with myself.

Salt, sweat
Sugar on the asphalt
Our hearts littering the topsoil
Tune in and
We can get the last call
Our lives, are cold

Music: Bleed American - Jimmy Eat World
Mood: Drained

Note to self:

For future use.

Music: 40 Steps - The Academy Is...
Mood: Stressed

Clamping my tongue between my teeth

I have come to the conclusion that the pace of Battlestar Galactica is rather relentless. I can't quite put my finger on what exactly it is they're doing, but it's very immersive. I'm new to it all, but I have to admit I find it kind of ironic that I spent the afternoon on the couch starting season 1, when everyone else (interested in BSG) in the universe was watching the finale of the series. I don't like coming in at the end of things, but this was just a matter of opportunity. Don't know if I'll become obsessed with BSG or not. Too early to tell, I'm only five episodes in (but yes, clearly not Whoniverse scale obsession as five episodes were more than enough there.)

As we're on the topic of relentless pace, work today was exactly that. We saw about 21 patients in the space we would normally only see 10 in. I didn't get home until considerably later than anticipated. After I did the dreaded vacuuming and what have you, there was barely any of my precious free time left. Parents were back by 6. Drama naturally followed shortly. Because I'm petulant yes, but it's not like there's much co-operation so I am disinclined to feel overly guilty. Cannot get simple questions answered or simple requests such as "If I order dinner, will you pick it up?" considered without fanfare. I'm tired and grumpy and not in the mood for ridiculous reasoning. Oh and yeah, by the way Jen, thanks for buying us dinner. That's ok. Chalk it up to another fictional conversation.

Slighthly awkward evening spent in growing silence.

Setting aside tomorrow for some serious uni work. I've really been slacking off lately and need to get my ass in gear. Not that I want to, but I got myself into this godforsaken mess and better shut up and get on with it. Course work is worth 40% of eventual Honours mark. Sigh. Oh, and I still don't have a supervisor. Goddamnit.

Oh and the Crusaders actually won a game! Oh, boys what you put me through *shakes head sadly* I hope Daniel is happy with himself, wherever he sits resting that ruptured achilles tendon of his. That/this/none of it would have happened if you'd just stayed where you were, I wouldn't have let it! *huffs* Yes, I have delusions of granduer, but these are my boys people, and I'm not used to suffering like this.

Think I might head to bed. Hopefully I won't have any other bizarre dreams involving inebriated actors, fangirls, David Bowie and me bossing people around. I blame it all on watching Labyrinth last night. Actually considering writing it all up in story form cause it was just so ridiculous...

Random shit of the day - Kids are smoking smarties?Sigh. Some days one has no choice but to fear for the future.

Similarly, random quiz from mental_floss - celebrity baby name or computer virus?

Music: Ghost - The Academy Is...
Mood: Grumpy

Everyone’s caught on to everything you do

I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter
And make believe it came from you
I'm gonna write words oh so sweet
They're gonna knock me off my feet
A lotta kisses on the bottom
I'll be glad I got 'em
I'm gonna smile and say
I hope you're feeling better
I'll close with love the way you do
I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter
And I'm gonna make believe it came from you

Dum dum dum.

Yeah ok. I don't know either. I just felt like it.

Today as I was wasting time on Twitter (which is becoming a bad habit and which would be infinitely more entertaining if more of my friends were actually involved), I had the thought that, you know, many ‘famous’ people don’t have twitter or facebook or such. Probably for fear of being flooded/stalked every waking hour of the day. Which is fair enough, but I was wondering, considering how big part of modern communication these things are, how do they actually keep in touch with people they know? Like their friends and family and such? Sure there’s email and messaging and whatever, but Facebook is the ultimate in staying involved in people’s lives. My friends and I don’t even have to talk anymore, it’s just a matter of “Yep, saw on Facebook.” Maybe they create accounts under psuedonyms or something. I just find it very hard to think that someone wouldn't have a Facebook account. I mean hell, my grandmother is on Facebook. It hardly seems fair if they miss out. But then again, they're probably better adjusted for it. Sometimes it gets a bit...overwhelming. Too much information. Danger, danger, arms flailing wildly! And so on.

I’m slightly hyper. I don’t know why. Maybe it's just nervous energy as my dad is getting on my nerves majorly. I feel suffocated. I want to run screaming from the house. It was with a lot of trepadition that I returned home after work today. One should not dread returning to one's home. Sigh. I suppose it’s not his fault he’s clingy and annoying. Does not make it any easier to deal with though.

ANZ sent me a brochure today informing me I can now personalize my credit card for free (limited time only, of course). So, you know, in exchange for signing away my soul four years ago, I can now put a pretty photo on my card. I’m considering it, because I am a loser, but of course I don’t want to put a photo of my dog on it or anything. No, I want to have the Torchwood logo or something like that. Like I said, because I am a loser. They might object due to copyright or some such crap. Always red tape.

I’m think I’m having a minor allergy attack. I can barely breathe and I went through a box of tissues at work. Blah. I hate it.

Oooh there be an article on the rise of singledom - "I hope in that in 10 years, there won't be a need for someone to write encouragingly about being single. It will be accepted as a choice, not a handicap." Damn straight.

The Hugo Award nominations are out and I now really want to get my hands on the Firefly and The Dresden Files graphic novels. Oh, and The Graveyard Book, which sounds brilliant and right up my alley. You can check them all out here.

I have work in the morning but the parental unit is going off on one of their 4x4 adventures so I can have the house, and the afternoon, all to myself. Always a cheery thought.

Is that what you call a getaway? Well, tell me what you got away with, cause I’ve seen more spine on jellyfish, I've seen more guts in eleven year old kids. Have another drink and drive yourself home, I hope there’s ice on all the roads, and you can think of me as you forget your seatbelt and again when your head goes through the windshield. Is that what you call tact? Well, your as subtle as a brick in the small of my back, so let’s end this call and end this conversation.

Music: Seventy time seven - Brand New
Mood: Hyper

If I've learned anything from this, it would all be gone

Oh, did I have a fantastic fangirl moment in class today! We were reading poetry someone brought in as their inspirational text, and there was continuous reference to Odysseus and Philoctetes. It was then mentioned that while they knew Odysseus, they weren't sure who the other was. I could then of course interject with the relevant information. And why? Because it's in 'Greeks Bearing Gifts' of course! It was such a triumphant moment.

You ever heard of Philoctetes? It came up in a pub quiz.
You went to a pub quiz?
Yeah. No, I love pub quizzes. Down at the Prince of, Tides.

Don't anyone ever tell me copious rewatching is bad for you. I've never met a fandom that didn't contribute to my greater education. Fact. Never underestimate anything.

After class, I meandered off to the comic lecture. It was very interesting. I especially appreciated the ramble on the notion of 'fanboy', as it is clearly something I can identify with. Also the insane OCD and collective drive that fuels these things. I might not be into comic books, but I understand the sentiment only too well. Especially when one of the panelists started talking about how identity becomes invested in the object and then when it's altered, or goes "mainstream", you end up feeling a bit betrayed because you are so invested. Totally understand that. I think anyone who's ever really been into something can identify with that moment where you felt so dejected and torn. Usually your greater love for the thing overcomes this though and you continue on, grumbling about it, but still. So yes. I'm glad I went, it was quite informative in terms of the different elements used to tell a story and just the various options available even in the 'graphic novel' form. I feel like taking up the cause now and studying more graphic novels, especially in my writing classes more geared towards experimental writing. I don't think there was a single other writing student in attendance though, which is a shame. Kind of feels like it's continuing that stereotype that its lowbrow, and many students get wrapped up in these grand notions of literature. But of course, I can't really say that cause well, I don't want to generalise and I'm not hundred percent sure who studies what. I sometimes just feel like people miss out on so much just because they have these preconceived notions about what is academic or worthwhile, and what isn't. Maybe it's post-modern of me, but I like to think everything is worthwhile depending on your perspective. I might not like something or get it, but I'll never put it down or write it off because of it, to someone else it might be genius *shrugs*

God my father is in one of his annoying moods. He can be such.hard.work.

I wore my leather jacket today. It was far too hot, but still, completely worth it. Now I have two jackets I am completely in love with.

Ironically, of course, I'm actually cold now. Dreaded aircon is on.

I have the urge to watch Beauty and the Beast. Perhaps I should act on it.

This is comforting:


Music: Where the city meets the sea - The Getaway Plan
Mood: Accomplished

Moonlight kisses seem to fade in the warmth of the sun

First things first, Abs got her visa! Yay! Not that I doubted it for a second, mind. So she will be here in three weeks and two days. I'm compiling a list of everything that could possibly be done in that time...do you want to go to Canberra?

I bought that leather jacket. The whole process behind it was one of those "hilarity ensued" moments. At first the guy who helped me (uber nice guy it must be said) said they didn't have a 12, so he went around ringing a variety of stores around the greater sydney area that the computer said had 12s in size, but of course none of them actually did. Eventually one of the girls walked past and went "oh there's one upstairs." After all that! He was like *facepalm* It was very amusing. So after the drama I felt somewhat obligated to purchase it. It also fits like a dream. Bit shorter than I normally buy my jackets but the sleeves are perfect. I've been looking for a leather jacket for years now. Time to take action!

This is what happens when they let me out of class early. I spend money.

Library workshop was ok, in general. Rehashed a lot of what I already knew, research has never been something I've had problems with. I was quite disturbed that almost no one in class knew what a RSS feed was, let alone how to use one. We spent the whole second half of the lesson (which only went for two hours) going over igoogle and google reader, all of which I've already been using. Eventually I was to be found shouting instructions across the lab and telling people where to click, "No the arrow, the little arrow! No, on the side! Yes. Now, down the bottom there should be unshare. What do you mean no? It's there, I can see it. It has the RSS symbol...the RSS symbol! Yes, the orange thing." I felt quite smug. Sure, I may not have intimate recall of theory at the drop of a hat, but I know my way around any search engine and RSS feed, thank you very much. And ok, so I use google reader for blogs mostly, but I still know how to use it. My iGoogle homepage is the very picture of functionality. And it's Torchwood themed. So, there. What good is your theory now? And so forth.

Yes. I am a bad person.

I don't know why I'm still awake to be honest. Mum had to work late tonight to do...something, I don't know, it involved servers, so I went to dinner with her and some collegues. Really excellent Italian place. Really. Great lasagne, great tiramisu. Hmm. Red wine was consumed. I was feeling quite merry and decided to put on Phantom of the Opera. As you do (I don't know, I'm nuts.) I have so much love for that, it's bizarre. Even though I spend the entire thing giving a running commentary on "where everything went horribly wrong".

Oh right, homework. I have narrowed down things that have influenced/inspired me to Romeo & Juliet (especially the dream scene between Romeo and Mercutio which I adore, "Oh then I see Queen Mab has been with you...") and Life of Pi. But, after consideration, I realised that Arms and the man by George Bernard Shaw predated pretty much everything and so it would probably have to take the title. Satire ftw. You don't have to pompous and self involved to be clever. It is witty and entertaining while offering a clear criticism on social conventions, perceptions of romance, and war. I've always appreciated the way it doesn't take itself seriously, while still addressing serious issues. Also, Shaw got me onto JM Barrie and Oscar Wilde (the latter made an earlier longer list of possible texts). I read this play when I must have been 10, as my mother recommended it, and since then iveread it many times over. Our copy is actually falling apart since both mum and I have so thoroughly worked it over. I can ramble about it for 5 minutes if I have to, so what the hell, it can have the dubious honour of being my text of choice.

There is something wrong with Jasper's trackball. Its tilting to an odd angle and doesn't want to scroll to the left. You have to last me another year Jasper, don't be difficult!

Speaking of, broke Beckettoo's earphones today. Woe. It all happened because I missed my train. I walked to the station and arrived just as the train pulled away. Mistimed by like two minutes! Epic fail. Anyway, I had to wait 10 minutes for the next one, so I sat down, and so, unbeknownst to me as I was too busy paging through an IKEA catalogue, the earphones got tangled in the bench. When the train eventually arrived and I got up, the earphones stayed behind. I was chillaxing listening to Glasvegas too, so I was not amused having to spend the journey (and walk to uni) in silence. Although it did give me time to appreciate these buskers who have recently taken up residency in the tunnel. I've seen them the last three weeks or so, and they're quite good. Guitar and percussion. Kinda folky...but not. They remind me of someone but I can't quite put my finger on it. Also, complete stroke of luck, ambling aimlessly around the uni library (this being the first time I've really set foot in it beyond the ground floor), I had no idea where I was meant to be going but I actually ended up where class was. I was amazed. Wasn't even late either, even after missing the train. Discovered uni had plasma screens set up around the library, showing ET (entertainment tonight, not the alien). Slightly worried for the future if what gave us Ryan Seacrest is considered a good academic influence. I really hope channel hopping is an option.

There is an open lecture on storytelling and the graphic novel being given tomorrow (well, later today really) after my Cultural Studies seminar. I think I might go check it out, it sounds quite interesting. They also have a Welsh professor in as a guest... Its not like I have anything better to do with my Thursday night. An hour sitting in a room or an hour in front of the tv *weighs up hands* I'm afraid a Welsh accent in person wins out...wait, what?

Oh, how I ramble.

Sleep? What is this thing you speak of?

Music: When I fall in love - Frank Sinatra
Mood: Merry

They lay heavy on my head

Guess who actually contributed to useful class discussion today? That's right. Moi. Ha, see, those random 2am google searches pay off...sometimes.

Library workshop tomorrow...apparantly. Haven't actually heard anything about it, so I'm just assuming. Still, no research required for that. Small mercies. There's no way I'd be able to focus on any readings, I just want to crawl into a warm, dark place somewhere and sleep. Bliss.

I think I can also definitely confirm that watching Merlin is a real hazard on the train. I scared people because I was unable to suppress my absolute glee at the scene where Merlin steals Arthur's key. The way it's floating around his head! It's just so completely ridiculous. Love.

I finally got myself a new quilt cover set, and a new sheet set. Five hundred thread count, mwahaha. Count them! Five hundred! I don't know why I had suddeny become so obsessed with this, but it was what it was, and I have now achieved my aim. I am pleased.

Bah. There is a song I want to download from iTunes but I keep forgetting what it is. I need to write it down, blast my feeble brain!

Oh. My. God. iTunes has just recommened me 'All I ask of you' [from The Phantom of the Opera]. I was just about to scoff at it, cause I already have it, but then I saw it was by John Barrowman. Can I just go die somewhere now as my fandoms all come together and cannibalise each other? Why don't I know these things! Guh.

Do I want to sleep in tomorrow or do I want to go shopping? There's a leather jacket at Just Jeans that wants me to come in and try it on. I can't turn down a jacket, I mean, that would just be cold hearted and rude. Look at it. It's asking so nicely.

Ugh that reminds me! When I went shopping for the shoes last week, I stumbled onto this outlet store that's selling all these designer jeans, including True Religion jeans. Now I've heard so much about these jeans I figured what the hell, I'd try them on. Do you think they had any in my size? No, of course not. Because clearly these things aren't made for normal people.

Oh, before I forget, please direct your attention here to the wonders of the Celebrity SatNav. Trade that annoying voice for something more attuned to your delicate fandom sensibilities. You know you want to.

Finally, happy St. Patrick's Day! Seeing all the green around the city and hearing all the Irish jokes makes me slightly wistful, what with all the reminiscing it induces! Enjoy, and blame everything on leprechauns. Leprechauns or Guinness, depening on the time of day I suppose.

Music: Break the night with colour - Richard Ashcroft
Mood: Listless

She's too invested in the hours that pass her by

"And so they are ever returning to us, the dead. At times they come back from the ice more than seven decades later and are found at the edge of the moraine, a few polished bones and a pair hobnailed boots."

Goddamnit, I should have read these books for genre study. I never got around to it, and they would have been perfect for this stupid class.

Also, I have to take in some piece that has influenced or inspired me for Cultural Studies. Influenced or inspired me? I don't know what the hell has influenced and inspired me! If anyone can remember me saying something about something inspiring me, please let me know before Thursday cause I have no idea. And it's not cause I don't read, hell no, I read. A lot. I guess I just don't read with the goal of later quoting it in class as being influential or inspiring. I don't knoooow. Gah.

I am in a very dangerous place with uni at the moment, the initial shock and stress have worn off, leaving me numb in that little place probably best called apathy. The problem is that it’s hard to be productive when you find yourself not caring. I wish I could pour the same enthusiasm I have for my fandoms into sociology theory. But then again, that would make my life extremely dull and boring. Thing is though, sometimes the pompous condescension of tertiary education just threatens to overwhelm me. Does not want. Appropriate Postsecret –



I started this post at lunchtime and never got round to finishing it, isn't that sad? Anyway, it's going to be long and rambly. Consider yourselves warned. Oh before I start, just saying things are positively soaking in melancholy. What's more upsetting is my disastrous attempt to hide this, the epic failure to conceal my mood always makes my mother feel bad. This is why I try to hide it, I just feel too guilty when she gets this *thing* about her and she goes around like she thinks she's a bad mother. It's not her fault I'm like this after all. It's no one's fault that sometimes every miniscule interaction feels like ripping a bit of flesh from my bones. That sometimes every conversation, the mere thought of conversation in fact, takes so much energy that I feel positively drained afterwards. That disconnection is so pronounced that I cannot bear to be in the company of a room full of people because failure is just so much more pronounced. Though I am used to this by now, it's still utterly overwhelming sometimes to feel so completely alone in a world you're meant to be part of.

But anwyay, continuing where the afternoon post began. I love cold pizza. Specifically, I love cold Hawaiian pizza. It is, in short, made of win. I have also had way, way too much sugar recently. A block of chocolate, easter eggs, a Guava tart my mum made on a whim yesterday. I have spied the ingredients for a Peppermint Crisp tart lying around too. I'm gleefully anticipating it. If I die from a sugar overdose, at least I know it will have been a tasty death.

So Lizzie was over on the weekend. We were supposed to go to the Moonlight Cinema deal in Centennial Park but as a dam apparently sprung a leak in heaven, we had to improvise and went to see The Watchmen instead. Ah, the Watchmen. Where do I begin with you? I cannot believe this has been hyped as much as it has. It was...not what I expected. Then again, I'm not sure if it was meant to be as hilarious as I found it, or whether it's just because Lizzie and I can't take anything seriously and have too many inside jokes attached to possibly everything in the universe. We certainly were the only people laughing in certain scenes. For example, I cannot believe they used 'The Ride of the Valkyries’; I just couldn't help myself grinning at that. Also, the whole Rakshak voiceover thing had us in stitches pretty much every time. Now, no offence to The Watchmen which I understand is a fantastic graphic novel and which I intend to read at some point, but I honestly can't tell whether I thought the movie was actually fantastic or just fantastically ridiculous. I did feel like I was missing some crucial back story somewhere, and Dr. Manhattan was getting a little annoying with his ethereal nattering, which is probably where they could have sped things up a bit, but credit where credit is due though, the soundtrack was excellent. There was much arm waving and singing along on our parts, which once again may not have been the point, but hey, we had a good time. And that's what movies are for, isn't it? Honestly though, no one can take Simon & Garfunkel seriously - "Hello grandpa my old friend, your busy day is at an end." Huh? Huh? No? Just us? Ok then.

It really wasn't anywhere near as gritty as I expected. I was going in thinking more of the Sin City vibe. While I love bad action movies with an unnatural passion, and I got behind the fight scenes, some of the violence seemed a bit over the top to me. I like it stylized. I couldn't help but feel that whole bone splintering thing was just in there for the sake of putting it in there. As for the cheek biting, well. I was hiding behind my jacket at that point. That's just gross. I was enjoying my easter eggs and singing along to Bob Dylan, thank you very much. But of course, this is me we're talking about, so it's probably to be expected that I quickly developed some sort of pseudo thing for the man behind the mayhem. He may be a pompous, smug bastard, but he's quite serene and he moves beautifully. I kept thinking "don't kill him! don't kill him!" even though he so deserved it, twat that he is. I just can't resist the psychotic ones, it's a serious concern.

"Wait, do I mean fun or do I mean carnage? I always get those two mixed up."

Still, go see it. Just to see what the hype is all about. It doesn't touch The Dark Knight though. See how I didn't launch into another one of my spiels about how much I dislike comic book movies in general? Self restraint.

Hm. We’re entering my least favourite season. It is one thing not wanting to get out of bed because you are simply too tired, but couple this with it being chilly out and I get grumpy real quickly. Besides, there is nothing I hate more than the sheer schizophrenia of the weather, cold in the mornings and hot in the afternoons. I’m perpetually uncomfortable. Give me snow or heat and consistency. I’m tired of the in-betweens.

"They don't even know what it is to be a fan. Y'know? To truly love some silly little piece of music, or some band, so much that it hurts."

That has always rung so true for me. That’s precisely how it’s been with all my major fandoms. An obsessive desire to know, to feel, to be completely and utterly immersed, and it can never be real enough. Though I complain or get frustrated, there is not a single element of the entire experience that I don't love. I love everything so completely, regardless of how much certain things might annoy me or frustrate me. All the giddy excitement, heartbreaking disappointment, highs and lows alike, all part of the package of getting so involved with something seemingly nonsensical simply because it makes you happy. Still it’s like you can never get close enough. It does hurt. All mine have hurt. They have broken my heart and healed it again, they gave me something to hold on to, some way of making sense of things in my life. I can't explain it to other people, and often they don't understand it, but it doesn't matter. It feels like mine and I revel in it.

Now it is late and I should go to bed. I haven't done research for tomorrow and I can't summon the right emotions to spur myself into action. Who cares about the "profound memory of the present"? But if it makes it seem like I'm doing anything, I'll quote some randoms at you...

Fate is not satisfied with inflicting one calamity.
- Publilius Syrus

Worry not that no one knows of you, seek to be worth knowing.
- Confucius

Hope is a waking dream.
- Aristotle

Ok. So not really successful at even mimicking productivity. But hey, a girl can try.

Music: Time - She Wants Revenge/Timbaland
Mood: Bored

I'd pay attention if I thought it was worth the time

Impromptu rant time:

I am so tired of listening to people complain about Barbie, from “feminist, dieticians and psychologists” and what have you. It’s been resurgent recently thanks to the whole fiftieth birthday thing (I honestly thought she was older than that by now) and I just have to roll my eyes at it all. The one thing they always get hung up about is the fact that she’s out of proportion. Now excuse me but, she’s a freaking doll. Who cares if her neck is too long to realistically hold up her head? That’s the whole point, she’s not meant to be realistic. And honestly, if you want to talk about things being out of proportion, then let’s talk about Bratz dolls. Not only are their heads hopelessly too big for their bodies (even for dolls…they just look ridiculous) but they also stand for absolutely everything that is disturbing about modern society. Barbie never did that. She was always classy and stylish, she was successful and had that whole empowerment thing happening. She was whatever you wanted her to be.

I was big into Barbie. I’d get one for my birthday and Christmas every year up until about the age of twelve. It gave me an outlet for my creativity. She hasn’t impacted upon the way I see the world, I never looked at her and thought “Hey, I really should have a body mass index of 10 to be a real woman.” You can’t blame a doll for objectifying women or for making girls vacuous and misguided. Modern society does this all by itself. Besides, these are things you should be taught by your parents if you ask me. My mother raised me in an environment where I could do anything or be anything I wanted. It was made perfectly clear very early on that their was no prototype for “being a girl”, and rather than trying to impress upon me some sort of preconceived notion of being a perfect woman, future wife or mother, I like to think I was instead taught how to be a decent human being. I never felt any expectation to be girly or spend three hours on the phone with my girlfriends cause that’s what girls do. There was no “let’s bake cookies for the boys!” or “don’t ask me, I’m just a girl”, to use the Simpsons as an example for this whole thing. This whole idea of dieticians, psychologists and feminists pointing fingers at Barbie just seems ludicrous to me. She’s a bloody toy for crying out loud. In the same breath, I’d have to admit that we probably couldn’t blame Bratz either; as much as I dislike them (they’re just ugly).

The real problem lies with modern society, with real life supposed role models like Paris Hilton, who bring nothing to the table but shopping, partying and standing around saying nonsensical things while looking pretty. This is far more devastating than anything you can pin on a toy, because this is real. These people function in society and as such it’s easy to look at them and think, yes, that’s how it should be. That’s what I should be. Barbie might be a shining example of consumerism, but is it horrible if anyone aspires to be like her? She’s stylish and successful, she has everything she wants and you can’t say she didn’t work for it, hell she’s had tons of jobs. Is the body issue such a huge deal? She doesn’t look unhealthy to me, she just looks…like a doll. How exactly would one go about making a doll that realistically reflects human form anyway? Why does it matter? No one actually looks at Barbie and thinks 'yeah, I want to look like her'…do they? I can’t believe that. I mean that’s just crazy, she stands on her bloody toes.

Bah. I don’t know. I just don’t get it. It just seems stupid to me accusing a doll of being a bad role model or being a bad influence on young girls, when it’s just a means to an end really. I’d think it was more important to worry about having real role models for kids. In year 3 they made us talk about our role models in class, most of the girls in my class said Princess Diana. Walk into a year 3 class now, what’s the bet they’d say Vanessa Hudgens or Miley Cyrus. I’m just saying.

To be honest, I’ve always found the idea of role models a bit strange. Humans are so intrinsically flawed and everyone is so messed up in their own ways, how can it be expected for someone to be this shining example? That’s why they’re always going on about celebrities being bad role models, it’s impossible to be on the ball all the time. I’m far too worried about keeping myself together and figuring out what exactly this ‘myself’ actually is, to have any spare time to look at anyone else as some sort of template.

This, when you come right down to it, is a major part of why I love Torchwood as much as I do. Everyone is so messed up, everything is so messed up. That’s life, isn’t it? Flawed and grating and annoying. I love Gwen in all her annoying contradictions, and Owen in all his bastard ways. I love Tosh in her shy presence, her secretive superiority over the others. Because there are people just like them out there, in class with me even, and yeah, I don’t like them every much, but I have to deal with them, because that’s life. There are people like that, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I love Ianto for his dry wit and the infallible composure even after unspeakable tragedy. And Jack. In all his fucked up glory. At the end of the day, he’s still human. He’s not a vampire or a changed being; he’s just some guy who happens not to stay dead. He doesn’t have any special gifts or powers that help him deal with this. He’s just there. Always. It’s humanity, in various different guises. Everyone I’ve watched it with has at some point said to me that it’s really quite depressing, and yes, it is. So is life. Sure it’s a fictional world centred around aliens, but it seems more real to me than half the dramas on TV. It also makes no apologies for it’s absurdity. I love it for that and I don’t want it to ever change.

Yes. Because all things come back to Torchwood. What can I say? I’m invested.

Music: Time - She Wants Revenge/Timbaland
Mood: Lazy

Weevil Haiku

Look at my bloodstained clothes
Why am I wearing a janitor's suit
Nobody knows

Composed by Lizzie - woohoo!

To follow - the weevil song.

Music: Lizzie's insane laughter
Mood: Silly

Lookit, I've found something else to help me procrastinate

Three overplayed songs I love anyway:

I'm Yours by Jason Mraz

I hear it all the time, on every show and ad possible, yet it still doesn't annoy me. It's a minor miracle. It's just so relaxing. Go to your happy place *spirit fingers*

I write sins not tragedies by Panic! At The Disco

Back when they still had the ! and it influenced everything. The bells! The melodrama! The crazy video! I have to admit, for a while there, this song made me want to tear my hair out, but I still love it anyway. Which is a contradiction in itself, much like the band.

Let it Rock by Kevin Rudolf

This song is generic, repetitive, and really brings nothing new to the party. There is no reason for me to love it as much as I do, but hey, that doesn't change the fact that I do. Just don't ask me to explain. It boggles the mind.

Europe's in my veins

There was nothing in that moment but darkness. The words danced on the tips of tongues, fading out of thought as soon as they were grasped at. Tiny dust motes caught in a sliver of sunlight - now you see them, now you don't. So huge, so overwhelming, that no words would lend themselves to the occasion. None would allow themselves to be so tied up. For the very abscence of the one thing that's always longed for, the experience is all the more poignant. Undefined in the darkness, but pure. It asks for nothing but a steady sort of patience, to trust in the very thing that escapes the senses. A sad faith that dwells in the hearts of dreams, permeating everything but leaving no trace. There is nothing, and everything, in a moment. A single thread in a tapestry of experiences, each alone beyond recognition. Tongues cannot wrap around vowels, minds flick through empty discriptions that won't stick. There is only silence for such an occassion. It is beautiful, and it is there. It will be over in an instant, lost to pale shadows of recollection with a mere blink of an eye. But the inevitable should not always hold sway. Time waits for no man, yet we are here, and it is now. For a moment, that's enough.

I feel as if eloquence has escaped me these past few weeks. Perhaps I've only really had delusions of eloquence? My mother said something to me the other day about writing that I know she meant in the absolute best way, but which threw me off kilter a bit all the same.

Ah but none of that matters at this time of the morning.

The Fragments/Exit Wounds combination still kills me just a little bit.

I should sleep. Really. This is why I don't nap in the afternoon. My sleeping patterns are confused enough as it is, without throwing added zzz's in where they don't belong, regardless of whether my eyes have a different opinion or not.

P.S. I love how twitter is now even starting fueds.

Music: De-Lovely - Robbie Williams
Mood: Quixotic

Epic Yawning Fit of Doom

If this keeps up I'm going to have to suck it up and go see a doctor. Blinding headaches, constant tiredness (even after I went to bed before 10 last night! That never happens!), and the feeling that there's something lodged in my throat does not make for happy fun time.

I yawned twice just writing that little bit. Seriously, I can barely keep my eyes open.

It's frustrating.

You're packing your bag for that magical desert island that happens to have electricity, a TV, and a DVD player—what five DVDs do you take with you?

Shit. It has to be something I don't mind rewatching copiously. Hmmm. Ok, Torchwood Season 1 and 2; Across the Universe; The Princess Bride; and Everything is Illuminated.

Now, sad as it is, I guess I'm going to have to go take a nap. Bah.

Music: Doctor Who's on
Mood: Sleepy

So I didn't go to class, what of it?

In reality however, the passions simmer and re-simmer in solitude: the passionate being prepares his explosions and his exploits in solitude. And all the spaces of our past moments of solitude, the spaces in which we have suffered from solitude, enjoyed, desired and compromised solitude, remain indelible within in us, and precisely because the human being wants them to remain so.

Two things:
- K9 is being filmed in Australia?
- It was apparantly John Barrowman's b'day. I want to take this moment to reflect on how stupidly good he looks, I seriously don't think he looks his age at all.

I wish the dude scanning my books at the library this afternoon had some of his personality. Any personilty, in fact, other than being grumpy.

There is a spider on my hand. It's only small so I can make this observation calmly and detached. Still, this country... *shakes head*

The internet is both a blessing and a curse, to put it in timeless superhero dialogue. It's an invaluable resource that makes my life a thousand times easier, but it's also the main source of procrastination. I can't get on and just do what I have to, oh no. Hours are spent doing other nonsensical things first. I know, I know, I am weak!

Has the Max Bemis song shop always charged this much? I love the idea, but a $150 is a lot of money for a song...

Music: Lover boy - Furthest Drive Home
Mood: Thoughtful

I don't mind you under my skin

1 Int. Classroom

Lone figure sitting on windowsill, staring out at the world. Door opens and four guys file in, taking seats at the front of the room, continually talking. More people follow shortly. She sighs and moves from the window to a table. She ties her hair back while eavesdropping on the other conversations about readings, theorists, research, and thesis projects. Sighing again, she merely sits back in her chair and pulls out a magazine. The bright, graphic heavy pages is in stark contrast with the photocopied sheets on every other desk. With one last look at the clock, she starts to read, a contended smile settling in place.

My entire experience in a nutshell. I'm just not that into being an academic, or seeming like an academic. I like learning new things and knowing things in general, but I don't want to seem like I labour under some misapprehension of intellectual superiority. So while everyone else is flapping about, and by rights I should be flapping about right along with them, I'm perfectly content reading the comic in whatever wayward fan magazine I acquired. While looking like a complete weirdo. But a completely weirdo in excellent shoes.

I had every intention to get up early this morning and do my readings (which I didn't do last night for reasons I can no longer remember) but I didn't. Instead I woke up at 10 and stumbled about trying to shake the headache that's still hanging about. I guess I'm still too flu-y to really be productive. But now I have to read like 60 pages for tomorrow. Bah.

I still havent found a new supervisor either. Waiting for someone to email me back. Epic sigh. I need to find one in the next two weeks or I am screwed. Then again, what else is new.

On another note, I've started something with a work guy [again]. There have been some instances in the past where it was said he was interested, but I was distracted by someone else at the time. Thing is he's exactly like me, introverted, which makes any sort of interaction difficult. For some reason though, I swan around that company with an inordinate amount of confidence (probably because I've known so many people there for so long), so I've made it a point to connect with him now, even if it's just eye contact, a smile, a brief word here or there, mostly because it amuses me way, way too much to watch his response. It's probably wrong. But still.

Ha. Found this over here at mental_floss:
If British TV shows are so darned great, why do U.S. producers insist upon remaking them instead of showing the originals? There are plenty of reasons! For one thing, the shows make reference to political situations, local celebrities and places that are unknown to most Americans, so a lot of the jokes would fall flat.
Right. So all the other countries in the world watching British tv shows who manage to understand it have magical powers, do they? Maybe I'm just mean, but it sounds supiciously like a justification of ignorance to me. After all, the inverse is true as well, the rest of the world manages to watch US shows and graps the references to politics, celebritites and unknown places, and if they don't, they learn something new. But no, god forbid we actually make people think about something.

Photo for the day -

The sky I was staring at as introductory scene alluded to.

I'm having such severe Whoniverse withdrawal. I'm itching for some new stuff. It's directly related to how much time I've been spending on youtube, watching anything and everything I can even remotely link to it. It's really quite sad. At least I know for sure UKTV will be screening Children of Earth...I just really, really hope it won't be too long after it screens in the UK/US.

Ah crap. It's my dad's birthday on Friday, I better get him something.

Take me, take me, back to your bed. I love you so much that it hurts my head. Say I don't mind you under my skin, I'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in. Well when we were made we were set apart. But life is a test and I get bad marks. Now some saint's got the job of writing down my sins. The storm is coming, the storm is coming in.

Music: Degausser - Brand New
Mood: Distracted

The fire burn the beauty in their eyes

I will not launch into a tirade regarding Torchwood.
I will not launch into a tirade regarding Torchwood.
I will not launch into a tirade regarding Torchwood.

*nervous twitches*

This is so one of my pet peeves, but no. No, no, we shall resist and not get caught up in things that do not directly concern us.

Apparantly I've gone royal overnight, and that's why I'm refering to myself in the first person plural there.

I am soooo tired. I need to stay up until all hours for no real reason. I should also be doing uni work. Siiiiigh. I still feel completely out of my depth, I just sit there staring blankly back at people and trying hard not to yawn.

I need to get Proust to read/study/pretend to do both. Not all of it, thankfully, since my lecturer is under the impression it would takes months of doing nothing but read 'A la recherche du temps perdu' in order to actually finish it. The way I understand it, it's over three thousand words. But my copy of LOTR is 1112 (incl. appendices) and if I could read that in a week, surely that means you could theoretically read all of it, in a month? Maybe not understand it all, but read it surely. But anyway. All this type of thing does is make me wish I could read French so I don't have to worry about stupid things like "which translation did you get?" and "the title has many Enlgish derivations..."

To go all old fashioned, sometimes I just really wish we could call a spade, a spade.

I'm taking to championing the post-modern cause of the power of the individual and subjectivity. Nothing can ever be wrong! There is no spoon, I mean truth, I mean self, I mean identity. JHC. I sometimes wonder if anyone knows what the hell is going on.

What I never understand about academics, and things like this in general, is why exactly these people were chosen to be studied? I mean they don't know what they're on about, they're just chucking theories out there and trying to make sense of them. Why are these particular ones then picked up and considered fit for study? It's like...you go to the art gallery and there's a white canvas with a blue square painted in the middle of it. That's it. Why is that considered art, fit to hang in the NSW art gallery, but if I did that, it wouldn't even be blinked at. Is it merely about being original, getting there first? How is this distinction drawn between who is fit to be studied and who isn't? And hell, who has the right to make that distinction? I don't know. I'm just rambling. Maybe it's popular consensus, the more people study a theory, the more it's considered...canon, for lack of a better word. But then, I don't get a choice in the theory I studied. I mean sure, I have the option of going out there and finding out theory and what have you, but we were very much handed Baudrillard, Derrida, Bachelard, Barthes etc. It's a given that these are your key theorists for your studies here. But why them? Who decided way back when that they were worthy of study? I'm not saying they're not, I just think they can't be the only ones out there during the time.

I'm going to stop now cause I fear I'm talking in circles and I don't really know what I'm trying to say.

My hand is all sore and swollen after I took a little time yesterday to get better acqainted with the ground. I'm vertically challenged, what can I say. Actually, that doesn't really bode well when considering my latest shoe-acquisitions, does it?

Manchester Orchestra remind me a bit of Brand New. Devil and God era, but that might just be the imagery being employed.

Oh, oh! Found out at work today we're going to be closing for an Easter break. So I'll be off from the 10th until the 27th. My mid-semester break is for the same time, so that means I will be off from all major responsibilities while Abbi's here. Woohoo! Although I resolve we will actually venture outside and not just sit on the couch being fangirls...fun as that is.

Right. Shower then tea, methinks. I smell like some overbearing Yves Saint Laurent fragrance I was inadvertnetly doused with at mum's work this afternoon. It's giving me a headache.

Music: I can barely breathe - Manchester Orchestra
Mood: Dirty