Going to highschool opened my eyes up to a whole world I never knew. A world of sex drugs and rock and roll. Or rather, short skirts, open shirts and sexuality.
There I was on my very first day of Year 7. I was a fresh faced albeit terribly naive youngster with a growing penchant for women. My first introduction to my peers at the ALL GIRLS school was when I entered a room and met eyes with a pair of legs I mean Year 12 students; our peer mentors. All I saw was a pair of bare legs propped up on the table matched with a shirt lingering below eye level. Wow. I'd never seen girls like this before. These weren't girls at all, these were women! Hot blooded fully fledged grown women! I was in heaven and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
As a puny year Sevener I averted my eyes and hid my embarassed lesbian cheeks. Girls everywhere! This wasn't going to help me learn at all! What was my mum thinking. I mean she always told people I was never 'into' boys, but I wondered if she had only drawn this conclusion because she paid absolutely no attention to my life or if she had a secret gaydar neither of us knew about.
In the halls of this all girl school the girls held hands and kissed cheeks instead of saying "hello" and "goodbye". My mind was racing. This place is full of lesbians I thought! And I loved it. Over the many years to come at school I would come to learn this behaviour was common, normal even, and not at all sexual...in most cases. Except maybe mine.
I hid in the closet for the duration of highschool. While not fully realising there was a closet to hide in. It was great though, being in the closet. My girl crushes went totally unnoticed by all around me and were often mistaken for admiration or just plain friendliness. You see... I'm not the creepy type. I'm too obvious to be subtle. I'd be an awful stalker. Not to say I didn't try. I stalk people with my eyes and that is all I swear! It's not like one innocent smile would give me away. Nor would a glance or two or three, but when the occassional 'casual' glance became a full blown stare, I guess that's when I became abit too obvious. But never apparent. That's when I realised I probably was a little creepy. And thank god that attention was never returned! Who knows, I might have stumbled out of the closet 10 years earlier otherwise.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Give Me One Reason To Stay Here
I've failed at being the one thing I was born to be. A struggling artist. Actually..I'm still struggling. I'm just struggling at struggling really. I am making a departure from struggling artist to tortured artist, perhaps I'm moving higher in the food chain. No no last time I checked my balance I was still down the bottom.
I was raised by wolves, I'm permanently off your christmas* 'card' list, and I've got a wardrobe full of crappy paintings and a bruised ego. I gave all my paintings to my little sister cause she's no art critic, she wont laugh at me. She thinks they are "mad'. I think I'M MAD. You think I'm a joke. And I laugh.
On second thought perhaps she is an art critic. She called my painting "kinda ugly". It's pretty depressing when the only people who want your paintings are little kids or disillusioned family members (keeping in mind I was raised by wolves.) And heck they wont even pay money for them! Maybe selling art is not about the quality of your painting at all, but your skills as a salesman. If that's the case then I have no hope. I'm too kind. I can't rip people off. I can't tell them it's a beautiful picture if it's really half arsed. And that is where my 2 academic years of painting have left me. With 9 out of 10 paintings half arsed or mediocre. And the special ones I'm keeping for myself, as a sad reminder that I have some talent, but not nearly enough.
*I refuse to capitalise christmas because it just aint that great so take that spellcheck!
I was raised by wolves, I'm permanently off your christmas* 'card' list, and I've got a wardrobe full of crappy paintings and a bruised ego. I gave all my paintings to my little sister cause she's no art critic, she wont laugh at me. She thinks they are "mad'. I think I'M MAD. You think I'm a joke. And I laugh.
On second thought perhaps she is an art critic. She called my painting "kinda ugly". It's pretty depressing when the only people who want your paintings are little kids or disillusioned family members (keeping in mind I was raised by wolves.) And heck they wont even pay money for them! Maybe selling art is not about the quality of your painting at all, but your skills as a salesman. If that's the case then I have no hope. I'm too kind. I can't rip people off. I can't tell them it's a beautiful picture if it's really half arsed. And that is where my 2 academic years of painting have left me. With 9 out of 10 paintings half arsed or mediocre. And the special ones I'm keeping for myself, as a sad reminder that I have some talent, but not nearly enough.
*I refuse to capitalise christmas because it just aint that great so take that spellcheck!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Curse Of Freedom
Descending upon my newfound boredom..i mean freedom I have decided to compile a list of reasons why I have not written a blog to mark this historic event. And like a naughty puppy I'll sit in the corner and cower while you read them, waiting anxiously for you to approach me with your clipboard and suspiciously smart looking glasses.
My reasons are as follows:
My reasons are as follows:
- Since I have not been out of the house lately my stock of material has been running dangerously low and I've succumbed to writing blogs about monsters taking over my soul. And for reasons I cannot explain I believe people may not care to know these things. Thus I shall withhold my demons in search of more meaningful material, like the annoying people on the bus..or the magpie invasion in my street..who do they think they are anyway? Taking over my street! This is my town and there aint room for the 100 of us!
- A direct result of my boredom has led to hours of playing solitaire on the computer which has numbed my ability to feel alive and functional as a human being. Thus freezing out any emotional feelings and musings I may or may not experience.
- My lack of ability to provide as a breadwinner has led to a deep depression. A depression that is even deeper than that in your couch. One would think being funnier than sliced bread would be sufficient enough to win some..
- It's cold!! I want the warmth back and until then I'm on a blog writing strike! Mother nature I'm looking directly at you. Or maybe I'm looking in the mirror at my windswept hair..
- I'm a strong believer in absence makes the heart grow fonder, hence my lack of blogs lately. You see I think that the longer I go without writing one the more people will want it. And when I finally write that magic blog I will be showered with confetti and praise and maybe a few fireworks cause I'm special like that. The point is you miss me! And I miss me too..just quietly.
To conclude I would like to announce that I am... back on the chain gang.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
When The Dust Settles
I once got given soap in the shape of a slice of blueberry pie...needless to say, I never used it. Let this be a lesson to 'stupid people' we don't like soap! People who collect soap are sad and need a new hobby. Cause you know what? No one actually likes to get given soap that sits on your bathroom shelf and collects dust over the years then gets thrown in the bin. It doesn't smell nice, and it isn't useful! If you're going to collect things then collect puppies! With 10 puppies you'd never be lonely again. But with 10 bars of silly shaped soap you'd spend your lifetime in the shower trying to use them all up. And in case you haven't heard we are slowly but surely running out of water!!! *feigns shock*
Yes I can write blogs about soap and still have a credible reputation. I'm a busy nerdy person and haven't had time to observe real humans lately thus I resort to observing things around the house, like dusty bars of soap. Oh and another thing, no one uses hair gel anymore.
Yes I can write blogs about soap and still have a credible reputation. I'm a busy nerdy person and haven't had time to observe real humans lately thus I resort to observing things around the house, like dusty bars of soap. Oh and another thing, no one uses hair gel anymore.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Let's Take A Train To Anywhere, I Want To Feel The Wind In My Hair With You
These empty walls bear no resemblance to you. To your love. My longing expression is cast back into my empty eyes. you are not out there, you are not in here either.
My soul slowly dies. I feel you slipping away from me. I'm looking for you, for your longing eyes to meet mine again. To enter my world. My empty world.
These people, these vacant empty people know nothing of my soul. Only that it is empty.
I yearn for you. For your warmth to fill this cold void beside me. I grasp the air desperately, but I do not grasp you. All I get is an empty reality. This world is empty without you. The warmth I crave is far. Your world is removed from mine. And I am cold.
My soul slowly dies. I feel you slipping away from me. I'm looking for you, for your longing eyes to meet mine again. To enter my world. My empty world.
These people, these vacant empty people know nothing of my soul. Only that it is empty.
I yearn for you. For your warmth to fill this cold void beside me. I grasp the air desperately, but I do not grasp you. All I get is an empty reality. This world is empty without you. The warmth I crave is far. Your world is removed from mine. And I am cold.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Sweet About Me
So there's this little old lady who lives in the area. Some may call her a sweet little old lady, I've always wondered though, if this term only applies to actual physically 'little' old ladies..I mean if they were round at the hips would they still be referred to as 'little' old ladies...I ponder this only because I've never heard anyone say "Oh look at that sweet big old lady", it just doesn't sound right.
Well anyway, there's this little old lady who is often found pottering about in her garden, pulling out weeds, planting seeds, saving the world..you know, that kinda stuff. There have been times where I've gone out of my way to be noticed by her when walking past. I mean, who doesn't want a sweet little old lady to love them? Maybe she'd take me under her wing, she could show me her stamp collection and then her old photo albums, we would sit back in our matching rocking chairs on her porch and sip on our chilled lemonade. Sighing and reminiscing about our golden years. Of course she would have known I was just putting it on, the colour of my hair is as close to gold as I'm ever gonna get. Anyway so the sweet little old lady would play along with my fantasy as not to hurt my feelings, I'm more fragile than her 70 year old bones let me tell you. Feeling sorry for me she'd politely ask me to wait outside while she ducked in to fetch me some freshly baked cookies to take home, for you know..an after dinner treat. Now if this fantasy sounds familiar to you it's probably because you've thought about it too!
We had a great friendship, me and her. We just had this understanding. She was the sweet little old lady who dug up weeds in the garden and I was the stray puppy often found roaming down the street. Well...it was a great friendship, that was until her bald creepy looking son started standing by her fence daily like a guard dog, but even the ugliest dog was still well..cute. This cannot be said of her 'son'. Maybe he was her new best friend? Had i been replaced? Maybe she feared for her safety and needed a dog with abit more bite, I'm alot of things but I'm not fierce. Not Tyra Banks ffffierce anyway. In fact, I think even ants silently mock me. I'd have to accept it though, I was no longer needed and that was just fine. I didn't need her anyway.
From then on I decided to walk on the other side of the road, the view was better anyway. And as I'd pass the sweet little old ladies house I'd glance over with a glazed look in my eyes. How could anyone say no to this cute puppy?
This had all been long forgotten and buried deep in my pit of abandonment until today. I saw her again. But this time not at her usual hang but at the bus stop! No weeds here. She looked very very conspicuous mind you. Like a secret agent..only she wore grey and a pretty hat. She looked excited, she was going somewhere, she was doing something, she was someone. And she had something in her bag...I wonder what it was. Dog food perhaps.
Well anyway, there's this little old lady who is often found pottering about in her garden, pulling out weeds, planting seeds, saving the world..you know, that kinda stuff. There have been times where I've gone out of my way to be noticed by her when walking past. I mean, who doesn't want a sweet little old lady to love them? Maybe she'd take me under her wing, she could show me her stamp collection and then her old photo albums, we would sit back in our matching rocking chairs on her porch and sip on our chilled lemonade. Sighing and reminiscing about our golden years. Of course she would have known I was just putting it on, the colour of my hair is as close to gold as I'm ever gonna get. Anyway so the sweet little old lady would play along with my fantasy as not to hurt my feelings, I'm more fragile than her 70 year old bones let me tell you. Feeling sorry for me she'd politely ask me to wait outside while she ducked in to fetch me some freshly baked cookies to take home, for you know..an after dinner treat. Now if this fantasy sounds familiar to you it's probably because you've thought about it too!
We had a great friendship, me and her. We just had this understanding. She was the sweet little old lady who dug up weeds in the garden and I was the stray puppy often found roaming down the street. Well...it was a great friendship, that was until her bald creepy looking son started standing by her fence daily like a guard dog, but even the ugliest dog was still well..cute. This cannot be said of her 'son'. Maybe he was her new best friend? Had i been replaced? Maybe she feared for her safety and needed a dog with abit more bite, I'm alot of things but I'm not fierce. Not Tyra Banks ffffierce anyway. In fact, I think even ants silently mock me. I'd have to accept it though, I was no longer needed and that was just fine. I didn't need her anyway.
From then on I decided to walk on the other side of the road, the view was better anyway. And as I'd pass the sweet little old ladies house I'd glance over with a glazed look in my eyes. How could anyone say no to this cute puppy?
This had all been long forgotten and buried deep in my pit of abandonment until today. I saw her again. But this time not at her usual hang but at the bus stop! No weeds here. She looked very very conspicuous mind you. Like a secret agent..only she wore grey and a pretty hat. She looked excited, she was going somewhere, she was doing something, she was someone. And she had something in her bag...I wonder what it was. Dog food perhaps.
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