And She Said "I Don't Get Modern Art"

I don't get modern art either, take my hair for example, it's a piece of modern art and I just don't get it. There's actually not much to get anymore. You know if I wanted to look like a 9 year old boy I'd have gone to a barber, at least then I'd look cute.

My hairdresser quipped that phrase to me "I 'don't get modern art". To be accurate she's not really my hairdresser nor will she ever be again. For you see, I once had hair and it was not until it was under the chopping block that I realised just how much I liked it. What I did not like was the chatty hairdresser, sure she was nice but she seemed to forget that she was cutting my hair. Rather she began to lop it off in chunks while spitting out pleasantries. In hindsight I'd have asked her to keep her pleasantries and give me back my hair. It's too late now though. It always is.

I'd liken the hairdresser situation to an outburst of fire in the Sims. You sit there saying OMG OMG OMG STOP IT!!!! But you don't actually do anything until it's too late, and then the grim reaper comes along...or even worse the judgment of others!

Maybe I am being a bit brash though. It doesn't look THAT bad, I just had a rough childhood, I'm not well equipped to deal with change. I can't deal with normal situations in a calm normal manner. I'm just having a very bad case of post haircut stress. This stress causes all sorts of traumatic thoughts. Thoughts ranging from 'great now I need a hat to cover my awful haircut' to much more sinister thoughts... Ones that see me jealously eyeing off every person in sight. Eyeing off their hair to be more precise. 'Oh look at that 90 year old man, look at all the hair on his head!' Or 'hey look at that newborn baby, wow I guess it started growing hair in the womb.'

As if these thoughts aren't bad enough I begin to find myself in direct competition with these people. People with more hair than me, people who should have no hair! As I was crossing the road to get home I spotted an elderly man crossing on the other side. At the sight of the green light I dashed across the road, wind in my scalp, passing the old man by a mile. I felt liberated. 'Ha I beat you old man!' I silently said in my head. Looking back that may have been a little harsh.

Now I know people say oh it's okay it's only hair after all it will grow back. These people do not understand. It's more than hair to me, it's my livelihood. If you take away my hair then what do I have left, nothing! Without hair I'm just like the rest of them, boring and uncool. But a good full head of hair can do wonders for the heart and soul. Until my hair grows back however, I find myself in a sad, desperately fragile state. One wrong move and I could shatter at any given moment. You'll find me sitting in the corner clutching at the loose strands of the hair I used to have. Now I truly understand the saying 'hair today gone tomorrow' or was that here...

Cleaning Out My Closet

As they say, one man's trash is another man's treasure. This is particularly the case with my younger brother and sister. I don't know if they just desire every item I own because I own it or because they really want it, but they make packing up old junk so easy. Oh look a bunch of coloured paper i don't want, my sister gladly takes it out of my hands. She's less picky than my brother at least. He's smart, he doesn't hoard junk, just valuable items like toy planes and lego. And now that I think about it i know where they get their sweet but annoying habit from. The pair are constantly passing off random toys and drawings to me, and it's very sweet but I don't have room for this stuff. So I usually keep it on my desk for a few weeks then quietly dispose of it. It's not that I don't appreciate the thought or effort I simply just don't have room for a mountain of pre school drawings. My sister however surely does. She takes everything I give her. She takes all my paintings that I severely dislike, that kid could set up a very profitable market stall I say.

While this is all well and good for me I'm sure my mum doesn't really appreciate my kind hearted-ness just as much as the kids do. You see, she is the master of the house, the one that cleans their rooms, the one that organises the junk into neat little piles. And boy do these kids have enough junk of their own already! Added with mine their rooms have become junk yards. Sure my brother is neat but my sisters room is like a trash hoarders dream. From old sandwiches to naked dolls she's got it all in there. It's quite disgusting and I often wonder how I could be related to such an outlandishly messy human being.

And then I cast my gaze to the mirror and stare back at myself and realise, I started this all.

So This Is christmas*...

Another year another cookie for santa*.

I remember a time when waking up on December 25th was the single most exciting thing in my life. My brother and I would even sleep next to the christmas* tree some years. We'd wake up at 5am and rush our parents out of bed out of coffee and out of their minds so we could open our presents. These days I'm being rushed out of bed by my 8 year old sister..what do I care it's not like I'm getting presents! The point is, once you get to a certain age it's just not exciting anymore. Or maybe I'm grinchy and scroogey and jaded but why shouldn't I be. I wanted a barbie dream house damnit!

Like every holiday christmas is no exception. The retail giants get their muddy paws on you and shake you until the money in your pockets falls out. And I'm sure I'm not the only one who absolutely can't stand going into stores and hearing fucking christmas songs being played over and over. Target I hardly knew ye.

But I must admit there are a few good things about this has been day.

• There's the food for example
• The money from sweet little old ladies...who may or may not be related to you
  
• The post has been day sales
  
• The chance to find some new material to blog about. Because believe it or not, being cooped up in a house is hardly inspiring! In fact it's totally up there in my most uninspiring things list. That list also consists of horses, cockroaches (they are ridiculously uninspiring), seafood, annoying siblings, people who claim they've raised you only to fore go the fact that you've been raised by wolves...and many more I'm sure
• The fact that I've single handedly made skateboarding cool in my street. Four kids got skateboards for christmas from santa!! I was blown away. And my head was blown up. I decided to show off my skating prowess and show these kids how the big boys do it..or something like that. And in all my glory I fell off the skateboard. Okay so I'm a bit rusty but the point is these kids freaking worship me! I'm like their god! It's absolutely glorious. I've never felt more important in my life. And I haven't even been around to other houses, who knows how many other kids have gotten skateboards for christmas! I should get paid for that kinda advertising! I mean jesus* if anyone can sell a skateboard it's me.

However, with the good comes the bad, and some may argue that there's nothing bad about green and red in the same room together but I'd tell you that these people simply have very little taste. VERY LITTLE. Christmas for me has never been all bells and whistles.

• To my mum it's just like any other day, except that she spends the whole day before cleaning the house and screaming at us to help out. And then on the actual day she anxiously watches the kids open their presents then quickly proceeds to hand out rubbish bags to clean up all the damn mess they just made! I argue that they are only kids, they were born to live in their own filth, and sure sometimes the transition to cleanliness equals godliness doesn't happen from childhood to adulthood but I'm not one for examples. Once the loungeroom floor is visible again mum proceeds to the kitchen where she begins to make our big exciting super dooper lunch. It's only after lunch the woman finally relaxes a little. Ah wine, you've been my saving grace when it comes to a quiet household. Well not really because when those adults have a few too many drinkies they get a little too loud for my elvin ears and I get a little annoyed at them constantly reminiscing about my childhood and tipping wine on me. Curse those drunks!
• Playing with kids toys all day really isn't my idea of fun...okay well there were the toy cars, oh and there was that really awesome dj looking gadget santa gave my sister..oh I lie. I practically live to relive my childhood. Wolves aren't the best present bearers. Rabbit anyone?
• I become the household handy man for the day since we don't have a 'man' about the house and my brothers are more girly than me, okay that's not really hard to achieve. I put it down to laziness. Anyway so I spend my morning armed with a knife a pair of scissors and a screwdriver, and some electrical tape to keep the kids mouths shut while I struggle to open their toys out of their damn boxes. You'd think the whole world were a bunch of thieves the way they screw those toys down!
• The day after. Yes THAT day. Where mum's are hungover and practicing their cleanliness is godliness rule once again, in full force might I add!

Okay so shoot me christmas isn't my favourite day of the year bar the little extras on the side. I challenge you to give me a day I won't forget. Then maybe, just maybe, I'll like it. But I'll still write a smutty blog about it just to piss you off.


*I'm still standing by the fact santa and christmas and jesus do not need to be capitalised thank you very much!

Time Makes You Bolder

Sometimes you get this unshakable feeling of oncoming change. You feel like the whole world is changing around you and you're powerless to stop it. I feel this now.

I sit and watch as people disappear out of my life quicker than the water evaporating from our cups. They are going, one by one. I never really got to say goodbye. And as I watch them go I realise that I miss them. But while I miss them I never really expected that they would go. And so I sit in wonder and sadness as they march down the hill and out of my life. I don't think they are coming back this time. And I think they are okay with that. It hurts though. Despite the facade I do care. I do think that they have altered my life, even in the smallest or largest way. And as each of these people leave I think about the ways they've changed me as a person. I think about the good times and the bad times but mostly I think about the fact that I'll never get that back again. As time shifts and people move on I stand behind and watch their backs turn.

For every person I've claimed to not care about there really are things about them that I truly do admire, things that I myself cannot live up to. For their every fault they have a strength that outweighs the bad in my mind. For every wrong move they have words that will right them. For everything they have brought to my life brings a sadness to my heart as they leave me now.

For those I never said goodbye to, I miss you. But I'm scared. I will always be scared. And when I'm scared I will run from you. I will run from long inevitable goodbyes and I will run into the arms of a lonely night in the dark. For the comfort I've found in the darkness is one I am deserving of. It is here that I will lay down my deepest darkest thoughts. It is here that I will think unthinkable thoughts. And it is here that I will miss you all. I will miss you because in my own way I'm saying goodbye to you. Without you ever knowing.

Alone in the dark is a self indulgent comfort of mine. A place that is deserving of my ugly black heart. Alone in the dark I whisper long goodbyes to long forgotten people who drifted out of my life thinking I didn't care about them. For 4 years they thought we didn't care. And for 3 years now I've cried. I did care. It was just too hard. I'll never get my long goodbyes with those people I care about. I'll never get them because like me, they too are running from something. Maybe we aren't running from the same thing but we are running all the same. We'll never cross paths again, for your path is a step higher than mine and I'll never reach that level. At least not for a very long time I predict. I know you would be proud. Of who I'm becoming, of who I've become and of where I'm going.

As I sail off into the dark waters in my styrofoam boat I know you are watching, and I know you remember the good times, even if they were limited. I know you'll remember me.

Little Fish Feel

Today was a sad day. Tonight was a sad night. For a new member of our crew passed on. We only had him for a few hours but we had come to love him like he was one of our own. I mean sure he was significantly smaller than us, slimier than us and he was well..orange. But he was a part of our family nonetheless. Little fishy or the aptly named 'Joey' (who calls a goldfish joey?) swam out of our lives just as quickly as he swam in.

He was never meant for this world. His heart was too big. It exploded in the Big Fish accident of 08. Some people are just not meant to be. I believe I'm one of those people, but my heart is yet to explode and so tonight it is not about me but it is about Joey. The Little Fish who stole our hearts. Some may argue that we hardly knew the guy, who knows where he'd been or where he was going but isn't that just the point. It's not about where you've come from, it's about what he brought to our life on this significant day. And today he brought a new home, some rocks, and my brothers smelly socks.

Just hours into his new life Joey passed away. Floated to the top and begged to be taken to Fish heaven. Little Fish heaven that is, not that other place where the Big Fish lay. And as one fish passes I'm sure somewhere another fish is being brought into this world.

Tonight I tried to set an example for my younger brother and sister so I arrived at the funeral suitably dressed in all black and a red tie. The tie was for his bleeding heart that burst too soon for us all. And there we stood, the three musketeers in the doorway of our bathroom around the toilet bowl. Joey was in a small container of water and my sister slowly tipped all the water into the toilet until just Joey remained. She choked back the tears and I looked away. I just couldn't watch him go down to that dark place. Not without me at least.

Joey made a quiet descent into his new haven and we all stared down at his bulging fish eyes. He was looking back at us, saying thank you. He was thanking me for dressing appropriately. Thanking me for putting on a funeral song 'Welcome To The Black Parade'. He was thanking my sister for having a heart, and thanking my brother for well...shedding a few tears like only a man of his calibre would. Before she flushed him she asked me to say a few words, I'm no good at speeches, especially in my emotional distraught state. I sputtered out "Goodbye Little Fishy you'll go to a better place", my brother and sister nodded in unison and before she could flush him she dropped a rubber band into the toilet and the mood was understandably ruined. Giggles ensued and then my brother rushed to the flush button and sent Joey off on his way. I guess he doesn't like long goodbyes.

And with that we left the bathroom, satisfied that we had done Joey good, that we had done our best to give him a home and a roof over his head. And that he was going to Little Fish heaven now to swim with his brothers. So tonight as you sit down to dinner and dig into that big slab of fish, spare a thought for little Joey, he never quite made it to the chopping block.

Girls Girls Girls!

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.

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!