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(no subject) [Mar. 28th, 2005|09:24 pm]

oh how i laugh.
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[Recent Dreaming] [Feb. 24th, 2005|06:31 pm]
[Me Right Now: |indescribableindescribable]
[Listening To: |Opeth - Harvest]

I was riding a bike, but every time I got to the traffic lights it would turn into an ironing board and collapse. The lights were green and cars were beeping. A lady in a television screen told me to take a certain kind of medicine that guaranteed to help you ride your ironing board after three days. I wheeled the ironing board through the lights and up Captain Cook crescent toward Narrabunda College.


I was a twelve year old blond boy. I was walking up a long driveway, framed by dark trees. I came to a large black iron gate. I walked in. This was my home, an enormous white mansion. I was some kind of cross between Timmy Valentine and Artemis Fowl. My home was crawling with press and police. The police took me to two men in black suits. Each man took one of my arms. They began cutting rectangular chunks of flesh from my wrists and levering them out with scalpels. I watched.


I was in my old home, in the back yard. There were birds; cockatoos and galas, flying around and eating off the trees. A roll of glad wrap fell from the sky, the blade severing off the wing of a bird. Other random sharp objects began to fall.
Iron buckets, kitchen utensils, saws.
My yard was soon filled with headless, wingless, and legless birds.
I sat and watched. I had a feeling it was all my fault.
I walked away, to my old sandpit. It was full of water and frogs. I felt a weird sensation in my foot, and looked at it. Big fat gray worms were sliding into my foot through the sole of my foot. I pulled them out, through my flesh with a sickening sucking feeling.


I was on an oval when a huge rhino started chasing me. It started morphing into a sheep as it chased me. This huge ugly hairy gray rhino-sheep. It started kicking gravel at me with incredible speed. It hurt.
Tom came over, and pushed it over. Then, he kicked it in the guts until it burst open and died. I woke up.
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Hungry. [Nov. 7th, 2004|03:58 pm]
[Me Right Now: |apatheticapathetic]
[Listening To: |Lacuna Coil - Heaven's a Lie]

Ugly blowfly on the wall,
do you even think at all?
Twitching on the window pane,
I will squish your tiny brain.

I wonder if you have a soul,
or a God that you extol.
Will you be reborn again,
as a rich American?

Ugly blowfly you are still,
lying on my window sill.
It's a shame that you are dead,
I didn't get to squash your head.

Well. Not quite an English essay, but i'm writing...
Starting writing.
Starting to think about starting writing.
Procrastinating about starting to think about starting writing.

Thinking is productive. Am I thinking? I think so. I think i'm thinking.

Argh. Everything is so confusing today.

I did actually do some drawing last night. I was up until about 2am. It felt good, although it didn't look good. I'm satisfied with that.

Work. Work. Work. Bah.
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(no subject) [Nov. 6th, 2004|12:30 am]
Give in to emotion or sexual desire. Surrender to hate and bitterness.
Hurt, wail, despair. Wallow in self pity and irrational behaviour.
Cry attention crimminal,
your disease is terminal.
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(no subject) [Oct. 19th, 2004|09:21 pm]
[Me Right Now: |blahblah]
[Listening To: |Tool - Hooker With a Penis]

[Daily Whine Column]
Aw man, my eyes are all stingy and blurry. Bed might be a good idea.

[Bloody bloody bloody Dreams]

I keep dreaming about a young girl, and she follows me, everywhere I try to run. Before she was bleeding and so skinny I could see her bones. Last night I spoke to her - rather than telling her to leave me alone or running away - and she took me to this swimming hole/lake and made me watch a boy drown. It was awful. She held my hand in a freaky little girl way, and then I could feel the boys thoughts as he drowned. He was scared. His fingers were bruised. Then he went under and died. He died...and I had to watch it...and feel it.
The weird thing was that the bruised finger detail came back into the dream a while later, which usually doesn't happen in dreams because of the random order of events that continuously spirals away into another scene/setting.
Someone gave me a book, a very large hand-written book, and as I opened it, the freaky little girl arrived again. Then I just knew. It was his book. That's why his fingers were bruised...

Then I woke up. Goddammit. Such a detailed and mysterious dream.
My dreams don't make much sense...I wish I could record them. And show you.

I am so very blah right now. I wonder what i'll dream about tonight...
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Dreaming Again [Oct. 14th, 2004|08:37 pm]
[Another One]

I pierced my clitoris with a large safety pin. And it felt really good.
So I left it in. But it looked rather odd.
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[Dreaming] [Oct. 13th, 2004|07:56 pm]
[Last night]

I was running away from someone - everyone. I locked myself in a public bathroom, and sat down on a ledge. I heard a sound and walked over to one of the stalls and there was this little girl, covered in cuts and bruises. She was so skeletal. All her bones were poking out of her skin, which was so thin i could see all her tiny blue and purple veins. She had such a old presence, but she was so young. She could hardly walk, but she came and stood in front of me, with her hands outstretched and just looked at me.
Just looked at me, into my eyes, pleading for something.
I wanted her to go away.
I woke up.
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(no subject) [Oct. 12th, 2004|07:06 pm]
[Me Right Now: |quixoticquixotic]
[Listening To: |Apocalyptica - Hope.]


CURRENT FACIAL EXPRESSION: Eyes half popping out of head in a sleepy grimace.

CURRENTLY WEARING: 1960's vintage white babydoll nightie. Too cute.

CURRENTLY DOING: Applying for Woolworths online. My Aunty is the employment recruiter for ACT - it's just too easy. If only i wanted to work there.

The Red Tree by Shaun Tan
The Science of Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials
Why I Write - Thoughts on the Craft of Fiction
Encyclopaedia of Science Fiction
Brave New World
Biotechnology - A Brave New World?
Lost Discoveries - The Ancient Roots of Modern Science
Knots, Codes, Chaos and Other Great Theories of 20th Century Mathematics

FAVOURITE MUSIC: Apocalyptica, Chalice, Within Temptation, Nightwish.

LIKES: Grass, water, full moons, summer nights, darkness, sleep, reading.

DISLIKES: Dishonesty, exclusion, backstabbing, complications, exhaustion.

PLANS: Taking next year off. To read, write, get money, work on portfolio, make applications for further study.
[Not in that order.]

ASPIRATIONS: Learn to play piano and guitar. Have more of my writing published. Win some competitions [the lottery would also be highly convenient].

REGRETS: Bumming out in YR10/11 at school. Dropping maths/science. Losing friends over very stupid and simple issues. Not taking opportunities.
[Not in any order.]

RIGHT NOW I WANT: Big squishy four poster bed with lots of pillows.
Hell while i'm at it i'll have music, candles, an open window, a full moon, and lots of food.
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Welcome to my second attempt. [Sep. 5th, 2004|01:42 pm]
[Me Right Now: |calmcalm]
[Listening To: |Nightwish - Nemo]

This is Take 2. I didn't like my other journal much. She was stinky.

Starting is always the hardest part. Who knows how long i'll keep this up, but i've been told i should keep a journal. I already have a handwritten journal, and a word document i update occasionally when i remember the password. But this could be fun.

It's funny but on good days i don't think of her so much. In fact never. I never just say hi when the sun is on my tongue and my belly's all warm. On bad days i talk to death constantly, not about suicide because honestly that's not dramatic enough. Most of us love the stage, and suicide is definitely your last performance, and, being addicted to the stage, suicide was never an option - plus people get to look you over and stare at your fatty bits and you can't cross your legs to give that flattering thigh angle and that's depressing.

Tori Amos
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