Everything and nothing.

**********************************************


There are people in this world that make you feel like you have nothing.
They convince you that you are a pauper in the grand city of opportunity.
They knock you down when you're barely hanging on and laugh at you as you fall.

It would be all too trivial to profess that you hate them.
You're angry that what they say is true, you're angry because you think your faults are so visible. Most of all you're angry because it reminds you of times when you felt as priceless as a bag of nuts. Dark times where you don't want to revisit.

After you realise that the truth they impose is a mere facade of their own spiteful agendas, you start to pity them.
You know that you have everything that you could possibly work for. What you don't have is what you are yet to achieve. Your faults are quirks, they make you who you are.You start to realise that their harsh words are compensation for their own incomplete, dilapidated soul.
Yes, you pity them.
It is them that wear the talisman of grotesque mutilation.

Though your cuts and wounds sting from their sharp insults, you know you will heal to realise that life is more than words and glares. Life is a many splendid thing...

I wish, oh how I wish.

1. That I had the courage to post all my deleted blogs
2. That I could let you in

Burn the day away

moomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoo

What my epitaph will say:
1992 - 2009
Death by procrastination.

On the bright side, I've been composing like crazy. The most recent is such a change from my normal emo drama-thunder splitting heartbreak tunes.
Here are the lyrics:

Burn the day away

Take me and shake my flaws away
Hold me and never let me go
Coz' its been so long
and you've blown all the grey away

You frown now, gotta tip you upside down
Trust me I know just what to do
Coz' you are too beautiful to let
the sadness darken you're day


//
Whatchu get when you fall over?
A friend who's there to help you on your way
I'm not saying the war is over
Conscience still prefers to stay away
Imagine you and me are flying
Over time and trees and parks and play
In the centre of the fire
Where its warm, then I'll hear you say:
You've got me and I've got you
Let's stay and just burn the day away
//


You're melody's the sweetest honey dew
To sit here and listen to the tune
Would be the greatest gift you gave
and to my heart a path you will pave

Remember me when all the day's are gone
When you're lonely you'll always have this song
And though you're standing on the edge of something vast
Know the only thing that lasts is us.

Probably will record this some time later...

moomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoo

Chopin's a Bitch.

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To avoid smashing my head into my piano in my poor attempt to do justice to one of Chopin's manic Mazurkas, I thought I should put in an entry.

So, here's the stitch: I seriously think I have swine flu.
& no.
No - I am not succumbing to the supposed "yellow journalism" and its intention to detract from the doom and gloom of the financial crisis. (Coz there is nothing cheerier than a pandemic) I just think that a normal flu shouldn't paralyse you for 4 days.
Yes, so I'm laying there in my bed, unable to talk for fear of a coughing fit - A difficult feat for an opinionated shrew such as myself. It was a chance for the voices in my head to be amplified. The internal monologue, now starved of interaction missed its job of undercutting conversation with sarcastic omissions. Ah, it was now my only company in my sickness. (My medieval parents, thinking I had the black plague, quarantined me to my room and religiously carried around a canister of Glen 20.)
I thought of many things: the power of the mind for instance. After chanting the mantra "I'm not going to die, I'm not going to die, I'm not going to die", I found that I convinced my mind to ward off the creeping grim reaper. I imagined it was some epic fencing battle between the hooded black figure and my super-buff Mind Power. Blow after blow, lunging and ducking and jumping and poking. Oh the drama! Good old Mind Power would cut that drab outfit into the 21st century before sending it on his way to collect his new victim. (Insert Micheal Jackson Joke)
Then finally in the light of the setting sun Mind Power would mount his stallion of victory and ride into the horizon, triumphant and forever a hero!
*Stares Dramatically*

As you can see, a normal flu wouldn't impose hallucinations either.

So yeah. Trials are less than a month away and I can't look at a block of writing without feeling nauseous. It's great. What annoys me about the whole Trials thing is that on social networking sites like Facebook people update there status with how far they've gotten with studying.

"Omg, like tots revised all the anglish modulzzz <33>

"Every11111 I know howz 2 diff3r3ntiate :O GO ME!"

Like I didn't need a reminder of my imminent failure. And also their imminent failure because anyone who spells differentiate with a 3 is obviously incapable of functioning in the normal world let alone in an exam situation. I think my new mantra will be "Put down the knife, put down the knife, put down the knife".

Well, this has been fun, but I think I need to torture myself further with Chopin and his damn Polish dance. Peace Out.



moomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoo

Spontaneous Broadway

harr de harr harr!

I went to Spontaneous Broadway last night at the Playhouse Theatre, Opera House.
AH-MAZING!
Julia Zemiro = Friggin Legend.
More info: http://www.sydneyoperahouse.com/whatson/spontaneousbroadway.aspx

Ah, a night of comedy puts things in perspective.
Currently happy and blissfully in denial about my mountain of work...

Optimism is Overrated

moomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoo

I've discovered that I am an excruciatingly annoying pessimist.
How do I finally realise?
After reading my last 13 posts of WAH? No.
After people induce a zen-like state of concentration upon my entrance? No
After friends smashed my head into a desk repeatedly? Surprisingly, No.

It was after accumulating so much pent-up rage from OTHER fellow pessimists almost thrusting me to commit second degree murder and not bothering to plea not guilty that it dawned on me.
I'm one of them...
*Googly Epiphany Eyes*

I am an annoying pessimist that emits horrid mental stink bombs.

. . .

So you naturally attempt to realign yourself, amending that you'll be optimistic from now on.
You'll see the silver lining, stop to smell the roses, and appease countless other positive idioms.
But while you're sitting there in the gum pocked seat of denial convincing yourself that its the throne of truth, you are perplexed. Is lying to yourself really the right thing to do? Muffling the third dimension of your multi-dimensional gloom?
You start to miss the cynical spin on reality TV:
"Today Tonight is an informative news program that represents the underrepresented viewpoint... who are you kidding, it's a mediocre melodrama whose sole purpose is feeding the politically paranoid more bias non-truths"
You miss the pleasant surprise of persevering despite your own expectation of failure.
You miss the quiet laughter of judgement imagining courage you'll never have and a backbone that you wish would grow.

Then you decide being a a dry prune is better than cloaking yourself as a juicy grape.



moomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoo

Fruit of your labour.

++++++++++++

Generation X and The Baby Boomers really need to realise the complete and utter useless seed they have sown and reaped: Generation Y.
Where to start?
Shall I plot the downward spiral of ignorance on all things that matter? Perhaps rewrite the dictionary so as to include the new and ever-growing festation of profanities? (Ya MotherF*** Slurry) Perchance I should all together burn the tomes of history since they are no longer relavent to your 21st century life? (Yes, still cut about the Hamlet thing)
Being part of this horrid group of IT liberatchies, I for one do not look forward to being labelled as the dud. The weak link in a mighty dynasty (ty disney moses movie). The generation single handedly responsible for the world melting into a cosmo puddle, plunging into political anarchy and all the while watching my last 10 mins of TV with the top headline:
MILEY CYRUS: INTER-FAMILY SWINGER, GUM-BUCKED SOUTHERN TWEEN OVERLORD.

But really, gen y, kevin 07?
How could you fall for the rhyming Mr Sheen imposter?
How could you proudly wear those polly-blend support Labor shirts?
Really, don't come crying to the Liberal party when the whole of Australia get repo'ed by overseas investors.

Anyway, back to my point. Gen Y, we want everything now and we want to pay later. Somehow manipulate nature by genetically modifing our seeds to create a super crop of rewards. In theory, smart, but the world doesn't work like that. Uranium produces manifolds of rewards, yes, but it comes with manifolds of repercussions. Gen Y the most significant part of the sentence: "Fruits of your Labour" isn't the fruit, its the labour.*


This post is for Katie-kins.
The wielder of the whip.
The inspiration for the labour.


(*note: Labour // to exert force in a constant process.
Labor // Socially and economically naive political party)

++++++++++++++++

Hamlet as in Piglet?

Dear Literary Anorexics,

Your profound inability to understand let alone knowledge of Shakespeare/Austen/Bronte/Hardy/Dickens is most encumbering. Your lack of laughter at my witty allusions does not make me "lame", it makes you stupid. The ape-like expressions to which you approach such texts is altogether amusing especially when coupled with the primate hoots at your confusion. It is the criticism which is most foul and unnatural *cue laughter at witty allusion*. The naive judgements, nay vehement exclamations to the heavens of the obsolete nature of these authors is unfounded. Just because Pizza Hut has opened around the corner doesn't mean people stop going to Italy (If I may quote from the baser adaptation 'Bride and Prejudice' WHICH may I add has not become the sole substitute of Austen's Pride and Prejudice but a derivative satirical farce. (Which fairly, provided adequate amusement))

The point, dearly deprived, is your crucifixion of those who enjoy and *SHOCK HORROR* actually gain some moral rejuvenation. Yes, me. I am used to being martyred for my enjoyment of the Baroque period, the criticism of the historically incorrect portrayal of channel 10's Merlin and my constant humming of the great musical theatre scores but THIS WILL NOT STAND.
I do not claim to be a literary expert, barely at the tip of the literary iceberg, but your foolhardiness is no justification for the insolence of your rejection. My willingness to extend my tendrils of understanding is no justification for the impertinence of your jesting. The Board of Studies' (often misguided) attempt to empower a sense of appreciation is no justification for you to place the Australian education system into disrepute.

In short: You Suck.


Yours Sincerely,
The eternally incensed.


P.s.
This letter was written in a jovial spirit - no offence taken, so no offence intended :)

Advice on Addiction

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

Do not buy a Wendy's product and then keep the spoon.
What will happen is you will continually use the spoon to eat out the family supply of ice cream.
The spoon is irresistible, you crave for its pink angular design to be consumed by your all too willing mouth. After every cup, bowl or drum of ice cream, you feel pretty guilty. You can feel your jeans size increasing and a double chin forming, but your finger starts stroking the 'Wendy's" inscription on the spoon and before you know it, your shifting the springroll pastry for easy access to the ice cream.
Speaking from the perspective of a recoveree of the Wendy's spoon addiction, I recommend quick disposal of the Wendy's spoon upon purchase. To my fellow tight-arses, I understand the compulsive need to get your money's worth of a $5 scoop of ice cream, but trust me: buying special made plus size jeans far outwieghs the cost of the ludicrously priced banana-rama fun.
If you are currently going through a Wendy's spoon addiction crisis, stay strong. I suggest from personal experience that you move through the dairy chain to products with less sugar and fat. Eat stawberries and cream with the spoon, move through to diet yoghurt and finally breakfast cereal. When eating sultana bran with the pink spoon becomes repulsive, then you know its time. Cast it out. Throw it in a neighbours bin (dont trust yourself not to dig it out, because you will). I've found that the steady weening was an effective way of combatting cravings and majorly lowering your calorie intake.
In summation - NEVER undestimate the power of personalised, coloured eating utensils, they could very well be the stepping stones to a life long addiction.

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

#2 Mule Aggrevation 101

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

School.
Enough Said.


For now.


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

Mule Wishlist

moomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoo

Items that must be in my possesion by the end of 2009:

• Original Monopoly
• The Cullen Crest
• A 'Wicked' Program
• Scented Highlighters
• A Large Bean Bag
• Artemis Fowl: The Time Paradox by Eoin Colfer
• Eragon by Chistopher Paolini
• A ticket to 'New Moon' and 'Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince'
• New Capitol photos
• One of those book light thingies
• A dubbed Fruits Basket DVD
• A toothbrush that plays Hannah Montana
• A plush cow that goes 'Moo!" when you squeeze it
• BBC Version of Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights
• An UAI over 90
• A plane ticket to overseas

This list is my New Years Resolution.

Them's fighten' words

moomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoomoo

*turns around in swivel chair stroking cat*

dont laugh, so what if i haven't realised how to embed a video.

Ode to the Modern Life

Life as a recluse has got its charm.
Emily Dickinson had a good thing going.
------------------------------------------

Ode to the Modern Life


Where are our fictional heroes?
Imprinted on our retina's, always there,
but never tangible.

What have we become except
more greedy, more tortured
less happy, less bouyant.

What is to become of the world
but the buds of doubt
planted in its deep warm earth,
poison to its lifeblood

Come to me, wooden spoon
Discipline my weary conscience
Teach my soul the bounds
To live without sin, with no regret.

Untangle the path.
Erase me till I am gone
Then draw me as you want -
I am your servant.

To those who look on
With pinched noses and
Furrowed brow, its not
Too late.

Know that I know,
I see you as myself.
We are a mirror unto us all -
Stand and watch your destiny.



a/n: ah the drabble.