Bollywood slow-jams make me want to fall in love.
I'll write something worthwhile later.
Tuesday
Saturday
vanity vintage
I did mini shoot yesterday with my cousin's girlfriend (THANK YOU SAMMIE!). I paid her in a necklace and $4 pizzas. I treat my people well, oh yes I do.
I've decided that since I op shop excessively, and am willing to dig through mountains of musk and pre-loved junk - I might as well make an income of it, selling them at inflated prices to the rest of the vintage loving world.
Here is our account of friday the 25th september @ Sister Bella.
.
.
ps: the toilet scene was ridiculously fun!
The prices are still reasonable I promise.
.
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Bookworm jacket: $20AUD
Snow-white top: $10AUD
Faker-skirt black shorts: $15AUD
Humble off-white skirt: $15AUD
Oh, and I might add, Sammie's camera makes everyone look good, so I look half-decent here :)
Sunday
i think it makes sense
& when my very being cried out to him to be held
Unfortunately, the comfortable and the preferable doesn't at all resemble the solutions we wish they were. This weekend was testament to that.
When you're cold and find yourself in the headspace where solitude becomes most familiar, all you want is to be found in the warm and welcoming arms of someone who would understand. So I told him, "I just want to be held, that is all I want while I am here". Yet what would that have achieved but satisfied one (young and selfish) girl's self-prescribed cure? He had intended more, and so sent me to provide that which I felt lacking in my own. He made me focus instead on attending the wounds of others, knowing that in my concentration - awareness of my own uncomforts and splinters would be drawn away from the forefront of my memory.
In my state of exhaustion, I propose my current cure to brokenness.
Apparently the cure to brokenness is the desire to want to put everyone else back together. Because in wanting such- an inevitable belief is conceived that reasons: although my own hands are a little bruised, I can still bandage their wounds. Therefore declaring, "I am not broken enough to be helpless but able enough to help and available because I want that much to", hence our brokenness is hardly a fatal break but an empathy and common ground for understanding. With this in mind, brokenness devolves into an experience and no longer remains a hurting brokenness that complains individual pain; but rather, is stimulated by identifying others in like situations, throbbing memory and itching aggravation into doing something about it.
So my nonsensical tip for the day: when you're feeling mighty broken, find somebody to help. Because in doing so, you distract yourself from your own pain, not to mention how helping heal them helps to heal you or something like that...I need to sleep, I have fifteen things I wrote down that I need to do tomorrow.
Goodnight.
ps: if you're at In Between, I'm here too- think I may be here for a little longer, perhaps we could catch up?
he whispered "give", he whispered "go".
Unfortunately, the comfortable and the preferable doesn't at all resemble the solutions we wish they were. This weekend was testament to that.
When you're cold and find yourself in the headspace where solitude becomes most familiar, all you want is to be found in the warm and welcoming arms of someone who would understand. So I told him, "I just want to be held, that is all I want while I am here". Yet what would that have achieved but satisfied one (young and selfish) girl's self-prescribed cure? He had intended more, and so sent me to provide that which I felt lacking in my own. He made me focus instead on attending the wounds of others, knowing that in my concentration - awareness of my own uncomforts and splinters would be drawn away from the forefront of my memory.
In my state of exhaustion, I propose my current cure to brokenness.
Apparently the cure to brokenness is the desire to want to put everyone else back together. Because in wanting such- an inevitable belief is conceived that reasons: although my own hands are a little bruised, I can still bandage their wounds. Therefore declaring, "I am not broken enough to be helpless but able enough to help and available because I want that much to", hence our brokenness is hardly a fatal break but an empathy and common ground for understanding. With this in mind, brokenness devolves into an experience and no longer remains a hurting brokenness that complains individual pain; but rather, is stimulated by identifying others in like situations, throbbing memory and itching aggravation into doing something about it.
So my nonsensical tip for the day: when you're feeling mighty broken, find somebody to help. Because in doing so, you distract yourself from your own pain, not to mention how helping heal them helps to heal you or something like that...I need to sleep, I have fifteen things I wrote down that I need to do tomorrow.
Goodnight.
ps: if you're at In Between, I'm here too- think I may be here for a little longer, perhaps we could catch up?
Thursday
romona was a waitress
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Cz0Dd6bxhk
i dont need these arms anymore
i dont need this heart, not alone
i dont need this skin and bone
i dont need these arms anymore
i dont need this heart, not alone
i dont need this skin and bone
perhaps i'm in love.
perhaps i never will be the way i'd like.
Tuesday
All she ever wanted was enough money to buy a love.
The opposite of poverty is not wealth.
The opposite of poverty is enough.
I never seem to have enough love/money, but the little love/money I possess, I spend recklessly or take for granted. So that when I don't have enough love/money, I remember when I did and didn't realise. Then I'll save up, be bold enough and have enough and somehow loose it again.
May I just express my appreciation of how much my friends spend on me, love and money. It's more than I can afford, and I can't believe the hopes they've risked on me. I love them, I haven't made that clear of late, but if they ever visit here...
The opposite of poverty is enough.
I never seem to have enough love/money, but the little love/money I possess, I spend recklessly or take for granted. So that when I don't have enough love/money, I remember when I did and didn't realise. Then I'll save up, be bold enough and have enough and somehow loose it again.
May I just express my appreciation of how much my friends spend on me, love and money. It's more than I can afford, and I can't believe the hopes they've risked on me. I love them, I haven't made that clear of late, but if they ever visit here...
Thursday
mothers don't know everything
This morning I laughed, because today Mother Dear learned of the uses for a handkerchief. Prior to this morning, she never inquired about one - she never needed to, she had never owned one herself. Today, when I mentioned how Dad hadn't yet seen the handkerchief I drew messages on for Father's Day at Sunday School, I asked whether dad used them.
"Nope"
"Do you think he even knows what it is?"
"...I don't know."
"Do YOU even know what it is."
"...Nope"
"You don't know what a handkerchief is? Where people blow their noses into it instead of using tissues?"
"Oh YUCK! People BLOW THEIR NOSES INTO IT?"
"and sometimes carry it around with them for the day"
She was unbelieving and when the fact was eventually sunk, she appeared unequivocally shocked and mildly disgusted at the thought of having a washing machine filled with little squares of cloth with variable discharges of snot. It was the definition of you-had-to-be-there!
Very laugh worthy, my Mother. She's the best.
"How do you NOT know this? Isn't this in your time!?"
"Ooow yuck."
Oh yes, and while mentioning my mother, be impressed that on the 11th of the 11th, 2000 and 11, my Mother turns half century :) We thought it was cool. We're gonna throw the baddest party in town!
"Nope"
"Do you think he even knows what it is?"
"...I don't know."
"Do YOU even know what it is."
"...Nope"
"You don't know what a handkerchief is? Where people blow their noses into it instead of using tissues?"
"Oh YUCK! People BLOW THEIR NOSES INTO IT?"
"and sometimes carry it around with them for the day"
She was unbelieving and when the fact was eventually sunk, she appeared unequivocally shocked and mildly disgusted at the thought of having a washing machine filled with little squares of cloth with variable discharges of snot. It was the definition of you-had-to-be-there!
Very laugh worthy, my Mother. She's the best.
"How do you NOT know this? Isn't this in your time!?"
"Ooow yuck."
Oh yes, and while mentioning my mother, be impressed that on the 11th of the 11th, 2000 and 11, my Mother turns half century :) We thought it was cool. We're gonna throw the baddest party in town!
Monday
showers with a late change
so my chipped laptop on a stained black coffee table with a transparent air-tight jar with one thin layer of almonds where gravity can't sink deeper. cross legged in my black patterned stockings, mother's dark grey halfway leggings and father's light grey 'perfect thickness' socks. on my orange 3 seater sofa harbouring 10 year old fluff and the 52 inch tv remote controller sliding down the crack on the right. program guide to my left, first year university reader between it and i. hair behind my ears and eyes open halfway i left my smile upstairs and forgot my motivation when i got off the train. 83minutes until the assignment's due and no intention to finish it today. having survived the weekend the momentum's got me disorientating the stationary. this is my insecure.
if you'd even only pretend like you're having a good time, i'd be jealous.
so glad i'll see them tonight. i'll be seeing my friends tonight. and i'll forget today was remotely insecure. oh yes, and nobody knows i found it, but i've located the jars of gold. cashew nuts by their hundreds.
i'm feeling much more comforted now.
Sunday
no really, it was the junk food that massacred my friends!
So, starting monday, is the better eating of this trying tightrope walker. I've decided that since the decisions I make in life require me to balance stupid items and heavy delicates, I can no longer afford for even my diet to effect my already precarious balancing- not even slightly. Anyway, apparently I'm supposed to be taking this high cholesterol thing seriously...
What has food got to do with the decisions I make and the attitudes I carry? Well firstly, if I can hardly practice self-control with edibles, how can I call upon it like a trained discipline if the discipline, I have not yet trained? Yes, yes, I've watched those "what are we really feeding our children" news episodes where you see a wild child of a rugrat tamed in a week by the feeding of healthy (yet tasty and appealing) foods- and I believed every word of it! So because my week turned a little sour by the end of it and I ate considerable quantities of foods that live in the top sector of the "eat little and infrequently" part of the food pyramid- I've now associated lots of junk food with it ends badly.
I've been a crabby cow this weekend (yeah-try that for a visual! A crab and a cow produced me for this weekend)- and I'm so sorry if you got the rear end of me, i've been foul! I'm so sorry if i've chewed your head a little or wrenched your arm out of it's socket. I'm the hulk of a raging selfish when my fuse is short and frayed- it doesn't help to be surrounded by lovely gorgeous candles...
I'm a fool.
and if your foolish enough to still hang around and be the fool's friend, you deserve an award...and a get out of jail free card.
It's weekends like these we need. They act like glass prisms which refract our white-light mannerisms, separating them into visible intentions: sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly (most times ugly) intentions.
y'know I despise my hypocrisy. y'know i can see it when i want to. y'know i need you to be brave enough to show me where i've missed.
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