newborn writechild

www.stainedfingers.wordpress.com

I'm still unsure of the survival potential of today's birth.
I'm floating in and out of blogs trying to find myself as well as a "correct" way and place to write and type and love and hate. I don't know very much of late, only that I learn much more when I observe those around me who I do and don't know. But as opposed to judging from my observations, I'd like to think I am instead constructing new/different or building on old understandings of people. We are a strange species, and one I couldn't be more in love with!

reassurance reacquainted

So finally these many waves
Crashed upon my plastic caves
Tell me why they wouldn't hold
These pressures are a little old
These broken shards of plastic shields
These obsolete and aging fears
These mechanisms of defense
Impersonal, fearful immense.

But wash me over salty waves
With songs and Psalms to make me brave
You whispered love, swiftly disarmed
Validating me without need of charm
Your concrete truth, I hold to tightly
Shared passions urge me, keep on fighting
I find in you my greatest peace
You bought my life for yours released.

Tell me what I would ever gain
If all I did was run from pain.

never ever clever

I stacked atop the mini wheelbarrow because I tried to transport more junk than the little tike could comfortably manage when it got caught in a crack in the concrete and my momentum carried me forward... my left shin still feels the repercussions twelve hours later. I just thought you'd like to know.

Apparently my emotions seem to mirror this awkward, clumsy, somewhat accidental yet self-inflicted amusement forwardslash annoying bruise pain. I don't know what to do with myself and I don't know why I do this to myself. I think I'm much too susceptible to a little bit of...I wouldn't even call it charm or chivalry, but somehow whatever it is encompasses both. Black and white or sepia? I can't decide.

Not a fan of wine (red)
Though I like nightime's navy blue
Bedtime's getting later
I also like playing with staples and glue.

Challenge this!

I have the best friends

in
the
world.

Rhyme and rhythm of she incoherent

Late shower
Hair dryer
Dry skin
Sleep in

Thoughts on fire
Dreams expire
Distinguishing, truth from liar

Waiting, wanting
Temporary
Finding, minding
Those worth caring

Smiles and handshakes
Syrup, pancakes
Firm but fluffy
Tell me nothing

What if we all
Never looked for
Love or told you
"You are beautiful"

Love aint
For the faint
Look hard
Junkyards

The truth felt like overheated concrete on my naked sole.

Matthew was right, we're in love with the concept of falling in love, not the person who acted as stimulus for such drama. Hi again, it's your favourite frigit, romance critic. I haven't vomited such opinion in a while so here's to the fresh revisit to why we might never find the one. I was talking to Joshua yesterday about entertaining such notions of who and how, and two sentences in, he begins kicking sand onto my small hopeful bonfire. It's funny how our best friends have capabilities to irritate us with truth. I suppose wishful thinking is for the unprepared, for those who prefer to worry about foreseen and obviously upcoming complications only upon confrontation and not a moment sooner. If you see a glitch in a car you want but know it won't have any apparent problems within the first year and only after, would that not effect your decision to buy it? Why then would I give any less consideration and judge with any less scrutiny if the decision was as potentially permanent as the person I'm to marry and be with for the remainder of my life?

Seriously nic, your young, ambitious and very...immature. I think I scare myself with talk of marriage. I'm twenty, fresh out of teenage years, with thin knowledge of how to party and little root in common knowledge and social government. Which is probably a good thing in an awkward way.

I'm still curious though, about love, true love between man and woman. I'm just too unimpressed with generation Y's embedded narcissism (and mine, being part of said generation) to wonder when I will start to truly care about somebody without the need for return. Not because of the attention or the physical attraction or any self-revolving reasons satisfying ME, but for reasons of the ideal picture-perfect marriage print. Oh, and when did purity come into it and does it still exist? Imagine being in love and pure, it's unheard of in the twentieth century western world's sex-selling, body-abusing and media obsessed temperament. I think sexual purity scares me because desensitisation has come into play since childhood was introduced to the beloved magic box within which sex is reinstated again and again and begins to promote itself on the walls of the street and the talk of the town.

I suppose it's a relief we don't spend forever on this purposeless and cracked moral earth. I want more, I want so much more than I currently hold. I don't want everything quantifiable either. I want things that cannot be seen. I want to care, I want to be generous (alas, funds I have little), I want wisdom to enrich my words, I want the things I do to ripple into challenging those around me, I really want to get over myself, I want not the superficial worries of skin deep perfection to poison my priorities. I want my life to have meant something, as totally cliche and daggy as that is, if I look good now, it won't change the fact that I will age, I will grow old and those pimples I previously fretted over simply marked a memory over which to reminisce. I'd go so far to say, however, that every person on this planet, from all manner of peoples and places wants the same, wants better for somebody else, usually their children. But whoever cares little about anybody else should re-evaluate their standing in humanity.

I don't know what to do when a ten year old girl tells me she thinks she's fat.
I don't know what to do when I see her critiques as consistent to what mine were only earlier.
I can't stand how insecurities ruin everything.

Have I told you, you'll look wonderful tonight.

i didn't mean to be so vain

i've just exhausted myself with five to six hours of plastic laughs, sucking in, sore feet and a huge zit on my lip. Both the models I requested couldn't turn up today, as planned, as arranged and disarranged within 12 hours prior. So my faithful photographer (Sammie, bless her soul) and I exhausted ourselves with 27 different items of clothing and such.

I'm actually really embarrassed about having myself modelling all the clothes I planned to sell. I was really hoping for an array of bodies when fortune would have them whom i'd requested unavailable at the last minute. I was really hanging on passing out this site to everybody for them to boast on my behalf and to cover a greater radius for publicity, but now i'm considerably more reluctant...

But if i were to have delayed the shoot, i'd never have started, so here's to beginning. Here's to facing this with half a face. I'll keep you posted. I'm darn nervous and pretty freakin' excited!

It's funny I seek the limelight, of sorts, and upon finding myself there, freak out and wish I weren't there alone...This is all nervous chatter...God'll light up my path and I'm sure this wont be half bad. it's about time I materialised one of the hundred thngs I said I'd like to do but couldn't gather half an ounce of initiative to do so. SO here. Here's a justification for my hobby/obsession for op-shopping/shopping/thrifting/finding...

ahhhhh'm gonna stop yackaty-yackin now. I hope you like it. (If I look good, Sammie digitally edited the photos;)

what's yours?

no there's nothing to loose and there's nothing to prove

Things are working out to be pretty odd.

http://lookbook.nu/look/68650-a-million-ways
I love this. I love these. There's a different sort of impressive that solidifies upon the average person's persona, making said person not so average. It is, to me, the marriage of unashamed creativity and a contentment not having conformed to the typical "barbie". Such a person so sealed with an indifference yet amusement regarding superficiality to not be affected by it, I admire, unequivocally.

I am as rich as I perceive with the acknowledgement of my monies in banks totalling $42.75. Apparently I'm along with a carload of asian girls to asian night at a renown asian club coming friday. Planning to wear my aasics. I'm feeling restless enough to cut my hair right now...but I can't reach the back so I think I'll be calling upon Mother's hand since she mercilessly snipped against my will for the first half of my life. Anyway, if it turns out a screw up, I'll appreciate it with serves of humble pie. Whoever doesn't like me after this, didn't like me before and I'm can deal with that.

He made her famous, she made him loved.

Pablo Picasso and Henriette Theodora Markovitch, alias Dora Maar were together as a couple for a decade through the 1930s and 40s. The stunningly beautiful French photographer, poet and painter, was most famously known as Picasso’s private muse, model, companion, and intellectual partner.

Their relationship was wild, stormy, and unconventional. Maar greatly suffered from Picasso’s mood swings but her love for him was unconditional. Picasso, who was known for the pain that he caused his lovers, often painted and depicted Maar in grotesque, appalling forms. Maar would often deny Picasso’s ethereal love for her by saying, “All his portraits of me are lies. They’re all Picassos. Not one is Dora Maar.”

(Above text, cut & pasted: http://culturazzi.org/review/art/10-paintings-on-women-immortalised-by-famous-artists)

There's something about this piece that absolutely draws me. Perhaps, it's her beauty, perhaps her colour, perhaps the refreshment of seeing beauty outside convention and the story behind it.

nothing says sorry like change.

untitled, insignificant.

I've just spent the last hour completely lost in reminisce.
I like remembering
who I used to be, what I've left behind.

I don't know what to tell you, so nothing will be told.

currently obsessed with Beyoncé

I'm not sure how much more beautiful a woman can get. She's got an amazing voice and success to match. She's defied the ruthlessness of changing charts and has yet to fall into the artiste obsoletes category, selling out concerts and wowing audiences worldwide, I've wager she's never disappointed at her concerts.

My today is a big fan of Beyoncé. I'm mindlessly hypnotised by her videos at the moment.

Hopefully I'll be able to afford her next concert...

oh crumbs! my incredible edible.

Say Hello to the newest baked cheesecake advocate in town.

& while you're saying hello, say happy birthday to Father (17th oct).

ps: my dad's a genius, nobody has a handier hand, a greener thumb or a more atheistically pleasing backyard. Bite me.

The real deal

Today I happened upon an organisational clutch with a little bit of character.


This baby contained a faded receipt dated 11-08-96, a small red comb and three coins: two 2c pieces and one 1c piece.

I thought it was a pretty sweet deal for $2. So the $2 I spent, along with another $18 which included 2 necklaces, one earring, one keychain bottle opener, two vintage-ish (I presume and hope are leather) bags, one vinyl, a collar-less jacket, an old-school cardigan and a strangely shaped "sweet good girl" looking retro jumper. Sort of the thing you could imagine Sandra Dee wearing whilst she was naive and innocent.

I've been accumulating a separate wardrobe lately, and have run out of coat-hangers. If you care, I accept donations of coat hangers.

I'll shut up and drive now.

Consider a couple of men and inhale appreciation.

He's a handsome sort of bugger with a little bit of charm
Had I already met him, I'd be on his arm.

Having glanced a photo of a friend of mine (yes, facebook is great for the mindless browsing of photos), I was amused by my sudden realisation that this said friend of mine had a very handsome face, which reminded me of my grandfather. In the last family trip to Malaysia, upon reunion with my father's father, I was astonished at how handsome my grandfather was and wondered how I'd never noticed before. It made me wonder how he must have looked in his youth. Allow me to regale my last memory of him: a sun-spotted, heavily-tanned, soft but wrinkled skin, forever singlet clad, well endowed with generous sort of beer-gut, neither short nor tall, fat not thin sort of man. I just know that his life, as expressed by his 80 something nature was riddled with pain - and every visit sort of sank my heart. He was imprisoned by his heavy dependency for assistance as his body lately manifested complaints from a lifetime of hard labour, confining him to his bamboo chair in front of hours of television. He was not happy, he was just existing. And although it sounds harsh of me to have drawn this sort of conclusion, I'm sure he would agree. He was respected but not loved, not nearly enough. I've never faced such a hard life as I imagine he has. I've heard snippets of my parent's lives and can hardly begin to understand that of my grandparents. Perhaps I should, it would probably make me appreciate the much that I have considerably more.

Life is vain, save the moments we spend reflecting on the lives of our predecessors and successors. I'd say it is these moments that fuel our desires to improve, to evolve, to make worthwhile changes so that those who lived before us can be justified and so those who come after us can have better.

Well, this post turned out nothing like I expected it to. Oh, the words take on a life of their own!

I love the Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue variations-ens-ens endlessness.

When insecure and vulnerably malleable, I find myself envious of a few people I know little about. I'll mention one, because he's hardly troubled and often given beautiful opportunities I could never imagine. He is superficial as superficial sells and as suave as necessary to engage his audience. So I will dedicate this poem to him:

Your row-s are read
Uncouth yet cool
They make me wish
At times I were you

"hey do you have the time? and umm, will you marry me?"

y'know today there was a chance I walked passed my husband-to-be. Just getting it out there, you never know!

I emailed my lecturer today asking what would happen if i failed this subject...



I heard this on the radio today and it made me laugh!

To whom it may concern: my father is wonderful, he's been working so hard to keep the family in order while the mother holidays in Malaysia (truly asia). I watched "The secret millionaire" with him today and think I'll watch beauty and the geek with the sister when she returns from work.

updates

I started cleaning up my bedroom floor today....slowly organising my books and the junk under my bed, dumping a handful of discovered clothes into the laundry pile, tying up a bag and a half of rubbish and gathering piles of paper to send along the recycle, all the while sitting deep in daydreams. I also managed to take a squiz at the saturday paper. I hardly read the paper nowadays. A year ago I used to flick eagerly through the moth gray pages with scissors in hand, intent only on cutting out interesting headlines- that strange obsession eased up because I didn't quite know what to do with the headlines once they were cut so they sit dormant in a green manilla folder to this day.

Anyway, these things I only do when I have better things to do. It seems my assignments can wait. Why is it like this? I'll see my children tomorrow. I went to a really good sale today but because I was so rushed I hardly got time to revel in my victorious finds.
ps: I weigh 57kg according to my electronic scale :) I'm about 3kg away from my desire to acquaint myself with the sixties. "Oh, she got meat on her, this one!"

Oh yes, and I've found the make-shift dress I think I'll wear to Elton&Nila's wedding. Cost me a buck. I'm getting real good at being poor yet without having to relinquish frequent shopping habits, but I won't deny I miss being completely financially independant and being able to afford eating out without tasting remorse, but that's just crumbs of humble pie that go down very smoothly :)

I've started organising christmas! It's been a great procrastination task! I figured if I do it gradually, the pinch won't be so painful come december and I'll have time to be creative and thoughtful about gifts. whoo! Last christmas I earned more than I ever had in the history of my life, but I retained none of the nine hundred and something. I was very unwise in my spendage. So the challenge this year is how to keep christmas controlled, thoughtful and similarly generous without exceeding three five oh or forgetting the real reason for christmas.

I'm going to read up on what assignment 2 of 3 is about.

I'll see my kids tomorrow. I'll also be seeing my God.
I'm excited...

but not about these assignments.

Moodrings and slippery fingers.

Bollywood slow-jams make me want to fall in love.
I'll write something worthwhile later.