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All posts for the month April, 2012

Underachiever

Published April 27, 2012 by 51percentawesome

The actual, genuine reasons why I have consistantly underachieved my whole life.

1. My parents don’t financially support me. This results in me having to work while studying, or being poor and hungry.
2. The printing, textbooks and other supplies needed to function are expensive.
3. To get a job I need qualifications, to afford to eat I need a job. And so it goes.
4. My boyfriend/s broke up with me/ cheated on me/ lied to me/ broke my heart.
5. My house/s was/were demolished/lease ended/ housemates[gotmarried/weredruggos/died]/boyfriend was a cunt etc
6. I was unhappy/stressed/anxious/depressed for any of the above reasons and couldnt concentrate.
7. I am insomniac for any of the above reasons, and thus missed any classes scheduled before midday.
8. I had a headache.
9. It’s my personality (a creative type) to rebel against rules and restrictions.
10. If I was duller, I’d have learnt to be conscientious. But I didn’t.
11. I require a ‘real’ challenge to motivate me, like completion on no sleep or failure
12. It’s in my astrology to be a perfectionist, who will do as best in a short timeframe
13. I am so good at procrastinating I even fool myself.
14. Staying inside all day studying makes me frustrated and unhappy.
15. Spending all my time studying stops me from cooking and that makes me frustrated and unhappy
16. My house, dishes, clothes and sheets need to be cleaned.
17. I was busy jelly-wrestling
18. I have a facebook/youtube addiction
19. My laptop battery/ internet connection died
20. My room is cold enough to see my breath
21. Acadaemia is disjunct from any spiritual/actual reality and I would prefer to be living

Clear skies make for cold air. I walk lightly, and giggle to myself. The doctor isn’t meant to backdate, but he gives me a 3 day medical certificate. Homeworks not done, refer to number 8. More due in 48 hrs, havent started. Same old story, morning glory. On the patio, the adorable-horse dog puts her nose in my crotch.

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Paradox

Published April 24, 2012 by 51percentawesome

I’m eating a strange mix of oats, puffed rice, soy milk and spirulina. Add honey to anything and it’s palatable (like oxytocin and men). Sans the aftertaste, spirulina tastes like vagina. This week I’m a lesbian, and lucky for me, apparently exploring sexuality is societally acceptable, this week. Or so it seems.

On the train home I couldn’t keep my eyes open. For fear of missing my stop, I set my alarm. Then I couldn’t sleep.

I walk home with a backpack at one am, past the house where my exboyfriends girlfriend lives. I used to fuck him there.

I just emptied my bank account to pay the rent; in the fridge are more fruit and vegetables than I can poke a stick at.
Underpromise and overdeliver, she quips, but I’m not sure I can do that today, my friends.
My life seems to be the otherway around. Like a marching band, not moving, in place.
My house is a black hole, I go in here and never come out, and no one leaves notes on the door.

I wish someone would leave a note on the front door.

She was tanned, and earthy and curvy, just like I wished. Her hands were warm, her face was pretty. She wanted me on top, and fucking her made me come quicker than any guy ever has.
I don’t want her, anymore. I don’t want anymore of her. then why am I left aching?
Next to her I had to concentrate to sleep, like I always do, next to them. until I don’t.
All I wanted to do was eat her, and I did, and I liked the way she tasted, like me.
On the table were some SSRI’s, because none of us want to be around anymore. Their crinkle reminds me of the underlying drone she might feel as her life; or perhaps a drone would be a welcome relief from where she is, perhaps that’s what they’re for.

I have three phones, and I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not really.

Hippocrates’ scrolling Facebook newsfeed reflection of reality. Why the fuck am I still awake? (There are many ways to self-medicate).

11hours unconscious.

Phone rings: I won’t be going to India in July. I am excused from stepping out of my comfort zone today.

In the mail comes a package: Bridging discourses in the ESL Classroom. ‘I know this subject is a little tiresome. Eyes on the big picture, beautiful. Plan b could be fun and you like teaching. Kisses, Love me’.
Yes, I do love you, whoever you are, and you’re right about everything, except its actually back to Plan A. Pubishthegoddamedbook. Plan B is no longer an option. Again.

I’m eating a smoothie, berries, dates, goji, spirulina, oats, soy milk. The weather is cold and the cat is meowing.

I don’t have cat food, kitty litter, chia seeds or red lentils, and I’ve diluted the dregs of the moisturiser. I used up the last of the buckwheat flour making pancakes and haven’t refilled the black ink. I want to buy an insertable period cup. Fuck Tampons.

Awake at 4am. I have friends who tell me I need to change and yeah, I do. But maybe not in the way they intend.

The sunlight is bright and I writhe in discomfort. my feet grip the warm cement as though it is them holding me to the earth and not gravity.

The inside of the house is cold, and the walls feel emptier than usual.
I can smell myself, and usually I like that, but today it smells like her, not me.
There are sesame seeds, but no tahini. /With one hand he giveth and the other he taketh away/.
The cat meows pitifully, and it’s like that, we can have it all, but not at once, because some things are mutually exclusive.

Suddenly it is raining and I am back in bed, misting the screen of my phone with the condensation of my breath.

harsh realities, unfortunate life facts. Fo’ real, yo

Published April 8, 2012 by 51percentawesome

Let’s be honest.

1. No matter how many times I wash my clothes, I will still have a long-haired cat who I am allergic to.

2. No matter how many times I work and pay my bills, I will still get more bills (also applies to cleaning and sorting).

3. Despite my most fervent wishes, people are not perfect. They are narcissistic, fearful, neurotic and selfish. Myself included.

4. This is a capitalist society. Money is capital. Time is capital. If I refuse to sell my time, I am likely to not have money.

5. Everyone I come into contact with is bound by the capitalist constraints of this society also.

6. The world is full of many other creative, competitive people. If they sell their time, they’ll have money.

7. Cars cost money. We do not have teleportation. It probably wouldn’t be free anyway.

8. Music festivals are not going to organise and celebrate themselves, or occur in my backyard.

9.  Men, at any age, fathers or not, can be selfish and emotionally immature. No man can save or complete me, not really.

10. Technology, as created by mankind, is fallible. To expect it to be otherwise would be a grave error of judgement.

11. Over time, all things are created and destroyed. This applies to my possessions, laptops, phones, hands-frees, chef knives.

12. Manifestation is never immediate. Life takes time.

13. For every up, there will be an equal and opposite down. Mathematically, therefore, everything amounts to naught.

14. Men (with higher beta-endorphins) mature slower than women. Women are patient out of necessity rather than nature.

15.  Although ultimately each individual can rely only on themselves, paradoxically we cannot get through this life alone.

16. Most people are arrogant idiots. Vegan or not, processed food will make you sick. Man is not above nature.

17. My university education is not going to learn itself. Likewise, dinner is not going to cook itself. Ever.

18.  Cats will meow.

19. There is no arrival point from where life will henceforth be easy, unproblematic and clear. Savour such transient moments.

20.  Life will not deliver your hopes and dreams to you on a silver platter-

until you figure out what the fuck they are and commit to them.

21. Sitting on Facebook, no matter how alluring and temporarily satiating, will not equate to a fulfilled life.

22. Cyber-pseudo-reality is not reality, and your body knows it, even if you don’t.

23. Despite what society may tell you, being sexually attractive won’t make you happy. Really.

24. Knowing what brings you joy (yoga) will result in frustration if you deny yourself (when class is only on in the mornings).

25. Breathing is not optional. Resistance is.

26. Nothing is ever achieved in this world without at one time or another being made number one priority.

27. Conflicting priorities will result in inconsistent and half-hearted results. I cannot be both rich, famous and educated right now.

28. The pot and the kettle are almost always black. Especially if I am in the kitchen. Fact.

29.  As many steps as you take away from nature, you will need to take back to her.

30. There are 7 billion humans on the planet and we are all essentially the same. Ordinary. (I am ordinary).

31. If you do not honour your inspiration (write, talk, act), your inspiration will pass you by.

32. Plenty more fish in the sea? No. Almost outta fish, kids.

33.  If one stays up past when one is tired, one will get up later and later each successive day. My life is conclusive evidence.

crisp night air

Published April 4, 2012 by 51percentawesome

Life on the whole can be disappointing. Then you look over and there’s a frangipani on your shoulder. It’s the rich warmth of fresh night air with a hollow sinking emptiness. It’s a shiny-faced perfectly functioning android with no reception.

I turn my phone off for 24hrs. There was a time when every minute ached; now that barely scratches the surface of the disconnection I seek.

I carry my groceries and my arms burn, like this anger turned inwards. James Hollis, my whole fucking life is a middle passage.

Fucking Spirulina

Published April 3, 2012 by 51percentawesome

Behind my knees is sweating onto my tight bum bell-buttom tel aviv jeans.

I mumble assertively some prattle about how difficult life is, far too difficult to have written 1500 words on socio-cultural and acquisition approaches to langauge learning in the meantime. Far too difficult. Somehow, I have another two weeks to convince my inner two-year old to sit down and just fucking write something, anything, for fucks sake.

I want to go play Lego. I sit in a stairwell and type. I’m losing my voice, and it has the opposite to intended effect.

This morning I broke my housemates smoothie blender. Then when I went to drink the cold, green sludge, it slid down the tube in one gelatinous mass and landed on my face. Fiddling with that electrical appliance made me late for the bus, and sweaty. Fucking Spirulina.