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All posts for the month July, 2012

See you next tuesday

Published July 31, 2012 by 51percentawesome

Tuesday is for timewasting. Tuesday is for putting problems down, in resignation or other wise. Tuesday is a ceasefire. No emails or phone calls with an agenda. No organising, ‘following that up’ or replying out of obligation.

Tuesday is for living just for the now. No future planning or foundation building. The challenge is to play: to sing, dance and have meaningless conversations.

Tuesdays run against my grain. I find myself making suggestions (fucking good suggestions), problem solving for those around me. Engaged engaged engaged, in making things better.

Tuesdays are about acceptence, and surrender. Seeking comfort, looking at rainbows, sitting in the backseat. Remembering the things I love, not because of what they can do for me, but just because they are. Spontaneity needs room to move, and in my urgency to create and manifest, it appears to have been stifled. My attempts at singing and dancing are, at present, stifled. Some aspects of the to-do list that is my life snuck in: upon waking, i changed the kitty litter. I checked my emails, and deleted the unnecessary ones. I returned my voicemails, though I drew a line at filling out a form: that shit will wait until tomorrow. Out of the house looking pretty with appropriate amount of walking and vitamin d, check. Who am I if not my to-do list?

Prohibited: conversations about life challenges and issues. Prohibited: self-help and cookbooks. Prohibited: any activity designed to turn me into something other than I am.

Allowed: sunsets, riding buses in the opposite direction, blog writing.

Future suggested activities: Busking. Swimming. Hitchhiking. Movies. Eating out. Going dancing. Drinking tea. Sewing. Listening to music. Laying on the grass. Skateboarding. Beach. See you next Tuesday 🙂

Nosebleed section

Published July 24, 2012 by 51percentawesome

Walking at night under street lights, my shadow echoes red and blue. If I wore glasses, would I see myself in 3D?

A field of pure potentiality collapsed down to this moment. I’m getting what I want, but I want incompatible things. I want freedom, and I want security. I want what is easy, and I want something I’m proud of. I want to let go, and I want to hold on. One hand is warm, the other is cold. I’m kicking out fiercely at the world around me.

frus·trat·ed/ˈfrəsˌtrātid/
Adj
1. Feeling or expressing distress and annoyance, esp. because of inability to change or achieve something.
2. (of a person) Unable to follow or be successful in a particular career.

impatience [ɪmˈpeɪʃəns]
n
1. lack of patience; intolerance of or irritability with anything that impedes or delays
2. restless desire for change and excitement

Only one way out of hell and that’s through it….

Published July 20, 2012 by 51percentawesome

This is your life. It’s not going to get any better. She’s not going to change. I know it’s not what you wanted. But you’re really lucky. Get down and gimme 50 reps why.

I’m really lucky that my mother takes the time to feed me. I am lucky that she understands natural laws. I am lucky that my mother is incredibly giving, and wants to give me every single lesson she ever learned. I am lucky that my mother has a sense of humour. I am grateful my mother tells me to wear colour. She tells me I am beautiful, and she (!) books, takes me to, and pays for me to get my armpits waxed. I am lucky that my mother takes me to the fruit shop and asks what I want every. single. time. I visit. I am grateful for my mother being a creative person, for her wonderful food presentation. I am lucky to have a mother who is enthusiastic and wholehearted about life. I am lucky to have a mother who would (and has) give me the clothes off her own back just because I say I like them. I am grateful for my mothers passion for cooking- she really cares about food. I am grateful for the wealth of resources my mother has and can provide me with. I am grateful for these zucchini patties. I am grateful for the fact my mother rinses her washing up. I am lucky to have a mother who cares about animals and the environment. I am grateful that my mother has never turned her back on me. I am glad my mother taught me how to spell. I am lucky that my mother taught me how to think. I am grateful that I became so competent and level-headed in the face of her chaos. I am grateful that my mother was crazy because it motivated me to become close to other family members. I am grateful for the fact that my mother taught me to live outside the box. I am grateful for the large amounts of food, books, and kitchen appliances my family give me. I am grateful for the fact I can ask my mum any question on a large range of topics and she can usually answer. I am grateful for her honesty. I am grateful that knowing my mother is knowing what it is to be open, raw and responsive to the world. I am grateful for my mother’s friendliness with strangers. I am grateful that my mother and father separated so I have places of refuge from each. I am grateful for my mother teaching me to be a critical thinker. I am grateful for my mother teaching me to dance. I am lucky to have experienced her love of the water. I am lucky to have lived in a house with no TV and hand-written my assignments from encyclopaedia’s. I am lucky for the animals my mother allowed into my life. I am grateful to have experienced natural freedom as a child. I am grateful for summer salads made into smiley faces on the front porch. I am grateful for the experience of eating fresh snow peas off the vine. I am lucky to have known what it is to save and care for animals at a young age. I am lucky to have lived with trees, lake and beach. I am grateful for the town she bore me into. I am grateful for her valuing, and teaching me to value, education. I am lucky she slept in so I could spend so much time making a mess and climbing trees. I am lucky to have the kind of crazy left-field mother who chains herself to a bulldozer.

True story.

Rejecting your family is rejecting yourself. You don’t need to like them or agree with them or even spend time with them, but as long as you wish they were different, you wish you were not yourself. And you’re pretty fuckin awesome.

Just sayin’.

D day

Published July 15, 2012 by 51percentawesome

The title hints at the end of the world, but you’re probably wise prepared for me to wax lyrical. (Eventually).

Its just the end of the world as we know it. This coming week is going to be something else, in this winter of firsts. Fake it or make it, baby. There’s no other option. So exciting that I can’t sleep (just for a change).

People have been reading this, which freaks me out: how many of them thought about my vagina? Serves me right for mentioning it. (Do you know that I know when you google me? Or click a link? WordPress is watching). Anyway, none of you liked, commented or followed. The worst, to be boring. Talking to myself in this vacuum, with a listless apathetic and derisive audience; my narcissism and sexual habits on display, so that you can all look away. Shit! Melancholy. Someone said this writing is honest, but that I’m seeming jaded. This is what you get when you peel away the onion layers: watery eyes.

Anyway, that’s not what I came here to say. I’ve been nauseous for months; that’s not it either. I read a quote from Alanis Morisette tonight: brave action is often followed by grief. I am not sure exactly what she meant, except yeah, for me it has been. Lots of brave action, and lots of fucking grief. But while grief is one thing, guilt is another, and I am done with that.

I don’t wanna write to be inspiring; I do that in another places. Here I dance with my shadow. I am being awesome again, and this week and in the coming months I am gonna blow the lid of what awesome I thought was possible. My shadow says that I have wasted too much time fucking around with boys and plan B’s for it to work. In the cold space underneath my hope is a pile of discarded judgements and beliefs, all damp and muddy with dew. I disturb the peace. I fail to meet your expectations of what I ought to be. I put out my compost after letting it get moldy, I run late, and I sleep when I want to. I don’t take shit from my parents, and I’m not meeting their expectations either. I have been poor my entire life, and I am terrified of success. I have yet been unable to make a relationship work with stoned, cheating, lying boys, despite my most earnest efforts (though I may try again in future). I seem like I’d be fun, but I turn out to be a nightmare, for the type of guy who likes to have fun. I am particular; I don’t like to wear shoes, and I am going to challenge every assumption you have. I want a better world. I didn’t have a large group of friends (in school, or now) and people hating me mystifies and devastates me. I leave the door open, I don’t cover my food. I talk with my mouth full. I want you to be better than you are, and that disturbs me.

Cement cold on soft flesh.

I am an unlikely candidate for business. But I don’t know where the fuck else I fit.
Worse than failing at a shitty plan B would be fucking up the plan A. Though supposedly worse than that, would be denying myself the attempt. In truth, my awesome is probably mediocre. This is the miniscule prospect of standing on my own feet, in a society I tend to despise. Just for shits and giggles.

Glycerine

Published July 11, 2012 by 51percentawesome

Oh. I am alone.

I’m meant to be surrounded by people who love me, aren’t I? I’m meant to have someone waiting for or on me, I am meant to be somewhere doing something with someone, with a group of someones. Aren’t I?

What is wrong with me? Why aren’t I?

Noone to call. Nothing urgent to talk about or do.

All that’s left is to eat my leftover pancakes and wash my clothes. Tidy my room, reflect on the world, and write a blog about it. Read about health, cooking and religion. Play guitar. Househunt, make a business application. Shower, stretch, sleep peacefully… alone.

Turns out my favourite things are solitary activities. People have asked me, are you a loner? And I wasn’t sure what that meant, as if it is some kind of genetic disorder. Maybe I am; on reflection I’m concerned I’m not gonna have enough time alone to do the things I wanna do. Apparently this confusing disconnection is exactly the freedom I wish for.

Awesome.

Saucepans and burnt pots.

Published July 10, 2012 by 51percentawesome

I’m the kind of person who will burn my pots (and your pots too, if I happen to be using them). And what? If I was the kettle, and I saw the pot looking black, I’d be like ‘Hey, bro, you look like you’ve cooked some mean dinners in your time’. Which it probably has.

Am I happy with who I am? I dunno. I’m a human, and as far as humans go, I’m pretty awesome. I’ve nice enough boobs, and a smile; apparently as far as reproduction is concerned, that’s enough. But as for the human condition itself…. Well. Who wrote this shit? A script where we are squeezed out of a hairy cunt (which we probably rip open, causing immeasurable pain to she who created us). Death sneaks up, with a whole jumbly, unpredictable mess inbetween.

He’s into Darren Brown? Of course he is. Pieces fall into place. He touched my temple, my hand then my ankle, and I was done for. You sure? I’m sure. No emergency contraception this time.

I’ve gotten rid of all my friends who betrayed me, and made space for a new set who are also likely to. My trembling fingers type less ineptly than usual, but more adeptly than they used to. I intended to write lots of stereotypical generalisations about men; about how my mother was right, even though I hoped it was just the weed speaking. About how they really are truly, deeply motivated by sex (and money and power… but mostly sex). About how affection from a woman says ‘I love you’ and tends to be unerring (unless she is punishing… but that’s another conversation), whereas affection from a man says ‘I am attempting to seduce you’. Purely, fucking, functional.

I’ve repierced my tongue. Sexual guilt? Anger at my own words? Whatever. I like it.

One time I lived with someone’s nonsensical rules and slamming doors. And again, and again. How disheartening.

I call a Christian and ask about God, try to reframe into a concept I can believe in. Cos I really want to.

You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.

All plan B’s have bitten the dust, boys included. I curled on the couch and cried. Then got up and initiated what is, on closer inspection, yet another plan B. B for ‘backup’, ‘broke’ and ‘ busting my own balls’.

I’ve started martial arts, and apparently its just what the doctor ordered.