I was going to write a massive text about everything in my life. But right now I think I’ll go with ‘fuck this’…
- Could you give us directions to Olive Garden?
- No, but I could give you directions to an actual Italian restaurant.
- I know I did the right thing.
- It was right.
- If I didn't do it, it would've been even more hurtful that what is was anyway.
- I didn't want to hurt anyone. But I knew I'd have to, to make things right.
- I tried to do it as painless as possible. But obviously I didn't.
- It hurts me so much knowing I crushed you with my selfishness.
- Your heart shattered on the cold ground that day.
- Taking a while to heal; probably.
- I knew it would.
- Which is what makes me such a horrid person...
- Sometimes I wish I was good at something. You know, specifically talented at something. I'm not particularly smart, I don't think, or very special. Which I suppose is ok because I am presented as a blank canvas ready to be painted into something clever, intriguing, or beautiful.
- One of my main aspirations in life is to play the guitar. I have a guitar, he's named Patrick; lame, I know, I named my guitar - but it gives it personality. Patrick is no longer JUST a guitar but he's MY guitar, with a name and a heart. But I never get to play on my guitar these days. I'm either too busy to learn or it's left in the corner of my room, collecting dust as the sun sets on another day. So I get Patrick out of the guitar bag it lays in and start strumming. Out of enthusiasm. But I can't play anything, so it all just sounds complete rubbish. But I guess it doesn't really matter, because at least I'm using it, and enjoying it. Even though it is complete rubbish. So one little moral in the one of many spontaneous pieces of writing I produce: it doesn't really matter what you do, or how you do it - if you enjoy it, do it. Let nothing stop you.
- One of my other aspirations is to go to England after school. First off, I have to focus on my exams, which I REALLY don't want to do because it requires me to think way too hard about things I don't care about anymore. I only care about getting the ATAR I need to get into The Faculty of Health and Behavioural Sciences. Going on a tangent, that's what I hate most about school; you spend 13years of your life in a conformist environment, forced to learn things for your own good. I mean, I understand the importance of primary school up to about yr9 because it's teaching you the basics. But I despise how all of the school years are all just for a single test which will determine the outcome of your life. I know there's other ways around doing what you want, but that's generally how it goes. But back onto England...
- The main reason why I want to go to England next year is to mainly take a break for myself. I know I said I'd take people with me, and originally that was the plan. And certain people aren't happy with my decision to go alone - you know who you are. I completely understand it, though, it would've been fun, but I REALLY have to do this for myself. I'm going to England alone because I need a sense of independence and to become intouch with my spirituality. That's sound terribly hippie and cliche, but it's rather true. I need time away from the life I know so well to understand myself more and to not be clouded by the force of society. I will go there, once I've worked my complete hardest and get the money I require for the trip, then I will spend time with my 84 year old Grandmother who lives alone with her bitch of a cat. I will get to see the people I so dearly miss, and meet the people I have become intouch with through a certain social network... *cough* facebook *cough*. It will be exciting and hopefully successful in showing myself what I'm capable of, to become a stronger person. I know I need to grow up before I go to University, and that's one of the reasons why I'm glad that I'm the youngest in my year at school; because then I'll have a year to spare- to get a job, experience life and grow up.
- That's my life so far; enveloped within a burst of creative journalism.
Reblog if you don’t think you’re beautiful. If you are insecure or self concious.
- I hate it when it's raining like crazy and sunny at the same time.
I try so hard to keep it together. I hold my breath when times get tough. Clasp my hands into fists to contain my anger. Then, when my body is too tired to be strong, it bursts; burts full of emotion, mostly collected anger. And disregarding who it is, if I burst, they will get the full force of the caged pressure that has laid there stagnant inside my aching body.
I can’t remember who told me - or how the subject arose - but I found out the whole story behind ‘The Mad Hatter’ was that, in olden times when they used to make hats, lead was imbedded into the material that they used to make hats. I’m pretty sure it was lead. And so the hat-maker dudes would inhale the lead and gradually become mad. Hence: The Mad Hatter.
Peru, although it is a horrendously poor and rural country, it’s culture and wilderness is what entices me.
What actually happens when we die?
Some people like to think we move up towards the sky, beyond the sky, beyond the stars where everything is at peace and celestial. Or they plunge down into the fiery depths of the soil where our broken bodies will burn eternally.
You know, religion is a funny thing. It gives the world so many expectations of the ‘after life’. Making people believe we shall be born again as something new and young, or be sent to visit the superior being that lives above us. But maybe people should succumb to the initial fact that maybe nothing happens after our bodies become too tired, too damaged and too stretched to continue.
Possibly, when our cases have retired, our souls are lifted from their cages and set free. Set free from the enclosure they have endured for many decades, and released into the exposed world of clouds, grass and the sun. Where, in a way, we are liberated from society and burdens, we are able to float across the prairies of the farmlands, the vast oceans and seas, to experience the pure strength of the moon when it hangs in solitary darkness.
Maybe it wouldn’t even be that serene. We may just expire with not a note of warning, and rot away in a wooden casket in the dirty ground where our spirits are imprisoned in the cage of bones and decaying flesh. Or, to be cremated; to have your remains set alight, wrapped in oil-soaked dressing, your sole frame burnt down to dust and ashes never to be seen again. Having your heart and mind scattered across the ground where, no doubt, regular walkers with their dogs have crossed many a dozen times, where past friendships and memories have been formed – never to be forgotten.
I used to believe, as a child, that when a person dies, their soul, heart and spirit was elevated into the air, past the clouds, way out of the atmosphere and into the distance where nothing is apparent. That a person’s soul would forever blaze in the darkness of space and become a star. A beautiful star, where – although they have physically left the world we call Earth – the people will always be with us, watching over our present selves, and anticipating our future. But, as I said, I was just a child.
So many people have claimed to witness ‘out of body experiences’. I wonder what they actually see, don’t you? Some state they see a series of patterns and bright lights, some say they are raised above their own body, watching their selves as a miserable corpse. I often consider that we see nothing. That we will one day shut down, like a toy that has run out of batteries. Our bodies will be left in obscurity for eternity and suddenly bam! Our spirits will be taken to the unknown.
Not even humans or any other species can predict what will happen when we die. Which, I suppose, is all part of the fun; not knowing. Because, if somebody had proved that dying would create a certain emotion, or that we would experience a particular image, it would ruin our own expectations or anticipations of the outer world. We wouldn’t be terrified or prepared or worried, because we would already know what to assume.
Suicide. It’s a strange thing. It’s sad to think that people’s minds have been corrupted so fiercely that they have the intense urge to end their lives. So many ways, and so easily done. Well, I came across a poem the other day, by a brilliant woman named Dorothy Parker. She was indeed very true when her poem states:
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live. Yes, indeed a truthful piece of poetry. You know, it physically pains me to think of people wanting to kill themselves. To think that people abhor their being so much that they wish to end it. And yet, it could perhaps be the most selfish achievement ever performed by mankind. Because, not only are you relieving yourself from the yoke of life, but you are essentially ripping the hearts of the people that loved you so dearly. Then they start doubting themselves. Ok, picture the dearest, closest person to your heart in your head right now. Imagine if they killed themselves tomorrow. How would you feel? You would feel like you weren’t good enough, that they would have never loved you at all to do such a heartless and cold performance, you feel like you must have done something so utterly wrong to make them achieve suicide; correct? Yes, I would feel entirely the same. Possibly cowering in a shadowed corner slowly rocking on my heels staring blankly at the wall opposite for a while, I expect. So, I give a note of advice to you reader, if you ever feel the inclination to control your death, think twice (maybe a little more than twice) before deciding on your fate.
I don’t know why I brought up the subject of death; it was one of those days where you are just inexplicably sad. One of those days where you intensely want to speak to people you know you cannot. So; I shall indulge in absorbing your time reader, as you pause to educate yourself with the authoress’ opinions.
I leave your mind, valued observer, departing with a residue of the depths and crevices of life, the opportunities and expectancies of death and the after-world. Leaving the deposits of the authoress’ chain of mind within your own, opening doors to possibilities and new emotions…
With the touch or your kindly hand,
A heart whose love is pure,
Is shone upon your cloudless eyes.
You bath in beauty, and
Bask in the rays of the moon.
The pale purple of the night,
Creating such divine madness
To churn the stomach of the strongest man.
The words you speak chime with
The spirit of the purest being.
A woeful child, bleached and fruitless,
Wandering the corridor of the past;
Trapped in the vicious memories
Of agonizing affection.