SMART AND FILTHY

GIRLS PEEING

2012-01-08T00:46:00.000-08:00

Finding the Bathroom At a Party

We’re all sitting in a circle smoking cigarettes on the balcony and I’m taking in this great view of the outskirts of the city, it’s mostly just urban squalor but because of the sunset it has an indescribable quality that reminds you of a painting, like it’s not real. I don’t even know whose apartment this is. It’s mostly ‘fashion people’ and this drug dealer and some older guys who probably earn more a month that I’ve earnt in my entire life. I came with one of my good friends; she works as a talent scout at a modelling agency. She and I are sitting on the edge of the circle. I don’t know why I came. “I need to piss” I said, mostly to my girlfriend but within clear earshot of some of the other party guests. I didn’t give them time to react and got up to find the bathroom. But truthfully, I didn’t give a shit. What, with my gaudy vintage outfit, abortion jokes and the fact that I reeked of stolen Marc Jacobs perfume and my boyfriend’s come meant they couldn’t act surprised. My ‘outrageous dinner guest’ persona had decided to come to the party (without bathing) and wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon. I didn’t really need to go to the bathroom but I had suddenly remembered it as ‘my go to’ move if people were annoying or boring me in a social situation.

I found the bathroom easily and once I had locked the door I looked in the cabinet above the sink. Toothpaste, shaving cream, a dirty looking razor, some sleeping pills – the usual. I pulled my skirt up and my knickers down and sat upon the perfect white toilet seat, staring into the mirror directly in front of me which was in fact the cabinet’s door, attempting to identify which party guest was the owner of this place in my head. I struggled to recall some of their faces, their features almost too perfect to have any sort of lasting effect on one’s memory. Absentmindedly, I trailed my fingers over my lower stomach and the place where my pubic hair starts. It felt stubbly, as usual. My grooming standards weren’t exactly on par with ‘normal’ people, whoever they were. And then it came. Hot, stinging piss. It felt good. Those first couple of pees after being vigorously fucked always held for me a strange and kinda perverse satisfaction.

So, I wasn’t a liar after all. I had needed to go. I slowly closed my eyes against the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom and tilted my head to the ceiling. Tonight would be a long night.

photo: lastnightsparty

BEING OBVIOUS

2011-12-06T02:27:00.000-08:00

You’re blushing orgasmically

Tell me something when I am nothing where I am nowhere and when I am someone tell me anything when I am someone no one tell me everything when I am somewhere so somewhere is you and you in me is everything all no never forever and I am in someone being someone else and myself is you and you are myself till never until forever

breath…

and something that you said somewhere I am with you and here no never alone and without you and within myself to know somewhere you are only yourself and within myself anything everywhere to know everything in yourself and me

breath…
breath…

you are nothing and forever is always and I know always you are forever

breath…
breath…
breath…

yourself you are and me you are and I am yourself and myself internally is eternally nothing is outside ourselves you are

silence…
silence…
silence…

WORD GAMES

2011-11-13T02:23:00.000-08:00

Burning Cheeks

The nights are her streets.
Her streets are alight.
She fucks like she fights.
She pretends she is tight.
Her nights are alight.
She says she’s alright.
She’s worn out.
But fights.
She growls and she bites.
Her fucks are so nice.
Her skin is so light.
Skin is so tight.
Smack her so right.
Right in her might.
Lights are so light.
Try and she might.
Might in the night.
Right is for right.
Wrong is for life.
Sin is her wife.
Wife is not right.
Knife in the night.
Nights are her knives.
Shout at his wife.
Wife is on fire.
Nights are on fire.
Eat her some liars.
Liars and tyres.
Knives and a pyre.
Knives in the liars.
Sin on a pyre.
Wives strung on a wire.

BUTCHERING

2011-10-17T04:14:00.000-07:00

He said

Eyes and eyes Lie in time Fly in time Breath in time Heart in time Fuck in time I should be fined Fine and rhyme You are so fine Skeletor and fell on door Barged right in Red lips should grin And teeth knocked out Upon your skin Skin is like a veil White as a veil And my angel face is sore like a veil Blood and saws Desperado din Let me in Let me in I am selling you something Felt a spiderweb shred re-read Shredded hearts and torn page bibles Heart on your sleeve and heinous crimes and fires Sleeves for wiping snot and cum Your heart lays on the table dumb Bled and bled and bled and bled I am well fed Eat it with a knife and fork Twist and fought Throw me Wilting like a flowered doll Cows will die Virgins cry How do you disguise a whole ocean in your eyes?

photo: petra collins

ADVERTISING TO GIRLS

2011-09-09T22:40:00.000-07:00

Billboards

Ow my back i have endlessly broken my back for you and been your mother i’ve been in labour and given birth to all of you and i’ve been your princess and a bride and a whore to you you stupid shiny ads you told me what dress to wear and what’s acceptable and to cross my legs and not sit with them apart i have permanently damaged my feet wearing high heels maybe you should wear them too and put on all my makeup so you can feel like a clown feel like a piñata a cow and be festive in trivial situations like parties and be quiet in front of intellectuals and only talk to other women you choose when i should dirty talk and make up rules and rituals please cut me when you shave my pubic hair off and dismiss me when i laugh too loud you only pay me attention when im dancing you buy me things i don’t need because my beauty is second-rate to actresses and you pride me on my hollowness Jesus Christ im only the mother of your children

photo: Arvida Bystrom

SHRINES

2011-09-08T04:59:00.000-07:00

Pray for me

And your come feels like leather and softness and grace and it feels like i’ve never existed in this space never existed before this waited for something that never exists in a triangle of bare ass liquid fucking come till my heart was bursting. I think i got used to sad people i think i got used to sad me sadness and cheating and everything and playing a pantomime and plays a whole dreaded romance played on a stage and i waned and i faint and i try and i fall dumb little princess big fucking mall. But i knelt at your altar and bared all my flaws and my knees are all bruised and i sold all my dolls and my shrine is the feet of fallen angel whores and i think i’m reborn religious iconography porn Catholicism and gold a million dollar smile for the poor. The poor are so free and i’m sick of the horse crucify me and mail me to thieves common thieves are my friends a smile while i’m on the cross lay me down on white sheets and lay me i’m lost.

photo: petra collins

INADEQUENCY

2011-09-05T01:55:00.000-07:00

Dead White Guys

Naked falling stars jointly falling snoring joints
Creaking rolling
Neon Prostitute moaning mauling at her heart gnawing
Fawning rowdy romp and calling out and pout
Pretty lips and lipstick out
Never fall about
Teasing hair and underwear
Jesus Christ superstar
She’ll go far and strip off her own clothes
And hair
And skin
And teeth
A wife
A snitch
A lie
A thief
A woman is a weapon
A woman should be put down
Take the words from her mouth
And put them down
On paper
And call them your own
And later
Call her up to bone her
Take away all her honour
And sew her
Up so no other man can get her
She is like a dog
A whorish dog
In heat
On a leash
In heat
In summer heat
And she bleeds
And she bleeds
Just maggot
Fucking bleed
And die
And be silent
You’ll never start a riot
With you typewriter
Quiet.

photo sourced from ilikeyoursundaypersonalitybetter

PART OF A COLLAGE EXERCISE FOR A UNI SUBJECT

2011-08-29T00:14:00.000-07:00

Heterosexuality

Nice boys don’t kiss like that
That’s not a good enough offer for me
I can’t stop thinking about you
Perhaps we should’ve got married
I mean obviously not because I’ve only slept with nine people
I’d have to marry your friends
Two people are in love, they live together and then suddenly one day, they run out of conversation
Sometimes I get so lonely I forget what day it is
But not so much as a tongue in sight
I was promised sex
You can stay forever
I’m just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her
You haven’t slept with her, have you?
It just got to the point where I couldn’t remember any of the reasons why we were together
I’m just using him for sex
I knew it the very first time I touched her
We both screw people for money
Yes they fucking do
I love you because we’re alike, bad lots, both of us
I don’t deserve you
Although you need kissing badly.

This collage is made from the scripts of a handful of romance films.

photo: Aëla Labbé

READ THIS ALOUD

2011-08-20T05:33:00.000-07:00

Metallic Pussy

Pussy pussy woof woof metallic beam cold pussy ice pussy ice queen ice cream
Pussy meow pussy feline reow pussy catty scratch pussy pain meow
Cat calling pussy out
Wet pussy hot pussy down pussy good girl pussy frown
Pussy slippery slide pussy drowns
Poor pussy naughty pussy pussy put outside
Pussy dark pussy pink pussy wet inside
Pussy girl pussy love pussy like mother
Pussy fresh pussy clean pussy pretty power
Pussy lover pussy loser pussy chooser lover loser pussy move shake and groove her
Pussy flower pink and shower
Pussy show-er grower meow-er.

photo: johnnys bird

TRYING TO GET BETTER AT HERMETIC STUFF

2011-08-01T06:33:00.001-07:00

A.S.H

Sexy dumb sex hair everywhere everywhere even in your face hate love hate love your face when I’m kissing your face and my hair won’t stay in place and I have to undo it at a crucial moment and you wait for me and I shake it out sexily maybe not too sexily it isn’t Baywatch I know sexy dumb sex hair flipping around you sleep in it and I look at your arm hair compared to mine in the lamplight lampshade fadehaze the silly fawn I play we play silly games I’m the pin up girl on your cards shuffle the deck lost respect for yourself how funny your mother’s in the home she can’t see you ironing to do morning breath whispers get the tie on straight lost your bus card wait goodbye kiss and my dark manicured nails against your paleness face reality never fakes it never waits and it just keeps on no matter how many wet dreams you have no matter how many bongs.

(photo: jurgen teller)

SAMPLE SALES

2011-06-28T23:18:00.000-07:00

Ciao babes

Why do I take jobs that don’t pay money? Instead I get paid in free makeup, bottles of good wine, cheap vodka, guestlist spots, shitty canapés, flirty emails, photoshoots, free dinners, vouchers for jean stores, flights to places where I can’t afford anything and cleanser samples. You can’t build a life on a whole lot of useless shit and hangovers. Can you?

MORNINGS SUCK

2011-06-04T07:59:00.000-07:00

Computer screens

I’m tired of your broken face. Your sleazy ways, just take and take. I am not a machine. Not pleased so easily. Free up your time for me. No hoe around for free. There’s something in it for me. Porno doesn’t take you far, your own head up your arse. Slap me silly. And take me out to dinner please. A fake, a fake, a diamond fake, you fade away in distance babe. Hit on another version of me. She’s young and so pretty. Never cooler than you and me. Your sex was like a vision see. Pee out and my vagee. Pants so tight and strangalee. Dicks are art in contemporary. A world where cash means diligence. Only work hard if a boner is rammed in your arse. Morning wood at 9am. The boss did it again. Blowjobs are never for free. You’re locked down in my heart maybe. And I will never show you how. You ended up in my mouth. We hate our jobs and our lives. Despise our sexy lies. Bruise my thighs and not eat. You’re skinny for a reason baby.

photo: merlin bronques

DYKE VIBE

2011-05-26T16:54:00.000-07:00

Dressing the part

Denim on denim Sweat on sweat I look like a dyke “yeah I’ll bet” but I always liked your dick How wet the jailbait pieces bait new babies Are you out tonight? Oh you’re seeing her oh right Mixed up phone number miscommunication danger Making up excuses not to see him but in the end you need a friend a sexy bed neon red Take notes on the stripper fishnets and fake hair you’ve always been a double dipper flipper trip her Dinner dates go get stoned you love her better Take a leash and walk her out on display You haven’t treated me that way for ages Downy fur rip out the pages if you read my diary in the dark Shout and fuck we play our parts Dance and twist and never answer You’re a joker with your pants down.

PUBLISHED

2011-05-23T00:36:00.000-07:00

This is my attempt at not writing creatively.

http://www.mastermousepatrol.com/2011/05/17/relationships/

I SHOULD BE DOING UNI WORK

2011-05-23T00:34:00.000-07:00

http://thisisprobablygeneric.tumblr.com/

http://formspring.me/roxannegroebel

http://www.twitter.com/roxannegroebel

TEXT MESSAGING AT INAPPROPRIATE HOURS

2011-05-14T02:29:00.000-07:00

What I wish I could really say in text messages

Real text: Hey how is your new job?
Translation: Pulp’s Do You Remember the First Time? came on the radio at work today and I thought of u. Even though u don’t listen to them.

Real text: Stay over?
Translation: I miss our 2pm breakfasts.

Real text: Sorry I’ve just been really stressed lately. Heaps busy.
Translation: I was happy this time last yr.

Real text: I don’t think I can make it.
Translation: I was better off when I didn’t know u properly. And u were just a man I slept with.

Real text: This weather succkkkks.
Translation: It isn’t the rain that is making me sad its you.

Real text: Wish I wasn’t living here atm.
Translation: No one is taking care of me here. I am really lonely.

GRADUATING NEXT YEAR

2011-05-10T00:08:00.000-07:00

Woah

You wonder what it’s like having a full time job and then it hits you. You will have a full time job next year. And all the freedom and responsibility a real adult has. And you know you can deal with it. When it comes along. But somewhere in the back of your head, you get scared. Because things are so expensive now. And who will look after you when you are sick? Who will warm up the hot water bottle for you when you are on your period and it’s really heavy and you have those terrible shooting pains? And for that matter, will you even have enough spare cash for a hot water bottle? Could you even afford a fluffy one?

photo: ghost world, the movie.

THIS IS WHAT IS IN PEOPLES HEADS AT FASHION WEEK

2011-05-05T04:29:00.000-07:00

The Fashion Week Edition

I’m at an afterparty. You’re at another afterparty. I didn’t even make it to any shows today. I have this phoney media pass that I don’t really deserve. It’s official, laminated, shiny, it makes me feel guilty. I’ll look up the coverage when I get home on Vogue and prepare properly for tomorrow. We’ll leave soon. We hate everyone here. I actually air kissed someone, like literally did not touch their face with my face like I usually do. I dreaded bumping into you tonight. But I was sad when I didn’t. I was drunk a lot of today. I was in bed a lot of today. And so tonight I’m kinda glad the bar tab ran out so quickly. I wonder if you brought a date to the party I’m not at. The party whose list I am on but that I’m avoiding. Sydney is too small. Everyone, everywhere knows someone who knows someone who knows me or who I am friends with. It gets harder to lie when it’s like that. Everywhere, everyone is hungry for a fame that doesn’t exist.

photo: Gail Sorronda - RAFW 2011

EASTERS COMING UP

2011-04-16T19:23:00.000-07:00

God and stuff Jesus Christ was a prostitute before your days and hundreds of your undulating pains Whores will suck away away your pain I look up to God and my friends who are gay Whores are angels who are sent away Heaven’s made of flowers Waves of faint Hundreds of your tears stored away In a jar on my bedside table Eat them day to day Flickering worship of your sex I noticed how your toes look in bed And how your cock glistens the veins I take pleasure in your public shame The dirty ones are part of your cure I wonder if I would ever do her? Floating through see-through rain The shuffle of the cosmos and hobos caves The world is full of pictures and pretty babes The world is full of sin and games Floating through see-through rain I would lay down my art and gave I will lay and lay Suck you till you’re dry and tame Lay for fame drain your came.

photo: dido fontana

YOU ARE GETTING OLDER

2011-04-06T05:43:00.000-07:00

Since when did you become so horrible?

Step 1: So in high school you can’t be horrible. You’re in no position to exclude anyone. You’re weird. You’re frumpy. You don’t have those acrylic nails that all the other girls’ have. You sit in a corner doing your English homework (that you secretly love) and wish you had bigger boobs.

Step 2: You get to senior year and you suddenly realise that somehow you are special. You start reading up about Pop Art. You figure out that feeling displaced and being dissatisfied are markers of ‘a somebody’, of a ‘tortured soul’, of someone who becomes famous. You memorise lines from old movies, you dream about smoking but are too scared to actually buy a pack of cigarettes. You wear fake eyelashes in your Geography class. You start creating rumours about yourself. Your classmates start believing them. Suddenly you are an ‘alcoholic whore’. And you couldn’t be happier. You get invited to parties you would never dream of going to and you don’t go to them. You like the whispers behind your back. You start to ignore the school uniform and instead wear tight pencil skirts in the school colours. You dream about having an affair with the music teacher.

Step 3: You get into uni and suddenly triple your friends in a week. You get a boyfriend. You go to your older friends’ gigs. You get drunk on the weekends. You make friends with the security guy at the indie dive club you go to every Friday. He even gives you money sometimes, just so you get in. Your boyfriend breaks up with you. You sleep with someone else. You feel liberated. You steal beer. You vomit. You graffiti in public toilets. You pose naked for your photographer friend. You can feel yourself growing up into someone, you feel something like happiness when you sit on someone’s balcony at 3am. You feel your heart beat now. You can walk in heels now. But you choose to wear second-hand Dr Martens most of the time.

Step 4: You grow up. You do work experience. You wear ‘indie’ clothes now. You have a ‘phone voice’. You know which classes to skip at uni because you have a hangover and which ones you must force yourself to go to. You know how to introduce yourself to potential ‘contacts’. You have this dramatic affair with a man. An actual man, with a place of his own and a job and the courtesy to make you tea after you sleep with him. You go to art openings and stop having to pay to get into clubs. You drink all the time now but rarely get sick. You smoke a pack every three weeks. You always lose your lighters. You have a CV. You have a breakdown in your last semester of uni. You get a retail job at an upmarket shop. You start to buy expensive ‘vintage’ clothes. You get photographed at clubs and laugh about it. You don’t talk to your high school friends much. You look too haggard against them anyway, it doesn’t make sense. You realise they don’t wear makeup.

Step 5: You work too much and don’t get paid for it. You had to quit your retail job. You don’t want to study anymore. You realise everyone is moving out. You know next year will be it. The real world – graduating, a salary, an apartment, being too sad to go out and just having parties. You smoke weed on the holidays and write novels that never get finished. You are always on your computer. You now just go out on weeknights and Friday nights. You like to drink in gutters or VIP booths. You date people sometimes but you rather sleep with someone from your past. At least he is consistent. You somehow know about food now. Well, enough to fake it. You get manicures. No one in your family ‘gets’ your haircut. You have artist friends. You show at galleries occasionally. You don’t really give people that wear fake tan or embarrassing cheap clothes the time of day. You surround yourself with people who are as ambitious, vain and willing as you. You don’t bullshit anymore. You take taxis paid for by someone else. You actually gossip about who is dating who this week with your girlfriends. You encourage your timid gay to be slutty. You dance however you want to, you get texts all the time at weird hours, mostly from people you used to date. Your friends all experience the same thing. You bum smokes from them on the street. You look like them and you’re happy you aren’t like happy people. People fall in love with you. You break their hearts. You eat bad takeout at 1am.

(photo: merlin bronques)

SOMETHING THAT I FORGOT I WROTE

2011-03-27T00:36:00.000-07:00

I always try not to write about you

You are perhaps the most exciting, complex, miserable, dramatic, romantic thing that has ever happened to me. I will always be in love when I first met you. I looked at you and somehow you were perfect. Perfect against the backdrop of city lights.

(photo: lelove blog)

SELLING YOUR HEART

2011-03-13T01:13:00.000-08:00

We will be in flux

I chipped my nail Ripped it off Tore off the blood Drips down my thumb Spills on your bed Strands of my hair are found between the sheets I wonder if she’ll notice Wonder and care I let you break my heart again and again But I think its fair For all the good men I’ve left And all the care I’ve uncared Share and share I overshare and you take it all in Drink up my drunken confessions I left your bed for another man I’ve been on the brink of tears In my head In my bed alone In your bed alone Hotel of my discontent I found my home in your bed And everything feels like a betrayal A sale of my body And head A sale of my image High interest rate I feel like everything is rape I only want you to exploit me Hold me Taunt me Read me Taste me Hate me I think I used to believe in you One day the truth will seep and seam together Me and you Be happy for me I’ll be happy for you Without you And our lives will always be two.

(photo- corrine day)

CRAZYLADIES

2011-03-03T22:57:00.000-08:00

How to Have a Panic Attack on Newtown Station

1. Spot that dude that you half slept with and who is a pussy about adult situations because he has to hide behind this ‘I’m sensitive like Robert Smith’ façade on Newtown train station on a Friday night. Pre-drinks have already settled in.

2. Turn to your friend with a look that could only be described as ‘how a dog looks before a tsunami’.

3. Create as much physical distance between yourself and said dude, even if this means running the entire length of the platform spluttering for breath because you are a smoker.

4. Nearly barge into that crack-addled hobo that practically lives on the station and get even more panicky.

5. Get to the end of the platform and realise that you will never get far enough away from him but feel satisfied that he’s not following you.

6 Turn back and look for your bewildered friend who is strolling down the platform, making ‘I don’t know’ shrugging gestures to all the other commuters.

7. Squat down on platform and gasp for breath, your head reeling and your eyes squeezed tight.

8. When your friend finally arrives at the end of the platform explain what happened in (mostly) gibberish.

9. Friend laughs hysterically. You laugh hysterically while actually feeling really freaked out.

10. She ushers you onto the train telling you not to feel sad, while you proclaim half-seriously to the entire carriage “Why do I have to sleep with everyone?”

SOME THINGS DON'T WORK OUT

2011-02-07T02:58:00.000-08:00

The Narrative Arc of a Non-relationship Relationship

Boy meets girl at someone’s art show. They both somehow know the same people and socialise at the same bunch of galleries, bookstores, indie bars and hipster clubs that anyone who is remotely creative and in the age group of 18-25 does.

Cue being drunk and shamelessly, awkwardly flirting. Exchange numbers, really casually. Like you guys want to be ‘just friends’. Yeah right.

Have Facebook sex for awhile. Meaning ‘like’ photos and statuses here and there which makes you appear nonchalant but have confidential inbox conversations where the thread goes on forever and you get those ‘first dating’ questions out of the way so when you finally meet up for sexin’ times it won’t be totally freaky.

Text each other more and more frequently. Mock sext each other. You know, because actually being sexy is icky and mainstream.

Meet up at night and drink quite steadily and with much nervous conviction. Watch a band you don’t even really like. Stay out later than you should. Hold hands and laugh and talk about how you didn’t fit in at high school.

Makeout on the street and complain that you have no way home.

Get lead back to his gross sharehouse. Smoke some more. Drink some more. Listen to Cut Copy. Become sleepy and horny simultaneously. Have awkward sex. Fall asleep in each others arms, naked and drooling.

Wake up, have good sex pretty much all day to make up for the grabby, sloppy sex you had the night before. Be astounded at the fact that you’ve barely known him for 48 hours and you already feel confident looking like a sea hag in front of him and kissing him with morning breath.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Over the space of a month.

Start grocery shopping with him. And have silly fights. And bicker about shit that doesn’t matter. And accidently call each ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ in front of some shop assistant at the record store. And never discuss it. Just pretend like it didn’t happen.

Begin ‘staying in’ some nights and be bored with one another and everything and everyone. Continue building up some weird cloud of resentment between the two of you that has no logical explanation or origin.

Start losing interest. Stop responding to every text message. Have irregular dates. Have irregular sex. Don’t constantly hold hands. Stop texting each other random song lyrics and your thoughts about how most people are the scum of the earth.

Slowly drift apart. Have sex with other people. Drink more heavily than you usually do.

Cry half-heartedly and listen to How Can I Say I Love You? by Girls every day consistently for a week.

Stalk his stoner-y tumblr account. Daydream about what it would’ve been like if it wasn’t so fucked up between the both of you. Consider names for children you will never have with him.

Drunk dial each other. And make promises that you will never keep.

Have sex with him when you get pissed off with your new flings and you crave something familiar and safe. Because come on, dudes trying to eat you out is really fucking shit and repetitive. And plus you rather his mean fingerblastin’ ways.

Realise that he always makes you come. Realise you should probably marry him. Realise that you probably hate him.

Stop all contact when you have secured a new fling, a ‘real boyfriend’ or a new job interstate.

Fin.

(photo- milobel grove)

YOU'RE PROBABLY ON THIS LIST

2011-02-05T22:41:00.000-08:00

All the people I’ve ever kissed (there is one person missing on this list, I think)

HANS
He was the first guy I’d ever made out with. It was fucking immense. I was drunk. In the middle of nowhere, at a really bad gig. In Germany. The sky was really pretty that night.

ANDY
Drunk. Drunk. So fucking drunk. I don’t even think he remembered it. It was by the side of a road in the suburbs. And one of my friends had a crush on him.

PIERRE
House party. Way drunk. I embarrassed myself. And too much tongue.

JIMI
Out in the city for the night. He was a friend of a friend. And smelt like weed and peanut butter. Quite a good kisser. We were both drunk.

NIGEL
He was one of my friend’s exes and he was so fucking in love with me. He wasn’t even attractive. And he was a sloppy kisser. Ate out my ear way too much.

RONA
She was and still is one of my best friends. We were drunk. It was pretty exciting but neither good nor bad.

SOMEONE
Obviously I remembered the next day I had kissed someone but I can’t remember who.

LOLA
She’s one of my best friends. See above re: Rona. Teeth basher. Quite dramatic. It really cemented the fact that I was straight.

JEZ
I don’t know. I can’t remember. I was seriously wasted. I get this feeling he looked like this super tall guy who was in love with me at highschool. Oh and I felt sorry for him somehow. We met at a club one night.

JOEY
I think this was the guy who had a moustache, non ironically. Major douche. And told me that he would teach me how to kiss. I was offended by that since the only reason we were both kissing badly was because we were drunk and his moustache was irritating me.

FRANKLIN
He assaulted my face. I don’t know why I kissed him. I have this feeling he was nerdy and had a bit of pudge. It was bad and was over very quickly.

AIDEN
My first pair of braces and my first Asian. Bless. It was rather fleeting and he didn’t kiss back that much. I was pretty out of it.

OLLIE
It was always good. Passionate. Memorable. We could manage to kiss while we were stumbling and smashing into a wall in someone’s darkened corridor drunk.

GABE
It was so messy and hard and good. The alcohol really helped me. I could barely keep my eyes open because of all the booze and I couldn’t sustain any form of conversation. The only thing left for me to do was kiss. And close my eyes. I had to because I have never been attracted to him.

PATRICIO
He was 27 and foreign. And the making out was adequate. I never saw him after our only date.

MILO
I was very drunk on NYE and I was bored. I didn’t know most of the people at the party. They were mostly my friend’s boyfriend’s friends. I can’t remember that much of it. But I remember it being good and comfortable.

DEAN
It was always great. And amazing. And fantastic. And like we were in a movie.

BART
We were both drunk and it was my birthday. It was pretty sloppy and lazy. And we became disinterested quickly. We are still friends.

JACK
He’s my friend. We were both wasted. And I just did it out of nowhere because I was bored. But I truly do love him as a friend. I slipped tongue in there once I think. I can’t remember.

LENNY
The first time we kissed he used a little too much tongue. But it became better and better. He always seemed really into it and it made me feel wanted all the time.

GREG
His kissing was always really sweet and familiar. And he didn’t use much tongue. It reminded me of 50s movies. But his tongue usage always increased as he got more horny.

KIM
He was very attractive and had a British accent. And he was an adequate kisser. But I didn’t feel the vibe. And he held my hand weirdly. He attempted to take me home the night I met him. He was an idiot.

GARETH
It was nice, nothing special though. He turned into a bit of an asshole and was in some band. We quickly lost each other in the crowd and I went back to dancing with my friends.

MARLY
A dark corner in a club. He was a photographer. I was way more drunk than he was. It was sloppy but not in a I’m-raping-your-face way. Totally unmemorable.

CASH
She’s my friend. But it was nice and comfortable. And it felt like I was taking the lead but that she was into it.

DIRK
He was super smashed when he first kissed me, out of nowhere. But he was pretty good for being that out of it. He was always very passionate.

TIMMY D
Quick kisses on the lips, no tongue. It was very cute. Hang on, he kissed me once with tongue. But he didn’t dive down my throat. It was really lovely. I didn’t know him well.

SID
He didn’t kiss that furiously at the start, it was like he had to warm up. But when he got comfortable he used a lot of tongue. It was ‘highschool’ in a way but nostalgically so. There was a lot of desire behind it.

*Names changed due to privacy issues

FUCK UPS INC.

2011-01-30T04:40:00.000-08:00

In the personals

I came to the realisation today that if you happen to be a woman who is sure of herself and a little crazy and pretty fucking defiant the only men that will ever love you and I mean really love you (fall off a cliff into an ocean and die for you love) have to be severely fucked… in the head. Like they have to actually have mental breakdowns, a drug habit or depression. Or all three. Take for instance Kurt and Courtney. No one actually falls in love with the loud, ballsy, heroin addict, former stripper, general mischief maker, panty flasher. No one. But fuck ups. It’s horrible but it’s true.

So that’s what I need. A man who has an addiction. And hates people.

It will be the end to my love life problems.

*Places add in paper*

Woman seeks man.
Creative genius and addiction are a must. Dress sense: ‘layered vintage’. Has to be at least 170cm tall. Looks: irrelevant. Must be down to fuck. And marry me.

THIEVERY

2011-01-16T23:49:00.000-08:00

Shoplifting is a job

I stole today, a small bottle of nail polish, the colour of which I will get bored of in a few weeks. The rush was short-lived. I had forgotten I had stole it half an hour later. Maybe that says something about my mental health, that I’m flippant about it. It is bright orange. I didn’t need it. I could’ve afforded it. But I stole it. Because I wasn’t going to waste money on something in a ‘bargin bin’. Yeah, I really deserve to spend my hard earned money on some shit that will be thrown out later that day. I’m going to stop there because I sound like a bratty, little fucker who has entitlement issues. But I get a free pass because I grew up in a shit area and went to a public school right?

I INVENT WORDS SOMETIMES

2011-01-04T00:41:00.000-08:00

When you are silent I make up things in my head that you are saying to me

You gave it all up to me. In a sea a sea. And I never knew how boring our conversations could be and had become. And all the sex and yawning. One day in the past you yearned for me. But you run back to her quizzically. I bought you that hat. The one I know she’ll like. She steals it from you and wears my rights. I’m talking to someone else tonight. And dirty talking and dancing. And stumbling and tripping. And I’m spilling my drinks on someone else’s shoes you fuckwit. You never did support me, in my drinking career and my emotional scorning. I’m waking up with another man this morning but I can’t find the same embrace you gave me. The same concave chest forsaking. A place I could nestle in and you would crush around me and down on me. And I’m lost and you won’t save me because I made a cocoon of hay and shavings of mine and your skin, melded together and shining. A death lay in waiting. You will find strangers’ kisses on me now. And bruising the petals of my heart, bleeding menstrually you see. You kick me out of the house because I don’t smell like me. I am a fortress, raped and pillaged, forfeit chilling, I came on you willing. I am an empty bottle now, you’ve used me like no one else before. There’s no more left you’re sure. Like those empty wine bottles that litter your bedroom and hall.

HOW MEN THINK

2010-12-12T01:41:00.000-08:00

A straight man’s Bible

She is like seas and oceans and waterfalls.
She is sunsets and the moment you realise ‘it’s not your baby’.
She is the physical embodiment of that moment of calm which follows a good hard come.
She is bliss.
She is having a winning hand at polka.
She is lesbian porno and the first beer on a Friday afternoon. She is a symphony and the rush you get when you fuck a woman in the backseat of a car.
She is finding money on the street.
She is beauty.
She is a god.
She is naked.
She is perfection to men.

MISS ANGSTY

2010-11-21T21:57:00.000-08:00

Predictable teenagers

This is a piece of writing about a piece of writing.
So you wrote this on your bed.
With your fluffy pen.
Your feet in the air.
Miniature toenails painted pink.
Clumpy mascara sticks to your pillow.
And still the embarrassing teddy bears on your bed.
That no one knows about.
Except your best friend.
The same best friend that you practised kissing with when you were eleven.
And it’s a stupid high school poem.
About the pain you’ve never known.
And the abstract infatuation you have with that boy who ignores you.
But stares at you from a distance when you can’t see him.
When you are focusing on something else.
Or chewing gum and popping it loudly and talking about shoes.
It’s about a passion that you don’t have.
But that you will learn when you start to fuck.
And you really want to fuck but more because of the adult allure of fucking and not because you are particularly fond of penises.
You will be one day.
It is so cliché and gloomy.
And everything rhymes.
And nothing that has any semblance to your actual real life marks the pages.
Because you think being in maths class and silly flirting and sleepovers are not interesting.
And are not worth writing about.
The greatest poets of our time write about important, intensely felt ‘things’.
And although you don’t really know who the greatest poets of our time are you know you must write about tortured mental states and scandal to be taken seriously.
Exploits that you have only dreamt about in wet dreams.
Dreams that excite but also scare you.
If only you knew what was waiting for you in your impending womanhood.
Your adolescent ways and carefree freckles-on-the-nose attitude would be infinitely complex to you.
But you can never know.
You only know awkwardness and wanting.
You only know lostness and yearning.
You only know who you are now.
And you don’t know who that is at all.

(photo- linus richard)

I WONDER WHEN ALL THE WONDER WILL WEAR OFF

2010-11-15T03:02:00.000-08:00

Thoughts on the lost nights of my youth which mostly happened on a dark street corner in Paddington

She smelt like disco lemonade. His chapstick was the whitest shade. Lick your teeth and slip your sunglasses on. Wear the night like a song. Oh dick romantic baby. Pussy fantastic maybe. Plastic tragic muscles in. Just stomp my eyes so they fall out insane. And my heart baby falls right through my brain. Downtown super-fame. Tight pants, wet lips. Crushed souls, fat tips. Stripper heels and snorting drugs. Get so down so I get high on your love. Pimp me daddy and I’ll tell your mum. Drink me down, rainbow gutters. Just get strung. Dirty boots kick street urchins. Teeth dug all in. Searching searching for gold-plated surprise. Bass plays out your see-through lies. Tipping, twisting phantom cries. Darken rooms before love dies.

(photo- autumn sonnichsen)

BATHROOMS

2010-11-14T01:51:00.000-08:00

This was part of my writing portfolio project for uni. It's too long to post in its entireity, so I thought I would just post up the section that I was the most happy with. Tell me what you think. It's influenced by Gertrude Stein's hermetic texts and Jack Kerouac's spontaneous prose.

Stagger shatter up the hallway Water water Bathroom lightness Starkly pulsing Like a moth to fluorescent light bulbs Angry bubbles ravage inside her Dirty bath water licks her licks her licks her tricks her Flavours soak into wetness Silence dull and troubled In a doorway Time ticks by unexpectedly Man in hazy hotness Sopping soapness and tile shyness Shine lay and wet, slicked back sexiness Wet on wet White on white wet on feet isles of light wet on dripping wet of fright Living dead mister Blood soaked sacrifice Virginity spent Like a Jesus leisurely crucified Mummified lips and tranquilize Well worn ducts and pricks in eyes Religion of his shimmering size Peeling away in currents Lying like onions Raspy constriction furrows Back to his body Door crumble falling.

Behind her thud Godzilla footsteps Earth shatter Violin screech on seal skin beckons sweet Watery aerodynamic coat Jutting profile Princely pain and face Statue of girl-ness Downtrodden make him wait Warmth buried in shell ear Bell ears come near
They toll together And water hands drape silhouette in silkiness Hair and smells like an animal Flush of her check Blush bruise of fire Fine hair electric Hot hot heat and fantastic rush Prism light pushes Into black holes of infinity Her body is infinite As it was in twilight Alone for awhile And eternity A retro feeling Storms in the cavities That used to be a record spinning It played everyday.

Face to face At the break Their breathing makes Waves and crash Miniscule fractions of time And space Separate lips They’ve missed And kiss and kiss For kiss and kiss Quickness and frisk And breathe and warmness Clear spit interchange Get to the depths of one Catacombs of holy saliva Youngness of tongues and sweat pits Sank ships of greatness Anchor in and bait it Violence and arms and legs in Wide open and exposed chests Feet and nails and blood fits Blooms of full full wetness Explore blossom reckless Arching like a black cat Night terror Magic grasps Kiss his closed eye With harsh moans And moonlight fever Hate colours her limbs Anger pours from her forehead Obscenities and urges for battle Rattle neck cords strain Violence paints the memories Pain and leftover felonies Spray of bodily rain and screaming A punishment and date-rape proclamation Danger danger non-stranger Torn and stitched with safety pins Heart explodes and he ignores it He doefully takes And she is noisy Full of savage fancy Rancid lust misanthropy.

Waves did strangle her love Now it bursts alight Tight-knit closeness chooses Her and him tonight Sprang a spring of lust shower Higher warmth together Explode and seizure in bad weather And her night is much much wetter Moon slices fall And their hearts The same blood pumping with unconditional.

Silence flickers like a moving picture Of 1922 All is still Dawn rises In bodies still And love swims in fissures Scissors scissors scrape and cut Delivers tears Adultery of
bitches lizard Flappers dance and drink Shrink down to movie size Play it dangerously Silly childish games The same the same the same All the same.

Romeo is a whore That Juilet she swore Never love for me Stick it in for free But genuine magic found her Grounds her It will never let her be His for her And her for he And we and we all for free He was jailed in her art And thumps her blood in his heart He drifts away In seas of foam and hate Stiffly jointed corpse Gallops to hell On horse He is a ghost ship of grey A mostly hollow fray.

Adhesive of their wasted beauty Bonds them forever Forceful truthfully And the foolish woman she becomes Cries and bites him till she’s dumb.

RIP CORRINE DAY

2010-10-11T03:35:00.000-07:00

Battered young things

So you’re down and out again. And the guy you fucked last week is getting married. Your assignments are piling up and you want to tear your hair out. You’ve had to give up the therapist because your parents aren’t paying for it anymore and you have no stable cash to speak of. You guess that you’ll just have to rely on your friends and dye your hair again. And stay drunk for just one more week till you can get your shit together. “It’s difficult being young”, everyone says.

(photo by Corrine Day)

WORD VOMIT

2010-09-19T00:39:00.001-07:00

The kind of stuff my friends say

Follow me I’m blogging now Like this Phone me Come to my friend’s art show She is so skinny now We just watched Dee’s set and drank beers This party’s boring I’ll try to get out of it My funeral will be nothing like this 27 is the age to die You aren’t a rockstar I just want to get fucked up I couldn’t even afford noodles I have a connection down the coast Do you have a light? We need some speed I forgot your c.d You get a free zine Do you still wanna go? She vomited and cried on my bathroom floor I used to think I loved her You know me, I never have real relationships anyway So who are you seeing now? Tell me about the people you are fucking now Wow that’s so deep I simply just don’t give a fuck Please don’t call yourself ugly it’s predictable now You are gorgeous as always We’ll do lunch or something promise She always has an internship It was like never ending it was like a dream He is so despondent sometimes but when we sleep together its like I’ve known him forever, you know what I mean? Men are so dumb She totally noticed me and just walked by Oh haven’t you heard he’s living with Thurston now Apparently she left home He sells smack There was just a mattress on the floor Its always messy there We couldn’t even be bothered to go out It just rained and rained That photographer tried to follow me into the bathroom I wasn’t that drunk I swear he used to fuck her or wants to I think its too much too soon You and him just lost touch right? It happens to everyone Oh he just talked about his crabs for like 15 minutes We didn’t leave on a bad note He’s dramatic sometimes We still sleep together I don’t hate her Its just that we don’t have anything to say anymore She’s good for sex though I worry about her mental health sometimes Don’t tell her I said anything I hope I never have to have an abortion She grew up too soon She had a baby She is only 25 God that’s so tragic He skateboards Oh you know her the one with the home haircut and the lip piercing She models now I think we will just hang out at Kat’s house She just moved I stole vodka last night It was so eerie He dresses like some hipster paedophile Well I kinda just be polite to him I mean he could get us in to places Do you know the dj? You never swallow normally do you? Jesus he kissed like he was in year 7 so horrible I think we should take a cab She almost passed out that day Can you come to the hospital with me? I just want some weed I just don’t know I dream about him She messages me in the night when she’s drunk I really think he’s a boy he used to be a man She just left the country God I need a drink and some money Pick up my cigarettes baby? He has forgotten Come to my ex’s party Yeah I’ll get everyone on the list It’ll be ok Just forget about him.

(photo by rita lino)

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GET MARRIED TO A GRAF ARTIST YOU HAVE DATED FOR 10 DAYS

2010-09-08T05:14:00.000-07:00

Foreign babes

“Is this love or does it just feel this way because we’re in Paris?”

“Its just Paris baby.” She told her French finance.

He had never understood English that well.

CATHOLIC GUILT MAKES GIRLS SAD AND SEXY

2010-08-25T06:30:00.000-07:00

Religious pimps

“Are you really God to me? Sometimes I doubt the compassion you have for me. You have for humans. You have for human decency.”

Running from the whole human race. And she tries to steal him away. She has a model laugh, she’s a funny face. He stays awhile with her and it keeps him from his pain. That wound that encapsulates his dirty-needle hipster-craze.

“You are not a man of mercy. You just look that way. Like a Christ and Satan all in one. A religious reversible coat. Who is dumb.”

They sit and soak in misanthropy. She wishes he made her test positive. She wishes he paid more compliments. Because she is greedy.

“I wonder which woman will be your wife and who is your fantasy.”

These are things in fights that get spat out. These are the things they think about. In each others mouths.

(photo: Rita Vogt)

WRITING AT 1AM

2010-08-22T00:47:00.000-07:00

You don’t make sense to me

There’s cocaine on my pizza. My daddy, he wants to meet ya. Iron out my heart, lay it flat like laundry. And then get into it. And wear it like a suit. My love it’s like bingo. Just pick a number and I’ll phone it in. Fuck you in the closet. Hiding under mattresses. Shopping trolley butterflies. Mascara on your pillows. Mascara on your feelers. Taste my eyes. Taste my love. I’m insane, it’s all your fault. I’ll break down your vault. Take off your pants and freak me. Mister money meet me. In the alleyway. Drink me. Like the milk you cried out. And I licked up. Fret impossible beeper. Pervert coat and peeper. Eyes as big as gold. Mine my heart, its old. Broken shoes and discos. I’ve got you on your toes. Baby blanket me with glitter. Spit your old lies quicker. Your vacuum soul has got to be swifter. Spin my records just like my sister. And dance violent just like a twister. Mister mister. Venom just like sparkles. Dripping off my nipples. Swallow me easy. Please me please me. Please baby. Eat me. Sweep me off the road. In pieces just like cookies crumble. Bits and pieces. Thrill and freezes. My old dress hangs and wheezes. You watch me smoking. Glasses on and choking. Strangle birds in gutters. Worship plastic. Fakers fake me lady. Baby trail me fade me. Hike up highway neon. Lay me down. Graveyard free fall. 4 hours. Pay-tv porno. Bad actress slap hard. Soap opera shower. Tease me for minutes. Power fast forward foreplay. Fuzzy muffin close-up. Bass-slap shagpile carpet. Burning fingers gladwrap. Shine transparent my God. Worship my soul. Forgotten garden forbidden apple. Grab and tickle snapple. Pussycat scratchers scratch me. Back to back just thinking. Wack me. Reach for diamond clothesline. Swinging hard. Get ready for the takeoff. Zoom broom my room. Give me gloom and doom. And I’ll fight it with my lipstick. Gaudy and bright. Nasty right rose. Night nasty fire hose. In my face up my nose. Rope me up and meow. You got me somehow. You wore me down. I wear heels and wow. Riding in the dustbowl. Chicken legs and cuss hole. Cowboy of the urban streets. You got me tame for you. What a feat. Wild horses meat. Lay down and bleed out. Paper flowers suffocate me. Like the days that lay waiting. Skateboard terrorist. And arty fucking blah-dy-blah-dy. Talk like a goose and honking. Like your dodgy scams you honky. Jelly wobble hips. Take my razorblade sharp trips. See your underworld. Underwater bubbles tap. Zap your fly-eyes zap. Shut them blackness black. Fade in and out. Static tv shout. Ouch my head. And vomit. Ashtray stomach x-ray. Flash my pussy next day. You like the fishnets and the painful stares. Tuck me up Carebear. Sing me songs of dying. Tear and blue blue crying. I sleep and drown in dribble. Your breath I breathe it in. Rooster wakes me up but it’s just a dog. The room is a jail cell. Smell of sex and dark wells. Water running down stockings. Up the ladders fell. You and I still sighing and wet. Our eyelids coming. Rainbow of silver twilight. Dusk in our hearts. Polaroids of joking. Mirrors of our laughing folking. Yokes of eggs croaking. In a frying pan. An eternity of breakfasts. Tolerating all your flecks of greyness and unknowness. Mystery of your toast. Walk me on a leash out of your house. Rewind and start again. I promise the liquor will be magic. My head topples smash and tragic. You glue me back like always. Always steady for me pausing. Forgotten promises and blabbings. Kiss of lips all chapped. Be in me black is black.

(photo- t&a)

CHOPPER SHOCKER

2010-08-12T02:27:00.000-07:00

Slip into the night

Pump the drugs in you
Poison my youth
With your oldness and your flashy news.

Take my blood
And wear it on your pants.

Our holy clothes burn
We decide to dance.

Lovers turn to violence
Blood of the youth.

Diamonds of truth in dirtbags
Go forth and spew.

Piece together your bottles
The liquor was already spilt.

I lick it from the floor
You just watch me kill it.

TEENAGERS

2010-07-19T22:38:00.000-07:00

French-kissing in mirrors

Lace looking bush. And sweaty armpits. Fall into your bed. Wake up in the morning. Sunlight hurts my head. Sunglasses on inside and my feet are all cut up. Can you remember me and how it was? Did we really use the camera flash? Strong high heels. You crack your back. And my mouth tastes like an ashtray. Morning kiss liquor taste slaps my face. Bruised and bleeding. Sheets tore up. Like your neighbours gave a fuck. Youth on the carpet. Spill your guts. And tell me the answers. Whisper drunken feats of fancy. Passion tangle clumsy dolly. Slinky thought-out moves and teenage strawberry saliva. Tongues all in groove. Summer in my night, in my darkest hour. Hot and bright like studio lights. Hear your breath on my back falling down in showers.

HEY MUM I'M A WRITER!

2010-07-19T22:15:00.000-07:00

I got a job with this online magazine community thingo.

Maybe things are looking up publishing wise for little ol' me.

http://www.suite101.com/profile.cfm/roxannewrites

(Photo by Merlin Bronques)

BIKINI KILL...ERS

2010-07-19T05:56:00.000-07:00

Performance art
So shave my head and send me out to the dogs I haven’t had enough I never have FEED me to the dogs I’m ready for it, it seems all I would do is CUT off my hands again and again And somehow they grew back Not any more I’ll SPIT at anyone who slaps me down spit venomously I want wildness give it to me HARD It has just begun boxing ring slaughter bell rings c’mon I can TAKE it I hide behind coy eyes but really I grew up with the BOYS punch me full force nose up to my skull in blood this is all I’ve been waiting for, when I’m done you’ll lay there broken MINDLESSLY.

(photo by Michael Lavine)

TIME RUNS OUT

2010-07-16T19:26:00.000-07:00

Crushed youth with bags underneath their eyes

Took my pill in the morning
Because I forgot to last night
I killed your babies darling
You proud?
I need to be taken from everything
Away like a holiday
Stowaway in the darkness of two
Hollow somehow
Like the aeons of time before we met
You were a prince and I was a peasant
Who knew it would come to this?
Now I’m a whore and you are too
Who knew life was this dirty?
All the light speeds past us
And we are tired
Our eyes are dope-red
And our hearts we drag them.

THE END BIT REMINDS ME OF POE NOT THAT IM AS GOOD AS HIM

2010-06-24T02:53:00.000-07:00

Perpetual pyramid suspended over oceans

A pinprick of blood infinitely expanding ripples in the dark harbour of your heart And you swore it smelt like mine Diamond-encrusted blood in the darkness shines a light my sweat catches and refracts it a million thousand times and your want it radiates out over water from a tower you sing of wisdom you are so lonely in your high tower in the dark and history awaits you just like the days forsake me disco ball and shattered skulls I see riding waves in the night and the moonlight casts sliver sparkles on all your eyelashes casting alien shadows, its so unknown out there terrain of your mind I need to walk it a thousand million times hologram impending so I can’t see a thing, all this blueness submerges me and I don’t know where you are. Siren sounds out its me I’ve got scales and long hair and no top, I’m waiting on the beach of greyness ambiguity awaits us all I can hope is that I call to you and you smash into the rocks, so forever you are dying in the salty water and forever I am trying to bring you to life by breathing in you, reaching and pulling you from the inevitable dark.

(del kathryn barton painting)

NEW ZINES! ..finally

2010-06-10T23:08:00.000-07:00

If you like funny/gross black and white punk-asthetic zines with crooked stapling then look no further!!!!!!

3 NEW ZINES:

- pretty morbid

- this is like watching me piss

- my clitoris is my dick

they are all really cheap! 2 dollars each or buy all three for 4 dollars. email me if you are interested. search around in your pockets and the back of your lounges for sharpnel people, i really do derserve it...promise i won't spend it on beer..

BULLDOZING

2010-06-10T23:06:00.000-07:00

Torn-up wallpaper

They demolished the house next door to ours. I wonder where the lesbian couple are living now? They never cut the grass. They were increasingly boring; no wild sex romps in the backyard like Hollywood tells you but I had gotten used to them there. Hanging out the washing, passing me in the street with shopping bags. The old couple who lived there when we first moved in where lovely and weathered, Wrinkly in that lively Australian way, you would always hear the wife calling out to the husband to help with the washing up or to answer the phone. And there were a couple of families after the old couple had died. And now it was gone, just like your childhood, it was gone forever and all you are left with is memories. They are levelling it out now. They will lay concrete and then build silly-looking townhouses. And then we will all slowly forget about how the old house looked and who lived there.

NO HEP C

2010-06-08T07:12:00.000-07:00

he is my brother

mounds and mounds of perfect pain
my makeup runs right off my face
into your eyes, into your sweat
i cannot breathe
mounds and mounds of perfect pain
you pull my hair and slap my face
i guess i found your secret shame
and everything just falls from grace
tumbles upon us
mounds and mounds of perfect pain
kiss me quick, i’ll do the same
just take me like the cosmic rain
just take me away
you shattered me
i am broken pieces on the floor
just pick me up and glue me
like your mother’s vase
your mother’s shame, i wear the same
my mother’s look is plastered on my face
it’s silent corridors and cigarettes
smoke and mirrors
my grandparents’ house is yours now.

I WROTE YOU A LETTER AND THIS WAS ALL IT SAID

2010-06-08T07:09:00.000-07:00

And my kiss it somehow finds you, even in the dark.

(Ryan McGinley photo)

2ND HAND SHOES

2010-05-19T18:30:00.000-07:00

They’re the kinda boots you can wear with leather shorts

I watched this ‘50 years of Doc Martens’ docu today. And it just shows you how much shoes or something inanimate like that can really impact upon your life. That’s really wanky-sounding. Don’t worry though I’m not going to ramble on about nihilism or socialism for that matter. And I won’t say anything pretentious about the working class.

But I will say this; there is nothing better than slipping on your trusty, trashed, muddy Docs and moshing right up the front of the stage at your friends’ gig.
Or smashing-up some glass you find discarded in an alleyway because you are dissatisfied with the corporate, bureaucratic shit that surrounds you day in, day out. There’s nothing like those floppy laces and that signature yellow stitching to help you embody the punk spirit that you sometimes lose on the way to and from work.

And there’s nothing like the knowledge that if some prick who doesn’t even know you passes some snarky, derogatory comment about how you dress, you can kick-in his teeth with one swift motion in these boots. You probably wouldn’t do it but it’s nice to know that you could if you wanted to.

HOW DID BLOOD GET ON MY PILLOW

2010-05-07T18:44:00.001-07:00

Sarah Maple is the Tracey Emin for the Facebook generation

So 'Like' 'Like' 'Like' her kids!

And check her website www.sarahmaple.com/

Even though I am not Islamic in the slightest she must be my long lost cousin or something...

SNEEZE

2010-05-07T18:19:00.000-07:00

When I brush my teeth

I was talking to one of my girlfriends about how you can remember smells, and actually smell them when they aren’t there (if you think about them hard enough). It’s like your nose has a memory.

It’s funny, the only time my knees buckle is when I think I smell sex, I recall that smell so vividly.

EVERYONE HAS VICES

2010-05-07T18:16:00.000-07:00

Nothing is ever perfect not even robot girlfriends

You sit there and you try your hand at crying. You can’t even squeeze one tear out because you don’t do it very often. What kind of woman are you?

And no one has died so you can’t even really justify it to yourself.

You’re probably just pre-menstrual or something. Denial. You finished your periods three days ago.

Occasionally you let stupid things bother you and that’s called being ‘neurotic’ but sometimes you should be allowed to act like that because you don’t have enough vices already. Sarcasm.

So you just sit there and smoke and smoke till you get old.

And you dream of crying and you wake up jealous.

SISTERS VOL II

2010-05-01T08:12:00.000-07:00

Lost earrings

We’re lying in Tara’s bed, the bottom bunk, in the room we shared as children. The walls are still pink; the old photos are still stuck up on the walls. It’s Sunday night. We’re watching some Stoner-y movie, an ironic choice I know. Especially when you juxtapose it with the pink walls, the peeling fairy stickers on the wardrobe and the fact that we are articulate, young women and not fat, slob-y uni dudes. Lying there in our pyjamas, legs curled up touching, me spooning her (she was always the petite one) made me remember a time, where we didn’t know responsibility, or what condoms were. A time where you dreamt up cool names for your future kids, when you played spies, when you wished you were grown-up so you could do exotic adult stuff like go to the shops by yourself and have your own money; to be ‘independent’ whatever that meant.

I looked down at out legs in the flickering light of the shitty t.v, they are similar in colour but both have their own unique freckles and moles and shaving nicks and bruises and I’d never felt so ‘grown-up’ in my life. That’s so corny because I’m only twenty.

You know sometimes I wish I knew what the phrase “the rest of your life” meant but unfortunately I have no fucking clue.

I ADORE SANDY KIM PHOTOS

2010-04-12T02:41:00.000-07:00

Life just fucks you up
Sometimes
I
want
to
sit
in
bed
and
smoke
cigarettes
and
drink
a
bottle
of
wine
all
day
long.

MARK THE COBRASNAKE STICKERS

2010-03-23T03:08:00.000-07:00

All the scenarios that float around your head when you should be listening to your best friend talking about the fight she had with her boyfriend

In the space of three days, you’ve seen two people you’ve slept with. And it wasn’t as horrible as you thought it would be. You were aware that you would see them this weekend. And maybe that’s why it became such a big deal in your head. But you suppose you always knew it would turn out fine. Because unlike some other girls you know, you end up sleeping with pretty nice people.

One was at this little gig that all your ‘art-friends’ went to. And he was there and he said hello. And you got drunk and even then you knew not to get into a proper conversation with him because you would probably end up going home with him. And you don’t need that right now. Instead you avoided talking to him directly but once when you passed him after your fifth champagne, you carefully brushed your arm against him and glided your fingertips lightly over the small of his lower back and carelessly over his belt. And you kissed him on the cheek when he came and found you to say goodbye.

The other one, was a proper ex, a legitimate ex. The mutual friend that set you up with him in the first place had been on holidays in Germany, she just got back, and although jet-lagged she invited a small number of people over to her house for a little gathering, involving wine and cheese and the passing around of film photos. It’s mostly acquaintances, that’s why you weren’t going to go but then Flipper got invited and so he made you promise to go with him. You avoided your ex. But not in a rude way, you had one conversation with him the whole night and Flipper clung to you so you didn’t have to be alone with him. When you all left, there was an awkward ‘should we hug?’ moment that was remedied by Flipper telling you to “hurry up!” and so you just goofily shrugged and over-smiled and it was cool.

It’s weird that when you see them again you pick out all the things you were attracted to when you first met and you certainly don’t fall for them again, but you just kinda get this wistful smile and you wonder for a moment when you are in the taxi on the way home with Flipper just how it would’ve been had you made something of it with them.

TERRY RICHARDSON, YOU ARE AMAZING!

2010-03-18T21:55:00.001-07:00

i've been listening to 'You dont own me' alot recently. It's kinda like my personal motto.

and by the way this is a terry richardson photo, i just edited it. its appropriation people. deal with it! just wanted to let you know i'm not trying to rip him off, he's way more talented than me.

THE STUFF YOU DREAM ABOUT

2010-03-03T21:56:00.000-08:00

I can give it all up on the first date or the second date or the third date but I wanted to give it all up when you first said hello to me
I want it all. I want my life to look like those ‘crazy couple’ pictures on lastnightsparty. I want him to love me. And even when we break up because his coke habit gets out of control, I’ll still love him. I’ll invite him to my wedding when I’m 32. When I’m old, I’ll talk to him and laugh and all that stuff we did, the stuff we saw, the stuff we took, the stuff we danced to will be there still, between us there will be those star-filled days lost, and they will all be unspoken and exist only in our quick glances at each other across the room when my husband is talking to his old boss from that wanky graphic design/film/art solutions company he was with when I first met him. And The XX will come on and I’ll smile at the first man I loved.

PHOTO COURTESY OF DASH SNOW

2010-02-15T18:36:00.000-08:00

Go back to your mother
A blood test. You’ve never had one before. You don’t know how that happened. I suppose you had always been one of those healthy kids, the kind of big-boned, smiling, freckles-on-the-nose kids from cereal boxes and cheap department store brochures. It’s only now that you are an adult that you actually need one. You remember the nurse, her mottled, skinny arms, her bright red lipstick that had somehow found its way onto her front teeth. It’s always like that isn’t? Women who work in pathology are always those hardy women who look scrawny, those women who are talkative but brash, in a friendly way. Either that or they are twitchy women who have thick Russian accents, who don’t really make eye contact and have lettuce in their teeth constantly. It’s just as a precaution. You’re so safe all the time. “You would have to have really bad luck for it to come back positive.” Next day you call and you get the answer you’ve been dreading. And you can’t even focus on what your doctor is saying, your doctor who’s know you since you were 3 years old, your doctor with the kind old eyes and the huge 60s coke bottle glasses. You can almost hear the music playing now, like in a movie. It’s Radiohead, and you want to drop the phone to the floor, all shaky and dramatic but you can’t. You just pretend to listen and nod your head and you finally get how sad all their songs are. Even the dope remixes that you usually dance to.

"I NEED TO URINATE"

2010-02-05T18:12:00.000-08:00

Listening to Radiohead when you finally get home to your own bed

Gingivitis tooth decay cough up phlegm in the morning after with that gritty feeling in the corner of your eyes that doesn’t leave even when you take a shower in his strange unfamiliar bathroom and the warm piss falling into the drain in secret you piss in everyone’s shower just as a memento so he knows you were there not consciously but so later in the day when he is looking in the mirror abstractedly marvelling at the bits of last night he remembers he can’t seem to shake the feeling of you and your sweat, of you and your legs and your laugh in that bathroom he is reminded of you somehow.

NO, I DON'T HAVE PMS!

2010-01-21T18:27:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you just can’t express yourself

The siren sounds as it rushes down the street to the courthouse near the crumbling sky blue movie theatre the sirens help me sleep I’m sitting at the train station and everything makes me sad all those pretty dumb teenage girls in their flowery skirts and dresses I see myself look similar in age but I feel so different and they’ve got it made their clothing shines in sunlight and the clouds are fake the sun reigns down infinite illusory tepid fate they smoke their cigarettes unlike me and all I feel is hate.

GLITTER & SWEAT

2010-01-14T18:00:00.000-08:00

Dear Karen

There was glitter in your hair at first I didn’t think it was real and I was blinded by the electric mirage but the drums beat in my head and then it hit me and I was on the floor on the ceiling the music playing and replaying in the room and in my head and you loomed over me smiling echo resounding strobe light it plays over in my skull like a static VCR tape.

CBGB

2010-01-05T22:07:00.000-08:00

She wore garbage bag dresses to punk shows

You will never know the ugly depths of my heart. I’m just a body in the dark. Without a name. And I’ll never know you either. You are nameless too. What a shame. Don’t ever cry in front of me. I’d rather you had no feelings. Don’t tell me that you like me. I get confused. I want to be used. I get confused. I want to be used. I want to be used.

BOYTALK

2010-01-02T19:27:00.000-08:00

We’ve all been there

“You slept with her?!”

“C’mon you’ve done things that weren’t necessarily good for you.”

“Well yeah…”

“I know you have. You’ve fucked your friends’ friends, you’ve fucked your ex, you’ve fucked your friends, you’ve fucked someone tons older than you who was divorced and lonely, you’ve made out with multiple people at parties because you were bored and no one had drugs, you’ve encouraged someone that you knew was attached, you’ve met someone’s wife and made eyes at her, you’ve gotten so drunk you made out with a girl you had no real interest in at all you just did it because she was sitting near you when you felt like passing out and she asked you how you were feeling, you’ve had lingering stare-sex with your mate’s significant other, you’ve stolen girls from dudes you knew from school, you’ve masturbated at work, you’ve taken a girl home and then dropped her off at the bus stop the next morning and not bothered to find out if she got home safe, you’ve stayed in horrible relationships because you were weak and comfortable, you’ve secretly sabotaged your own relationships, you’ve ignored a girl at a party because you thought it would be awkward to talk to her as she gave you a blow job once when you were 18 and you had just met her. So don’t act so surprised.”

“I guess I’ve always put you on a pedestal.”

VISITING YOUR PARENTS

2009-12-28T02:36:00.000-08:00

I didn’t go out tonight and I’m not missing being trampled by people on the crowded dance floor and having some guy’s gin-soaked breath in my face at all

Lying on your old bed in your old bedroom at your parents’ house. You had an early shower and are now dressed in a plaid sleep shirt and daggy socks. Your hair is freshly washed and somehow you feel like a virgin again. That’s how sweet smelling you feel. The walls are still pink. He messaged you a couple of hours ago. You are on Facebook. You chat to one of your art-school friends about the photography book you want to create with her. It’ll have to feature your ‘pretty-redhead-we-are-unsure-if she-is-on-coke-and-we-don’t-think-it-is-appropriate-to-ask-her’ friend and lots of ‘indie-girl-in-underwear’ photos. You think about msg-ing back whilst you lay there, holding your pee. You start listening to Liz Phair, you think about smoking but don’t. You would hate for your parents to see you, cigarette in hand. You drink some milk. You eat some cookies. You wonder what everyone is doing tonight. You realise you don’t particularly care. Then you think about msg-ing him back. And suddenly you realise you are waiting for him to get slightly drunk, because you know he went out to the pub with his mates tonight. And that he is your ex. It’s probably best to just ignore him. But why is it that everyone is more interesting while they are intoxicated, including you?

CHINESE WHISPERS

2009-12-22T16:24:00.000-08:00

“It was nice to finally see you after so long.”
Translation: I thought about you when I was alone in my bed, for months.
“I really hope you’ve been keeping busy.”
Translation: I really hope you aren’t contemplating suicide again.
“What’ve you been doing all this time?”
Translation: I’ve wanted to see you for so long but life got in the way. And I thought you were busy with your women and your issues.
“I really must go soon, I said I would go to dinner with my sister.”
Translation: I think if we go back to yours I won’t be able to fight the urge to tear of all my clothes.
“Oh but you have to see this new bookshelf I bought, my comics are all lovely and organised.”
Translation: I know it’s inappropriate but I need you in my room and I can tell you’ve been wanting me to say this.
“I can stay a little while, you’ll have to walk me to the bus stop...”
Translation: Take me home now and when I step in the doorway I will already be wet.

PARTY PHOTOGRAPHERS

2009-12-20T18:50:00.000-08:00

I just really don’t want to sell out

I sit here eating pickles from the jar, in that wooden chair that sits in the corner and doesn’t go with the rest of the furniture. Corn-coloured sunlight filtering in through the small kitchen window. The dining table is covered with balled-up bits of paper and keys and pens and unopened mail and a fruit bowl that has been severely cracked and just sits there as if on life support, all broken and crumbly. You look over at me and say that its one of the nicest scenes you’ve ever seen. And it’s not corny because I know you really believe it. Me sitting there, feet on the seat in your holey socks and that big soft jumper that was once cream but has now turned grey. Like our cigarette ash. You are wearing that horrible mustard-hued cardigan and plain cotton boxers. Scratching your oily hair, nervously contemplating THE letter, laying unopened amongst the bills. We both say that we want you to get this party photographer gig but we both know that, while impressive it could be counterproductive to ‘us’. You will start travelling a lot, you will have liquored-up girls stumbling around showing you their tits and you will be encouraged to encourage them. Someone will offer you coke and then you will end up doing something that you regret. And you will blurt it out at a time like this, wrecking the serenity of the moment because you cannot lie to save your life. You cannot lie just as I cannot hold a grudge and that is a very dangerous mix.

2009-12-17T19:36:00.000-08:00

LIFE IS SALTY

Life Is Salty is one of my most recent zines and it is proving quite popular. It contains 7 short peices inspired by my life experiences that have occured in dank, dark, and possibly alcohol-scented places. It is printed on colourful paper and features the beautiful Allison Mosshart as the covermodel....however her eyes are blacked out with texta like she is some sort of criminal or a minor.

I implore you to purchase one they will change your life....not really. But you will continually say "oh that happens to me all the time" as you read it.

Only $3!!!!!!!!!!!!

Contact me through email if you want to buy one and help out my beer fund, its quite low.

BRICOLAGE.

2009-12-11T21:55:00.000-08:00

The 2nd of December was the opening night of bricolage.; the group show loren and reane and i created for little fish gallery in newtown. Thanks to everyone who turned up and supported us. We appreciate it muchly. Turned out to be a rad night of art, conversation and beer. And I sold 14.05 dollars worth of zines!

PUNK COUPLES

2009-12-11T21:31:00.000-08:00

A love like Sid and Nancy’s

I dreamt my wedding last night. A small art-deco themed affair. That was all for fun and really just a kick in the teeth to the sanctity of marriage. A party of tattoos and coke and tits out for the party photographer. And I dreamt I was marrying you, what a laugh. And a dream. I think I would have to drag you kicking and screaming up the aisle. I really hate you but I could love you. Isn’t that the same? I’d be your mistress and your mother. I’d be your therapist and your lover. I’d be all wrapped up in layers even when we lay, never truly naked but vulnerable all the same. You always say what you really mean and your words you spit them. And then forget them. I’m left only with tear stains and nothing but curses and praise. And I spit them at your face, just as violently as you ever did.

MARRIAGE?

2009-10-15T03:55:00.000-07:00

Mr. & Mrs.

We are not together. But my foot rubs against yours. We are in the same bed like a married couple. The rain pelts outside like come once did on the lap of my pink lace dress. I want to yes I want to. Baby just give in. I will pretend you’re Johnny and think of me as Sylvia. And you will for a minute be my lover of the magic and the wonder. The spearer of the spearers. Next morning I feel like we are married. As I put my earrings on from the dresser. Yes dear? Alas now I will think of you as Johnny. But don’t think of me as Sylvia.

LIFE WRITING

2009-09-16T23:42:00.000-07:00

I've been working on this poem slowly, gradually adding to it when i find the time because uni has been hectic lately. It's not finished so don't judge too harshly, I just wanted to see if I could get some feedback to help me with completing it, just to help with the direction and tone of it as a whole.

All the thousands of memories that make up your life are swept under your brain
I. All the sorrows are swallows in my brain and they dip and groove. They shit down on the Popes of this world. And on all the blacks and whites of this nostalgic photo town. They stand apart and juxtapose. But some get mixed in with the clothes. And the suds of the washing machine are beautiful and bright. Floating around in the dusty hot wind.

II. Baby has arrived in sunny orange peel country and I always wonder what would the temperature of my skin be if I was born in London? This place is an allegory for my future passions and my hunger. Suckling like a calf. Feed the brain food. That would be the highschool death of me. But little things of your world are oblivious in this newfound time.

III. Still stumbling with the backpack on like I was a runaway. That time crystallised my feelings of alienation. Just different like a cloud floating across the gravel ground. Misplaced actor on the field. And how my teeth fell out on the playground of silly likes and loves.

IV. Warmth of the dirty carpet and holiday trips to the beachside. Sandy, pale, bleached-out memories. Me running around with my sister. With the musty smell of dogs and sunshine radiating from my youthful pores. Crying wailing, with mother out of control and father calming her down. Oh how I laugh at our cosy dysfunctions! They seemed so lively and free. Those old days, I keep now in glass jars on the pallid window sill.

V. Awkward prancing heavy flamingo. In the war torn weather. My broken heart not really broken. Only went to the hospital with a hairline fracture. She: a raven witch, was my first love. And she crushed me, crushed me. Like a pure baby beetle. Premature puberty onset, onslaught trample me like a nettle. That one time I got stung, so red. I dropped myself onto the bench under dusty windows. And my tears went rushing right out in public. That was the only time I felt truly worthless, the only time I felt a searing hurtness. I am emotionally desentised now, so all my suicides are fake.

VI. Out like a race horse. Who was I kidding, just a fawnling. So boring. With no face on, I was walking around with a cavern of blackness and hair. Zombie, eaten out feelings. Sat on the toilet and cried some more. I’m a sucker for the melancholy of childhood. I wanted some makeup, to create a face for my black hole. Too stupid, like a mannequin in a shop-window. Didn’t know those little femme bots ran on lowlife batteries.

VII. Falling, failing. Not in love. Dreamt of doves in that time of greyness. But that’s what forced me to wake up. I just hate birds, like Tippy. For the first time I had money, like a grown-up and for once I had nightfun. And drank till I threw up. The boys were all golden and sweaty. We were painted-up over-sexed zealots for doing way too much stuff. Dollies with cigarettes in their mouths. So politically incorrect and unfaithful.

VIII. Then I met those ‘unique’ fallingstars, they looked the same on the inside. Just like all the fakes. No beating hearts and blood, only barren metallic pipes and lead. Those cameras were flickering and golden showers washed me; inadequate and anxious. Wanted to dive into their in ground pools fully clothed. All that money being wasted. I knew all along, they weren’t tasteful. And he was just a peddler. A walking scarecrow. And wasn’t he the best looking thing I have ever attached myself too. His eyes were sky blue, afterward that’s all I ever looked into on every man’s face. In a grotty café I talked it over with my mother. Jesus! they were a waste, a pretty waste.

WHAT I WRITE AFTER READING KEROUAC

2009-08-25T02:10:00.000-07:00

To: A man I have met many times but that I will never know

It is quite simple that I will never know you and that I will love you. I feel words are unspoken… That you are afraid of revealing muddy depths about yourself to me. I try helplessly to reveal me, take off the fur coat of my feelings, thoughts. I need to dig you and you won’t yield. And always fences between us. Always me falling from the pickets. I would sacrifice my pride, my rusty, half eroded medal just to get into you. And I want to touch even your brain, not your cock like I want to, even if I won, if I got to touch your thoughts properly I would be smiling in your presence. Rather than gin-melancholic. I want to be tequila-happy with you. I need to get you drunk. If only I could stumble down the street with you. Maybe you would look in me. You can not stare into fire-passion depths of my irises. I think this because they are infinite pools into the soul of me. Eyes and vaginas; they are the openings that lead to the essence, the honey drenched magic of a woman’s soul. I know we never talk. I know we just babble. I want to know your story man. And all your pea-soup-coloured sorrows. Just run, just leap and in front of me, so you turn to face me out of breath and panting. That’s how you will be able to look, really look in me like a lover. Ecstatic tightropes of crystal glitter pull between us full of tension and the cool-cat mystery of brass instruments. Just cross them, it doesn’t matter if you trip. I don’t care the moon will catch you.

DASHING SNOW AND RAIN

2009-08-08T20:56:00.000-07:00

R.I.P Dash Snow. I started writing this short story unaware that it was subtlety inspired by the great artist Dash Snow. Here's an excerpt, i still need to do some editing. Tell me what you think.

(film photo taken by Loren)

He hadn’t been home in maybe two years. This was his home. For now. But every new place to hide away from the world was, in Mickey’s mind his home forever. At the forefront of his mind he knew that he would always have to move on but he approached these ramshackle temporary ‘homes’ much the same way as every lover he had ever had. Which wasn’t that many, he was only 18. He had a childish way of fixing everything in his fleeting life with a ‘forever’ tag. And people and places were tagged in his mind with ‘forever’ and hung on racks in shiny, brassy department stores. But as always the red marker ‘forever’s were scribbled out only to be replaced with the letters S.A.L.E. Followed by a dismal ‘2 months’, ‘6 days’, ‘10 hours’ etc.

One would think that a boy who runs from home to face a steely, dangerous life on the streets and in squats would be running from a safe, stable existence. One would think this but it isn’t so. Mickey was running from the very thing that followed his existence no matter how far he roamed from his humble, brick home on Strummer Street. The very thing that he had wanted to refuse and banish from his life. It was the black thing, the storm cloud that trailed him down back alleys, down dimly lit corridors and into ‘retro-horror-movie’ houses like this one. And that was instability. Uncertainty. Love that seemed secure but mostly over the top and manipulative. Love that was not warm and homely but neon-bright and fake. A love which all at once could be flashy like movie star teeth and vengeful like black widows. A love that followed him around like a scraggy, old dog. The love a mistress gets.

He looked out the streaked window which was slowly collecting silky, clear rain droplets. But Mickey didn’t see what was outside, which was rather pretty and desolate. He didn’t see clouds that were pink and grey and the low setting sun waving across to the early moon rising, the differentiating shades of light bouncing off one another carelessly. He only saw the last person he talked to since trekking up this lonely highway that ran by old manor houses, ran past this manor house. He saw her lovely face out there floating amongst misty air and rain sprinkling. The weathered, burgundy-coloured window pane framed her face beautifully. And suddenly Mickey realised that his memory of her exquisite, humble, awkward beauty was becoming murky and the face of Trixie, the girl who turned tricks alongside Highway 101, near the truckstop diner was blurring into his mothers face. Their faces collided and merged together. Always fluid, the features switching and morphing. A schizophrenic face.
* * *

“Come wait awhile with me. You look cold baby. Maybe I can kiss you better.”

Those were Trixie’s first words to Mickey. At once he registered the husky, smoky voice that somehow sounded simultaneously warble-y and girlish yet flippant and coy. It was a voice that made one think of peroxide, bouffant blondes wearing floral mooo-moos. 60s housewife minxes. Which reminded him of his mother, in the old days. His next thought was that of uncertainty. She was obviously a skinny, shaky, young runaway prostitute. A life on the road taught you very quickly about making assumptions about other homeless and/or destitute folk. Why was she purring niceties to me? thought Mickey in hazy confusion. He didn’t have any money. But even prostitutes get crushes. Even prostitutes got lonely, especially prostitutes got lonely.

As Mickey proceeded hesitantly towards her, he took her in completely. He committed every detail of her entirety to memory. The scene was committed to memory, just as scenes pulled from his favourite movies were committed to the vaults of his mind. She stood beside the road; tall, almost-yellow grass behind her. The wind rushed through these tall, wheat-y looking blades and it appeared as if the grass was moving all on its own. Grey, heavy clouds bore down upon her practised smiles. The clouds reminded them of their sadness. A sadness that was pushed far back, behind and underneath their similar facades.

STUDIO TIME

2009-07-27T02:56:00.000-07:00

Here's some of the creative booty Loren and I came up with at Boni's studio. Check Loren's blog http://obscurphotography.blogpot.com/ She's a talented photographer and foxy as hell! I styled these photos and modelled in some. Elise is the other model.

R.I.P RELATIONSHIPS

2009-07-22T22:15:00.001-07:00

I just found out that Jarvis Cocker (frontman of Pulp) and Camille Bidault-Waddington's (famous French stylist) marriage is no more. Apparently it happened this year some time. I don't have a clue as to the specifics because I don't really pay attention to celebrity gossip (that sounds pretentious but I'm sticking with it). But more importantly this sad occurrence has solidified my opinion that romantic couplings are doomed from the beginning. I have now lost all faith in relationships between men and women.

POEMS ABOUT BOYS

2009-07-13T17:30:00.000-07:00

The male species entrances me while simultaneously confusing me and sometimes they even fucking anger me. Read all about it in my 34 page poem collection Poems About Boys...

This collection comes with little surprises! (Mostly they are plastic toys that were Barbie accessories and some strands of human hair.) Also they are bound with my very own hair ribbons and cut up hair elastics. There might even be some pretend cocaine in one of them!

"Denim

He stood there

In the rain

Alone and wet

Raincoat dragging

Flinging cigarette butts

Like hailstorms

Dejected lanky

His haircut

Matched his Kerouac

Demeanour

There was something lost

But proud

In the cut of his

Dark jeans"

Sound sumptuous? I'm selling these babies for $4 each!!!

Contact me through my email and you could be revelling in all the fleeting passion and pathetic disappointments of my relationship with members of the male species.

I LOVE COMPUTER NERDS

2009-07-08T23:44:00.000-07:00

Myspace, what can i say ?

we of the gen-y persuasion love it and loathe it. it is a HUGE time waster. it is at once juvenile and distracting and on occassion useful.

i was actually able to utilize this social networking site for artistic purposes.

a few zine distros actually got back to me and expressed interest in seeing some of my self-published work!

thank the gods for computers and the nerds that created them!

PHILOSOPHY 101...

2009-07-06T03:52:00.000-07:00

be who you are... this concept toyed with my mind today. i often pondered this notion that seems at once so logical and perplexing. being the individualist i am i pride myself on living out my life on my own terms, behaving the way i wish (drunken and disorderly on most weekends), believing in the things i choose (reincarnation) and expressing myself (by writing wry and sometimes sexually explicit prose) in a way that pleases myself; my interests (art) and likes (lanky guys with messy hair and crooked teeth).

once upon a time in the junior years of high school i tried being someone who i am not. it made me unhappy. i constantly tried to emulate my friends and found myself down in the dumps because i could never live up to their standards. i couldnt ever be just like them, because i was faking it. and then i would come to the relisation that i was a fake which upset me further. since i found other friends (who were less uptight and also shared my interests) i started to morph into the person that i wanted to be.

so where does that leave me? happy (well as happy as someone like me can be) but ive changed since i got out of highschool and ive changed alot of my ideas about myself (i dont have any willpower) and other things (seemingly non-threatening males in trendy jeans are not always to be trusted) just in this year alone. how can one be the person that they are supposed to be? since we are always changing and learning and transforming, we are in flux. is there really a destiny for each of us? is there a personality and likes/dislikes and values already mapped out for us and that's who we are ultimately 'supposed' to be?

most days im usually pretty confident that ive grown into the type of person i was suppsed to be.

but when i think about the flux concept (i made up) i get anxious.

maybe there isnt a 'you' that you are supposed to be, a 'you' you will discover eventually. maybe the person i am now, is only a product of my friends, my suburb, my nationality, my schooling, my past experinces with the male species. what if there isnt a 'way' i am suposed to turn out.
it makes me think that if i had done something slightly different in the formulative years of teenagehood right now i would be a wine-cooler-swilling bogan chick, whose favourite past time was watching Gilmore Girls and banging a long term boyfriend named Barry. Dreaming about getting engaged and totally ok with the fact that i work reception at the local vet till it got knocked down by some horrible corporation to build an ugly multi-level carpark.

sometimes thinking is a bad thing....

i wonder if there really is an actual 'me'? i wonder if this me is not the real me and if so, how can i help being a fake?

i dont think i'll ever figure this out but im glad i turned out the way i am today: curious, smart, confused, romantic, not easily embarrassed and with a healthy level of contempt for the corporate world.
ironically so i love the bloc party song 'flux'.

THOSE LITTLE THOUGHTS...

2009-07-04T22:03:00.000-07:00

weird crushes 101.

how my heart flutters when i see my film lecturer. he is about 50, is going bald and maybe gay. i love him, in a totally intellectual way.

HAIRY LEGS

2009-07-03T04:13:00.000-07:00

Recently I printed out a 9 page booklet of assorted creative writing pieces and poetry. All the pieces are loosely based around the theme of contemporary feminism and the plight of young crazy women, like myself. I called it HAIRY LEGS.

"Her name was Galetea, just the same name as me. And she turned to me. And I knew what would happen next. She kissed me like in a movie and gravity ceased to exist. I somwehow heard her breath right then.

Rushing, juicy, staggered, flavoured with pure graciousness. It was like a stampede down my throat of rough, wild horses, galloping in starlit midnight prose. Trampling, trampling with her

understanding

kiss."

Like the sounds of that? Thats just one of the pieces you get in HAIRY LEGS. Want this collection of words in your hot little hands? I'm selling them for only $1!!!

Contact me through my email address, ask and you shall recieve. I'll even pay for postage (if its cheap...)