About my last blog… I feel I have to explain my blogs more of late. I’m always referencing back to them, reflecting, explaining what was meant by them, and the comments influence that too. When you get the feedback you can reflect and analyse the piece along with the readers. I find, and especially with the last blog, that they are increasingly becoming works of art, they have their own tone and being (now I’m talking about them like they’re children). It would have ruined the last blog and podcast to explain why it was how it was, but I think I ought to say something. It was certainly an interesting moment, especially the podcast. It may have seemed less guarded than the others, but it wasn’t particularly. I was in a good mood, late at night, plied by some wine and it was what it was. I tried to re-create that feeling in the podcast, and succeeded with excess; so when I listened back to the podcast, I decided to leave in some of the mistakes I would usually edit out. It just seemed out of the spirit of it not to. I thought some of it was quite funny actually. I did edit out the typos though; I was having a terrible struggle typing it out. Wine might be great for loosening the blogging mind and mouth, but my typing became frustrating and suffered quite a bit. It just seemed to be the first thing to go about me, I had hardly had any, but I am quite susceptible if willing. Mind you, in the interests of the law and morals and all that – I can’t be judged for having one glass of wine in my own home with my parent there.
Anyway… I went to Melbourne again on Wednesday, and I had planned to finish writing my song about it (which now consists of about eight lines, wow) but it didn’t go to plan. The Melbourne and the magic that I wanted to experience, and I did experience to its fullest degree last time; just isn’t there when we travel the small streets of the suburbs to visit my grandmother. It isn’t there when all the way my mother curses the traffic, the people, the radio, the smog. And it isn’t there when I’m sick. I am very sick once more.
I had to go to work on Thursday; well, I didn’t really, but it was either no work and no library internet or do go to the library and struggle through work. I am an internet-a-holic, so I took my chances. I had two blogs and two podcasts to upload, but, get this, I forgot the second podcast file. So that was why these had to wait so long. I also brought the girl with the most outstanding mind for complete and utter fiction, the shoes of mine that she said she loved so much. They are my school shoes or rather, they were. I have two identical pairs, one slightly worn out and the newer pair I wear now. I told her that she couldn’t have the ones I use now since I am using them and I plan to keep them, but if she liked the older pair and my mother obliged, she could have them instead. But it didn’t go so well.
I told you previously of the barrage of questions of a sexual nature that they asked me, and of their black and white minds? Well I really only alluded to the reason these questions were so tricky to answer. I felt it a bit delicate a mater to mention on my blog. It is something that has crossed my mind a few times, and had called for the subtle omission of a few thoughts (as I did previously with my age). On one hand I felt it bad not to be true to myself, and like I was submitting to the societal censorship that a better person would not, a better person who would (hopefully) (most likely) not be rejected for it. But then I thought about appeal, about not offending anyone, about not rocking the boat; about readers maybe not presently commenting, but that might arrive by rare chance and leave in a second once they learn of this somewhat controversial situation. And now that I have talked it up in such a way, you’ll probably be disappointed when I tell you the actual reason. Even though I knew previously, through some unknown means – no, actually I remember suspecting it all along, it took Amanda till three quarters of the way through her blog to mention that she was bisexual; she even hinted to the societal cringe. This really wasn’t something I set out to announce in this blog. Nonetheless…
Despite my measured tactful efforts to keep everything as simple and normal as possible, these girls seem to have some sort of sick sense of intuition. Picking the two boys I think most attractive in the whole neighbourhood and yet haven’t said a word about thinking so, as my boyfriends. One asked, with apparent uncommon open-mindedness, whether I thought the other (who was elsewhere at the time) was more or less attractive to the boy that allegedly said I was hot. I, feigning the typical uptight teenage offence, answered that that was a silly question, and at first refused to answer. But she persisted and wouldn’t let it go, there is no escape as I had grudgingly admired. I tried breaking down their little scheme. I told them that no matter what I said I was in the shit. If I picked the boy they would say that I did indeed love him and wanted to have sex with him (and they would have said it in just as blunt words), but the girl would have also been offended that I didn’t like her better. I even asked them to clarify, was it looks alone or personality too? They told me only looks. So if I picked the girl it meant I was as lesbian; something that I had been teased about previously and was one of the things which contributed to my tormentor getting fired. So, I said (seeking to cover my arse); since I was only attracted to men; in light of that, I must of course pick the boy. I thought this would suffice.
But somehow, this got to the girl. And maybe something in the untruth of saying my reasoning was only driven by my attraction solely to men, sparked on by their convoluted logic, just as I had predicted; caused her to be mortally offended. So much so she refused to talk to me and take the shoes.
I almost can’t believe it. And I shan’t be trying again.
I am pleased to report that my Amanda Palmer Live On Your Stereo drawing which I did last year and sought to remake for my art project, has been finished. I have made a note of it on the Shadow Box and will be posting an image of it both there and here as soon as I host the image. It’s all very good.
Also I wanted to talk about My People. Spelt with initial capital letters since they are no ordinary family, I speak of course of the facets of my mind. I was heard to remark last night to my mother, upon entering the kitchen at 11 o’clock when she was going to bed: “No, I wasn’t hungry at 10:30 when you were watching the news, but I am now. Yes half an hour makes a difference!” But the thought continued in my head, formed with the perfect image of Desri spitting it out acerbically “She’s had a teenager for 5 years, you think she’d know what was going on! Zing!” and it occurred to me that that thought was pure Des. Mean, quick, self-confident, nasty, yet slightly funny to someone with the same cynicisms. It proves something, Des is something else. She seems to have her own sense of humour, and her own thoughts. Of course I know these thoughts come from within me and are a part of me, but she’s a little bit over the line of anything I would express quite like she does, if even at all.
Des doesn’t like many people, Des doesn’t like anyone – except Oliver, and even they bicker. They have sex in common, and capitalise on it often. He was born of her as a way of isolating that impulse, but no one of them is complexly lacking in a feeling from the others. Des and Oliver share sex, Jane and Mary~Jane share the love of the earth, MJ shares her love of adventure with both Oliver and Des, Des and Jane share the fact that they are primary and opposing forces, and Jane and Oliver… both have dark hair? That’s a bit of a difficult one.
They all have some pretty strong opinions.
Jane would have me start a health kick, be almost doormat nice, spend every free moment studying and never partake in any slightly impish fun. Jane is the mother of the house, the moral compass, she looks and acts like a librarian, and keeps a close watch on me at all times.
Des is the devil, but she’s not evil… not entirely and not to a grand level. She’s selfish and nasty, hurtful and hateful, the worst of humanity and seems to delight in this fact. She’d have me in jail, dead, or well employed as a shock jock somewhere.
Oliver, in short, would probably get me pregnant. But his power and motives are limited and fluctuating and really couldn’t take control on his own. He longs only for sex and his own Desri influenced brand of immorality. He differs especially from Jane in the way that you can actually feel him in your body, his influence, his presence. He is a very physical character. Des may influence the occasional facial expression or quick movement, MJ may show her own relaxed sway, but Jane never does, and Oliver is something else completely.
MJ is a little harder to explain. She would probably have me trying experimental drugs to expand my mind beyond the physical planes, protesting some environmental or human rights injustice, or just lying in a field of daises awaiting… something. She is the hippie, the universal spirit, and a free one at that. Des may be part of a bit of my artistic drive, and certainly all the insecurities, but MJ is the muse, the inspiration, the unexplainable creative force behind it all.
To live takes all of them. Jane is the mother, the brains, the rationality; Des is the drive, the child, the inescapable negative side; Oliver is a primal urge, a friend to both MJ and Des at times, MJ is the creativity, the roots and something beyond the physical realms.
Sometimes you notice they are there and that a particular thought comes mainly from one of them, and sometimes you don’t. It is not a question of being either them and you, or them alone embodying you: you are them and they are you.
☆
between 'Select' and 'Name' to play the file, or 
at the end to download, then wait for your link to appear.
No comments:
Post a Comment