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July 29, 2010

he's good. i know.

over the mountains and the sea
your river runs with love for me
and i will open up my heart
and let the healer set me free

i'm happy to be in the truth
and i will daily lift my hands
for i will always sing
of when your love came down

i could sing of your love forever
i could sing of your love forever
i could sing of your love forever
i could sing of your love forever

oh i feel like dancing
it's foolishness i know
but when the world has seen the light
they will dance with joy like we're dancing now

i could sing of your love forever
i could sing of your love forever
i could sing of your love forever

i. could. sing. of. your. love.

forever.

"I Could Sing of Your Love Forever" by Delirious

July 22, 2010

masochism, but without the pleasure

i think that we ultimately want to be happy.

i also think that we are often most irrevocably attracted to the things that will make us miserable.

thus, why life is such a drama.

July 17, 2010

Saturday.

last night, my boyfriend called me. he was fishing with his mates and got bored. so i got to listen to him struggling through the ankle-deep mud to catch fish. it was not only very amusing but incredibly sweet and nice. the perfect way to finish a day. i love having the last thing i hear before i go to sleep be his voice :)

this morning, i had planned to go on a venture. so, after taking everything out of my wardrobe, piling it on my bed and finally deciding to wear the only things i hadn't looked at (meanwhile trumping around the house in my bra and pretty patterned tights in a fashion-frustrated-funk), i threw the dishes into the dishwasher in five minutes and ran to catch the bus to the shops.

my first stop was the library where i was denied a membership. being under 18 is seriously getting in my way.

next stop, stationery. every english lesson i read my novel and say to myself and my neighbours 'i need those little sticky tabby things so that i can stop defiling this book with dogears and pencil marks'. so, sticky tabby things i now have.

next, the hairdressers who have kindly offered me $50 of free hair stuff in order to entice me to give them more business. i haven't found the catch so far but i'll let you know if i'm forced into slavery or excessive charges after my appointment on monday.

then i wandered for awhile, stopping briefly in the florists only to be disappointed with their lack of cactus. what kind of florists is this?

bought a cactus for my friends, who are having a dinner party tonight. came home, full of frankie joy (I LOVE FRANKIE. this kind of love requires capitals)

just brought my peanut butter cookies out of the oven. i am now going to enjoy some while they are still warm.

so that's my day so far.

peace be with you, bloggees.
xxx

July 14, 2010

pash = passion??

do you remember when a kiss was the be all and end all? it was the climax of the movie; the final release of tension; the point at which life as you knew it was changed forever.

is it just me or has the kiss become something a bit commonplace? it's a peck hello, or the beginning of something much less romantic and much more carnal. we even kiss relatives and family friends hello and goodbye now (and that freaks me out, for the record).

perchance it's only that i have not found someone to kiss that changes life as i know it. but i doubt it.

i believe that, like christmas, the kiss has now just become something to do.

there isn't tension and anxiousness and fear and exhilerating smittenness before the kiss. but how to fix this, i can't say.

ideas, bloggees? because i am still waiting for the kiss that takes my breath away. the kiss that rivals that of Buttercup and Westley. The. Kiss. hmm?

July 4, 2010

But where are the spoons, Matt Preston?!

you know how fancy people in funny little scarves and shiny cuffs swoosh wine around in their mouths? and then spit it out as if it is truly repulsive, offensive, and uninteresting? and then they go on to talk about its rich undertones and how it (apprently) smells like the ocean mixed with asparagus covered in a rich Chanel No. 5 white-wine reduction sauce? i can't remember the word for it exactly at the moment but i have the sneaking suspicion that it is called 'swilling'.

soon this will be on ESPN as a sport along with chess tournaments, spelling bees, and golf.

the point is, my thoughts are like expensive wine with their numerous undertones and subtle flavours that only the creators and experts can detect. And my mind is like the palette of a pompous, silk-tie-wearing guy who fancies himself important enough that even his farts smell like popery (who else is picturing the guy from Masterchef? anyone? just me? okay.) i swill the things i think about and then swallow and digest thoroughly.

my bedroom is about 2m x 1.5 m. as i was lying in bed this morning, contemplating the outfit i would put on when i got out from under my warm sheets, i was swilling about the idea in my head that there my room is probably about the size of a jail cell. if you got rid of my closet, put in a cot, removed all the homey touches and sharp objects, and added a toilet in the corner, it would be just like the Shawshank Redemption (minus Morgan Freeman).

despite this, i like my little cell. i have everything i need here. sure, i can never move my furniture and the clothes tend to pile up instead of out which means i have to keep it clean or i will wake up one morning and find them up to my ceiling. but i don't need a fancy tv, or a nice stereo, or a big closet, or a big dancing space or even a toilet in the corner. who does?

i like my purple walls and my fairy lights and my collaged closet doors and my tiny mirror and my window hanging.

here's the bit where i take a small detour: i just saw my dog rubbing his little tiny nose into the carpet to scratch it. my dog is a fluffy rat. his snout is exactly one inch long. just thought i'd give you a visual. so cute.

the reason for all this nostalgia about my bedroom is that there has been talk of moving as of late........

it's not like it would be a super huge move or anything, really only 10 minutes away. but:

A. that's 10 minutes further out of town and 10 minutes closer to the suburbia-cult that is the soccermom infested area of Raby Bay. i'm already ages away and i'm allergic to implants...

B. i love my little house. i finally know where everything is, i get my neighbourhood. the boxes are unpacked for the first time in a long time.

C. moving means acquiring a new family. granted, i like athlete pete (my mum's partner (i hate this word but 'boyfriend' seems to stupid and childish for my 40-year-old mother. i can get away with it because i'm seventeen) but i just got used to my brother in law living in the house! i miss the good old days when i could leave the bathroom door open... is now really the time to add 'steps' to my life?

whatever, i suppose there is bribery involved in moving. i've been promised a big room, a big bed, and a big tv to ensure that my new space becomes MY space. but how Judas would it be for me to just sell out like that?

for now, i've got at least 5 months of purple walls, knowing which knob turns the hot water in the shower on, and swilling. cheers, Matt Preston.