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a punctuation

There are pictures of spaces I look at, and think they're incomplete. I want to go into them and fill them up with images of us. The pile of clothes would be me, the stack of books would be you, bits and pieces of different knick knacks, our different tastes in things would somehow harmoniously live together. We don't have to be in that picture, and we're not. But in our collective memories, they're there.

I want to be able to walk through that imagined space, to study it and find out how those things fell into place.

Nothing happens the way you want them to. The conversations in your mind, the decidedly cool and detached gesture you make that hints at the pool of sadness you're hiding, the last brazen request. No, in reality you only get the chance to find out what a full pack of davidoff golds look like in your ashtray, and silence.

Knowing what is good for you is never the same thing as wanting what is good for you, because in your heart of hearts, despite knowing exactly how you will be disappointed., you still hold out hope. Hope that you will eventually get the ending you deserve.

Another year, another chapter. Here are my resolutions.

Alice's Guide To Good Living 2014

Do things immediately as it occurs to you, especially if it's something that would only take you a few minutes right now, instead of pushing it to your to do list.

Stay open. Even if this year has beaten you to a pulp, don't be afraid to take chances.

Be the person you want to be. If there's patterns of behaviour you want to change about yourself, take active steps to make those changes. Don't just pin point those faults of yours and accept that those are your flaws. They don't have to be.

Don't live in a place of perpetual disappointment. At some point, something needs to change.

Stay generous, and surround yourself with people that give back to you. Don't be under appreciated, but don't be a bad friend either.

Be courageous. Own up.

Stop over thinking it. Nothing is as complicated as it is in your head. Stop justifying everything you do with deep psychological analysis. Seriously, I am very wise.

Stay honest. Honesty is pretty easy, actually. It's not about the telling of the truth, it's about having nothing to hide. If you want to live a more honest life, just stop doing shit you don't want anyone to know about.

Drink more water. Always.


a hoarding

I've never held onto anything worth holding onto, except for this zippo in my pocket, and this habit I picked up from you. The actual worth of either is probably doubtful. But for me, a collector of significance, and for right now when they are significant, they are everything. Everyday I perform learned gestures from various people who has walked alongside me for a while. Some of these things I don't even remember the origins of; who did it, or when I started doing it too, to remember them. I'm a hoarder of physical memories I've forgotten.

There are things I won't forget, though. The taste of berocca whenever I'm sick, only ever ordering a green curry whenever I'm at a Thai restaurant, the bum wiggle I do whenever I hear Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, every crack of a knuckle and the shape my hand forms that fits that bicep perfectly, and the way I scramble my eggs and the taste of that combined with a cigarette and coffee. All this and so much more - I can live a pretty full life based only on memories.

But that's not a life, is it? That's just reliving, reveling, revealing. Revealing an emptiness of the present.


A Few Words On Love And Loss

Love is not mythical, or magical. It doesn't appear for no reason, and it doesn't go away for no reason either. When one love goes away, you haven't lost your one shot at it. In my brief time falling in and out of love, the one thing that I am absolutely sure of is the endless capacity for love. One love does not need to be compared to another, one love CANNOT be compared to another. Books and movies have the entire planet running on the notion that for some reason, even if you don't consciously believe in soulmates, in the back of your mind you still think you would KNOW when someone is right for you. Nostalgia begins to run in montage reels. Clips of memories; all the reasons why you were meant to be together; all the terrible times that should point to the opposite, but somehow has you believing even stronger that it was meant to be, because you worked for it, you know?

We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.

Chuck Klosterman - Killing Yourself To Live: 80% Of A True Story

Those stories of childhood sweethearts who get married young and stay happily married and tell you that they knew, instantly? I can assure you, their relationship went through just as much theatrics, it just ended up working out. Stop anyone in a happy relationship in the street, and they can tell you that they "instantly knew", catch them when it all falls apart and who knows what the story would be. Memory does that to you.

Losing love feels just that, losing. And you can either be a gracious player, shake hands and say "better luck next time.", or you can be a child, and demand a rematch with the same player. You think of all the mistakes you made, you tell yourself you will fix them; "This time I can make it better, this time I can make it work. This time I won't fuck it up." And if you're not given the opportunity to try again, you repeatedly go over those mistakes, again, and again, and again. By this stage you're not trying to save love, you're trying to conquer it. It's all bullshit. Misery is easy, letting go is hard.

This is to tell all the little girls and boys out there. Let it go. That's the only way the next person can hope to get in there. And I promise you, there will be a next person. Loving is incredibly easy, if you are willing to love. Learn to be a gracious loser.


Load My Resolver.

I think I have been here before, I recognise that tree. Circle back Qin, circle back. The X should be right behind you.


2012 gave me moments of bliss, and patches of frustration. It was the year everything changed, but nothing moved on to make room for it.

A round up of the apexes!

Most played song of the year, BY FAR: Patrick Watson - Adventures in Your Own Back Yard

Favourite movie experience: Beasts of the Southern Wild.
Walking out of that cinema into a sunset, everything looked different.

Favourite day: 4th July. Not much else in my life could touch the cinematic perfection of that beach, on that night.

Favourite decision: All the impromptu bus trips to new places with wonderful people.

Favourite discovery: That I can love new friends wholeheartedly, swiftly and without irony.

The opening months and for much of the Spring, the sheer driving force of irrepressible optimism kept me afloat. The Summer brought with it rest, romance, and all that Californian sun. Coming back to New York and being shoved into the real world with all the cushioning and protective gear one could be swaddled in, I was still shocked by the cold air, stabbing at my lungs like a newborn's first gasping breath. Discouraged and down-trodden, I was rendered immobile both emotionally and physically for much of the Fall. Before I had time to react to the upward swing of the Winter, here we are, all a rush into another year.


2013 Arrived and I was almost ready for it. So far it has promised much rest, some snuggles, and a few friends. The proportions of which I'm a huge fan. Here's to adventures! Here's to new experiences! Here's to heartbreak and failure and every good feeling in between that gives meaning to these things!

In 2013, I will be an open wound sensitive to every sensation my brain wants to protect me from.

In 2013, I will face up to every ugly facet of myself and acknowledge them.

In 2013, I will set goals and never stop until I get there.

My head is cautious, my heart is content, my body is restless and my hands want to make things happen. Can you hear the starting pistols, rallying for action? Change is afoot, and I'll be ready for it this time.


White Rabbit Dreams

When you see a white rabbit, run. Go in the opposite direction, veer off track, turn incrementally away by only a few degrees if that's all you can do but no matter what, do not, DO NOT follow it down the hole. You know what happens down there?

Well, fantastic things. Adventure! Technicolour! What dreams are made of! But you don't want that. Dreams are what got you seeing white rabbits in the first place.

You stare down the hole he jumped into. Wisps of coloured smoke swirl, pop, and curl around your legs and before you know it, you've been pulled inside.

The air pricks your skin but it feels so good to breathe in. Not too thin or too thick, you can feel the oxygen feed your brain with every intake in a way that doesn't hurt or take effort. That hasn't happened in a while. The moment you feel ground under you, without even knowing why, you're running. Branches are snapping beneath your feet but you're rushing by so quickly you temporarily forget about all your ridiculous OCD idiosyncrasies having to do with intricate algorithms of sensations and placements and things you wish you could ignore when you're not running this fast. Soon you've lost track of how long or how far or how fast you're going and it occurs to you that you're incredibly lost but then you remember you didn't know where you started and you don't know where you're running to so then it's okay. You just run. Run. Run. The steps, the swing of your arms, the breath, all fall into a pattern, but the moment you think about it, you lose it. You try to keep it going through the internal rhythm you can still feel thumping, against your pores but, it's artificial now.

Still something propels you forward. There's a wall up ahead and you're about to hit it, but your legs keep going. Even in this forced rhythm of boom, boom, boom, boom, left, right, in, out. Just as your body is about to do this extremely stupid thing, your brain begins to panic. You see the crash before it happens, you see how at this exact rate your right hand would hit it first, followed closely by your left knee. Your head would probably be next, at which point your body would fall backwards, wholesale. You imagine the injuries, and try to gauge the level of pain you might feel in all these places. You're too preoccupied thinking about all of this when the crash actually happens. Entirely too soon, you're lying down on your back, experiencing the exact pains you thought you might.

Lying there, you try to open your eyes, only to find that they're already open, they just refuse to focus. In that split second, this technicolour world - everything you see and hear become this dull, dim haze.

Now you wish you knew where you started, so you can somehow find your way back. Not that you can move right now, but soon, you will be able to stand, and perhaps hobble. At that point, it would've been nice if you knew which direction to start hobbling towards.

What is most offensive, is the fact that you didn't want to go down there in the first place. Lying there, you register each point at which you questioned the decisions you were making. That small bubble of anger burps out of you. Not even regret, because there's nothing to regret. But that it was not really your choice, to still have that wall slam in your face, is particularly offensive.


When you see a rabbit, run.