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you were made for life, you’re lost to the world, very transparent, very selfish, beautiful powerful careless women – watch it

There are currently two great mysteries which I would like to solve right this minute. Well, actually there are three, but one is far too blush-inflicting to ever mention publicly. Although I should stop right now and warn you that to be honest they aren’t “great mysteries” by any stretch of the imagination, but are just things that have been pinching at my nerves with great pressure…

If you have scrolled through this blog at all or even glanced at the sidebar, you can see that I’m very much into photography. Having said that, it seems that I tend to fail rather miserably in front of the camera (except when it is I who has taken the photo) and most especially when I’m the only person in a photo. This leads me to Life’s-Great-Mystery-Right-This-Very-Instant #1 – why is it that I look horrible even in photos taken by my own mother, who is a professional photographer that specialised in portraiture and children’s photography, no less? I’m not going to post any examples, because it’s too cringe worthy and I can’t bear to splash unflattering photos of myself on the internet when enough people have done so already… but the question remains, why?! My mum has said herself, that even she can’t figure out why, and that I make her feel incompetent! For some reason unbeknownst to us, I tend to just seize up and hate being in front of the camera, especially when she’s behind it. I really don’t know why. She thinks its ironic that she used to make a killing living by making ugly people look pretty, but cannot seem to make me look… anywhere near normal or how I usually look, let alone look good. I just look astoundingly dreadful in her photos. To contrast this, here’s a random picture I took of myself in a public bathroom. That sounds like an idiotic thing to do, yes, I don’t deny that, but let me rephrase – it was the bathroom at Grauman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood, and I was waiting for someone else to finish up, you see. Anyway, the point is, I look absolutely normal there, as I would usually look, if you were to run into me on any given day (except when I’m in a bad mood). So therein lies the great mystery – why do I look nice in thoughtless photos taken in bathrooms of famous places, and instead look awful in pictures taken by other people, even a professional with whom I live and am very close to?

  
  

Just some more photos from Grauman’s Chinese Theater (I thought I’d spell it the way it’s spelt over there…) which I never got around to posting.

As for Life’s-Great-Mystery-Right-This-Very-Instant #2, I am very curious to know whether I am the only person who thinks like this or does this: does anyone else ever think of painful things that are touchy subjects or just things in general that bring you great pain from the past, even though you’re “over it”… and rather, does anyone else do this in almost like a scab-picking way wherein you test the waters a bit, and the first time the thin new skin peels off and it hurts like hell again, but the next time it heals back slightly better and it hurts less, and you repeat this cycle until it’s almost like you’ve desensitised yourself to these great painful memories from the past? I keep doing it, I can’t fucking help it. I have been feeling increasingly better and calmer about things in the past that just a month or two ago would have outright upset me to the point of tears instantly, but I just still don’t feel completely healed. It’s even worse when I feel like there are things that I would have had control over, if only I had known I could reach certain people at all. I guess that’s why I just keep playing the blame game in my head, even though I know it’s pointless, and this is the happiest I have been for a long, loooong time.

On (the fear of) old diaries and notebooks:

Try me, now
Is it safe yet?
Those wounds you shared
Is it safe yet?

Open it, now
Has it been long enough?
Those fires you snuffed
Has it been long enough?

Right/write it, now
Is what you said still true?
Those deepest scars of you
Is what you said still true?

And good lord, please, the All Blacks must destroy Japan in their match tomorrow, or the country will be outraged, especially with the “not risking top players with minor injuries” going on at the moment…

I regret everything I’ve done so far, When the pillars of love are blown apart, I stumble through the rubble and decay

I haven’t disappeared, I’ve just had… a really long, rough week. It’s funny how troubles in certain aspects of one’s life – when they either arise or, more appropriately, are finally blown to the surface – can completely halt your life or suspend it in limbo. I’ve labelled the “elephant in the room” as the “pink elephant in the room” this past week because things have been far too tense and unbearable at home for the most part. Now it’s been downgraded to like… the grocery trip you need to buy and have written a list for, but haven’t attended to for fear of a declined credit card or something. Insert some better metaphor because I haven’t got the brainpower right now.

My one achievement of today was cooking dinner. Okay, so not all of it. The pasta/sauce and veges were largely a joint effort from mum and the sister, but I roasted the chicken drumsticks and wings. Sort of just made up a recipe based on some of my favourite ingredients that I deemed relevant to each other enough. I ended up seasoning them in a concoction of mustard seeds, sun-dried tomatoes, pesto, basil, butter, chicken stock, paprika and lemons. It tasted pretty darn good:

Also, seeing as I’ve been getting some feedback on how people are “always looking for new music”, etc, here’s a few more tracks. Plus, what better therapy is there than sharing and blabbering on about music I love? Seeing as I can’t/won’t discuss the inner, private details of my currently more-turbulent-than-usual life. I haven’t had time to make a proper “playlist” like I usually do, but it’s music I dig, nonetheless:

1. Recharge & Revolt – The Raveonettes
One of my top tracks by one of my top bands. The title of this post comes from this song. It’s also one of my favourites off their latest album, Raven in the Grave, and is truly everything that I love this band for – noise, nostalgia, atmosphere, whispery and surprisingly-close-to-heart lyrics. Heart-melt by them, as always. I’ve finally got the boy to listen to this album as well… he also loves The Raveonettes, but its taken him ages to get around to this album.

2. I Can See Through You – The Horrors
Their newest album was just released last month (I think…?) so I’ve posted a live version. However, there’s a horribly mislabeled album version of it on Youtube here. It kind of feels like The Horrors are aiming closer and closer towards people’s comfort zones and further from obscurity, with each progressing album of theirs. I haven’t had time to pay too much attention to the second half of the album yet, but this song has been my stand-out right from the start. Still sounds like “The Horrors”y in my head, but is catchier than their older stuff, I guess.

3. Here Sometimes – Blonde Redhead
Love them. Love to them. Cry to them. This is another example why.

4. Shadows – Warpaint
Pretty girls with pretty girls with words like pearls. It’s just a lovely, lovely song.

5. Lover I Don’t Have To Love – Bright Eyes
I wrote half a song whilst speeding home from uni listening to this, the week before last. When I got home, the first thing I did was sit down with my notebook and scribbled down as much as I could of the lyrics before I forgot it all. My family thought I was nuts, but I appreciate mum for understanding my frantic ways and doesn’t take my “WAIT! I’m writing something, come back and talk to me later, out, OUT!” personally. I guess she’s used to it. Anyway, I haven’t listened to Bright Eyes for a few years now, but had a sudden urge to, recently… This is just instrumented and written so well, I get hooked on the spiral of it and want the song to never end. I guess that’s why they call it a “hook”, huh? Funny story about that term, my sister accidentally called it “whatdyoucallits, a whip of a song? Whip?!“, to which I burst out laughing and said, “noo Liv, it’s called a hook! Oh my god… whip…”.

6. Late Nineties Bedroom Rock for Missionaries – Broken Social Scene
Turns out this was a particularly nice track for the background music of the boy’s suffering. By that, I mean subjecting him to dinner with my parents and then a few hours worth of my competitiveness in a card game that we’ve played for years and years. I hope he enjoyed it more than mum and I thought he did though. That aside, it’s a pretty sparse song, especially next to the likes of “Almost Crimes” from the same album. Which, actually, I think would be my favourite song by them, not this one. Ah well.

7. Can I – J Mascis
Could only find it off a Youtube playlist, so I hope it comes up with the right track. To be honest, it’s a bloody depressing song, but there’s some kind of weird beauty in the sadness of songs. In fact, I think the most cheerful song on this entire list was by The Horrors, which is saying a lot – especially if anyone listens to their older stuff. Anyway, I just like the twang of guitar and how blatantly sad this song is. I’m usually not into stuff like this so much, stylistically.

Quote of the past week, from a book I greatly want to read because of this excerpt:

“That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it and think how different its course would have been. Pause, you who read this, and think for a long moment of the long chain of iron of gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on that memorable day.”

– Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Oh, say say say – “Wait, they don’t love you like i love you”

Words that I would absolutely die if I heard, yet feel like I will definitely die if I don’t. The lacklustre blogging is because uni and life have had a hold on me this past week, and with the entire family back together again, life will surely preoccupy me for the next week to come also. Dad’s back for the week as of earlier this evening. Picked him up from the airport and then took him out to dinner. Brought the boy with me, and so the “big two” men of my life met. Scarily so.

Taken on Ilford HP5 Plus 400 B/W film; Nikon F3. A photo I had used in the exhibition.

Call me sentimental, but honestly, I’m only blogging in the middle of the night because I wanted to post this playlist. It’s important to me. Close to heart. Far too dear. I would cry to every song if left alone on my own with this playlist… or even if I wasn’t alone. The amount of times I have. Over the person this playlist represents.

For the two years apart, six months together and an infinite more. Six songs for the past and one for the very endearing right now:

1. Bluish – Animal Collective
First night, first band he introduced me to. From one of the best albums of that year (2009), a very fitting song with very fitting lyrics.

2. Roads – Portishead
From an unforgettable night with this unforgettable album. I also wrote about “Mysterons” from Portishead’s album, Dummy, here. Everything about this so is just so subtle, so powerful… just so.

3. Ion Square – Bloc Party
“The perfect modern love song” – We dissected this song’s lyrics to smithereens, and who could blame us? The words are just so beautifully, powerfully written and described how we were for such a short while. A short while that has frozen itself for eternity in my memory. In an otherwise-forgotten song from an otherwise-dismissed album, we found Kele’s words which I wish were mine. Lyrics can be found here at their band website.

4. Y Control – Yeah Yeah Yeahs
From one of my all-time favourite albums, by one of my timelessly favourite bands. An unbearable reminder. Also the name of the epically long playlist I made last year which prompted me to start writing again.

5. Blush – The Raveonettes
I told him to listen to this song because I loved it. I told him I loved this song because I love the band. I knew he would listen to this song because I said so. And this song said everything I couldn’t. The most honest juxtaposition made with noisy, noisy guitar and such soft, realistic lyrics.

6. In Particular – Blonde Redhead
On repeat in his room, after two very mind-sucking(ly good, one of them was) movies. Then live at Laneway festival precisely six months ago, today. This band proves that former jazz students can write and play other genres too. And very well at that.

7. Overcome – Tricky
All the nights spent sleeping to this song on a previous playlist… for the times spent reading in his bed, to time spent “dancing” to this song. It’s a bloody good album opener, I’ll say that much. And very sexy too.

Seven months ago I was the commitment-phobe that found peace and company by means of globe-trotting. Now I’d still like to keep doing so… just perhaps not so alone. It’s scary, I’m a completely different person now than I was one, two, three, six months ago.

So maybe the point is that nowadays, I plan for tomorrow morning, tomorrow evening… I think about the upcoming “next week”s, I plot a while ahead. I can finally see that “ahead” even exists at all. That I don’t have to be like everything I’ve been taught through nurture (torture), and that some people don’t give up on me just because I pretend I want them to.

” And I am certain that I love you, more than I am certain that I like myself. “

So hold me, you know this wasn’t planned. Hold me close, you’ll hold

Class today was a bit of a joke. I had a clash so got moved into a different combo, which meant that I now only have 1.5hrs of class on Tuesdays. On all the students’ timetables online, it said that our Composition & Arranging class was at 1pm-2.30pm, but according to the teachers’ version of the timetables, class is set for 12pm-1.30pm. I only found out by accident yesterday, whilst trying to sort out the clash with the HOD and the teacher in charge of combo placements; so I ended up txting Oli, the teacher for this paper, to confirm that it was indeed at noon. In the end, only five people (myself included) showed up for class on time, so Oli decided to call it lunch time and to start class at 1pm when everyone else showed up.

Turns out, Student Services Online and the music school admin is more useless than we thought, and they had mucked up the times of the class before and after ours as well! And this is for classes of 3rd years, 2nd years and honours students, all for just one room! Ridiculous.

I ended up going over to Albert Park on the other side of campus to have lunch with the boy since the weather was so lovely outside. Lovely, but freezing. I happened to have everything the boy wanted for lunch so I shared and took a couple of quick snaps before anyone spotted me being touristy. Basically, going anywhere else on/near campus is a novelty for me, since I virtually never venture out of the KMC.

Seeing this fountain today made me think of The Fountainhead. My sister is a fair way through it now, and I read her a chapter earlier tonight as she curled up in bed.

My box of fuit and salami & cheese sandwiches. I bought that Marcs skirt along with the cardigan I was on about yesterday. It’s nice to own and wear a bit of c0lour… I constantly look fit for a funeral, otherwise.

 I was going to post a couple of nice songs but decided against it… I think I’ll post a full playlist along with youtube links later in the week instead. For now, a poem:

“HOme”

O I have allowed too many
visitors
Not guests
into this house that
was not
my            Home

until You
entered and affixed
a light
a heat
into the deep bellies
O’ the ceiling.

i have sat and laid
and chat
with mortal,
ordinary ones.
more than once.
special, they ought
think not,
for what is a host
without a cause?

for empty nights i stared
            at walls
            at all
            at.
i can’t alter the backlog.

you wonder of the
dozen more hands that touched
the door and
wiped the floor
filthy tracks
like thoroughfare
i conduct memories as an
   archival library –
irrelevant, useless, left to dust and rot but
libraries must be kept in order. In check,
in line,
with time.

            You daren’t
            Enquire.
for this HOme was an old house,
      a trodden, (mis)used refused
      house with mislaid boards and
      traps, set just-so;
But this HOme is now
transformed
morphed
crystallised
into well-polished
sparkling form today.

and my Home is no longer open,
            not for sale
            to the highest bidder,
any bidder,
even more handsome than thee–
this once Open HOme is
            Sold
to its old-Owner
whose key to the door
and cellar
Is the Only
One
that Fits,
O.

When I’m yours, I’ll be waiting for the strike of two, Cause we know, There’s something left for me and you to do

My mood since the last time I blogged has been all over the place, but I think I’ve finally found some kind of mental and emotional footing. Semester two started today, and my timetable is a trainwreck waiting to happen. I’m still waiting on final confirmations from the jazz tutors about when exactly my remaining classes will be, since my jazz courses seem to be colliding with one another. Clashing classes is something that isn’t supposed to happen in such a small department!

In remembrance of the holidays that flew past, here are some photos from last week. My sister and I had appointments over the shore, after which we went and got lunch and ice cream. I also bought an amazingly kick-arse leather jacket, but I haven’t taken photos of that yet though.

Eggs benedict with bacon – my favourite.

This photo makes me feel funny about myself. Something about the angle makes me feel like my nose is abnormally large and that my face is a bit warped out of proportion. Nevertheless, I’m totally loving my Marcs mens cardigan that I bought on sale. So warm, so comfy.

Chocolate ice cream- also my favourite. Liv got mango sorbet which is probably in my Top 5.

For someone who loves taking uncalculated, un-thought-out and seemingly blind risks, I am so boring when it comes to food. I’m just such a sucker for food habits! Once I latch onto a favourite from a restaurant or just in form of a flavour, it’s really hard for me to order something different, to try something new… it just feels like I’d be taking a risk at the potential price of missing out on a guaranteed satisfaction!

The boy and I went out for a dinner date on Friday night. (I’ve always wanted to say that, casually, you know… “oh we went on a date”, blah blah, so blasé, like in the moooovies!) It wasn’t for any particular, specified reason – we just both felt like it. It kinda seemed as if we were celebrating something, but I’m not too sure what. Although earlier last week marked the precise date of two years since we met, and in a couple of weeks’ time will be our “6-months” mark… and all of that sounds terribly cheesy and overtly sentimental, but my gosh I’m such a sentimental person. For some very hard-to-explain reasons, the whole “a year/two years since we met” business means a lot to both of us, in the break-your-heart-then-mend-it kind of way, and it’s about the only time I’ve ever seen anyone more sentimental than I, remembering a date better than I.

We went to Sale St and it was amazing. Even though it was really busy and full of lots of people just going out for a drink rather than a meal, it still felt awfully intimate like we were in our own bubble, and everything got slowed down and slightly muted when they came too close. We also did some spying and live commentary of a couple who really sucked – they looked like they were cosying up at first, but then the girl was really keen and the guy looked like he wasn’t feeling it, it was awkward and awful and such a laugh, most especially when they were then joined by three female friends! The only bummer of the evening was the fact that I had actually taken a little camera with me, but then discovered that it didn’t have a memory card, dammit! So you’ll just have to take my word for it that we’re a killer couple, especially when we go out in our leathers and I even wore what Cara calls my “fuck-me boots”. Tasteful ones, of course.

I wrote something earlier this evening and then decided that the things I write would make a nice love-letter-esque collection. If only there was a market for these things, and if I was even willing to sell my inner-most vulnerable self. People, it frustrates me to not know what to do with my writing! I wrote something last week that, according to the boy, sounds like an excerpt out of a novel, but I have no idea what to do with it whatsoever. Actually, I just realised that whenever I publicise or share a piece of writing with anyone, I get a weird sensation akin to that of stepping on stage – like stage fright but in the form of words on paper. And because I never tend to edit my writing and keep it so raw – just like a performance, really… played once and left unchanged forever – it feels like I’m walking around fresh out of bed (if not naked), waiting to be told that all is okay; that there is indeed beauty in my raw, most pure form of self. Isn’t that what we’re all looking for?

And I don’t know who wrote this, but since I didn’t want to post my own writing today, I thought this was lovely:

“I don’t think there is a middle ground for love. Either we are dreaming, or we are drowning. I wouldn’t change a thing, because I’m either dreaming or drowning with you.”

Ohhh, and how could I forget – OH MY GOD HARRY POTTERRRRRRRR. Childhood’s momentary revival is gone once again. AHHHHHH. That is all.

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