Poems/lyrics that I have written.

we sway, we grab, at the strands, and the skin, couldn’t cause anymore friction than this

This day a month ago, I was spending the day at Santa Monica with my sister, gorging on frozen yoghurt and feasting on the novelty of simply being there. Just now I’ve attempted to add another day onto my California journal, which is a classic Moleskin notebook that I’ve lived in and lived out of for the duration of my trip. Currently the night of Friday 12th November is still being written out, if only in bullet points that include the details of what happened, what I saw, what I thought, etc. I want to get it all down ASAP before it all slips away from me… but the delicate tiers and layers to my sweet, bitter and bitter sweet memories are just so intricate and intertwined. It’s as if I have to write down every tangent I ever went on (somehow I remember, still, for now), because it was a part of the entire experience which I had. But in the process of peeling back the layers I’m afraid to lose something in the sensitivity and freshness of purely having lived through it and felt it, without ever thinking about it. Delicate indeed.

There is a very cute spider crawling around my ceiling at the moment. It’s the perfect spider size, aesthetically, I reckon. Small enough to be noticed and cute, and not big enough to make my sister scream and insist that I kill it. I still hope no one in my family comes into my room and finds it tomorrow though.

I’ve never really been a “fan girl” of any sort. Yeah, I’d say such and such guy from band/film/editorial/whatever is hot or sexy, but I’ve never really been one of those girls that actively drool over celebrities and such. This said, there are maybe half a handful of exceptions. One being James Franco. And the other, since the night of Friday 12th November, being Jamie Burke. At least I’ve met and exchanged a few words with the latter, you know, so I don’t sound like a complete dick when I say his voice vibrating through my eardrums was like audible sex. Would be very audible sex. Sorry. I’m often times against the supposed attractiveness of a man with a guitar in a band, because too many of these are put on some undeserved pedastool (by my standards anyway), and they aren’t even that great. But I think the combination of sexy man, ripped shirt, guitar, sexy voice, nice enough band, and orgasmic London accent is truly my weakness.

If there ever is a time where I wish I had my mythical “come hither” look tamed and available at my beck and command, it would be if I ever meet aforementioned half handful.

I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve already. I’m not ready for Christmas feasting yet. I’ve consumed far too much food and drink this week to last me until the rest of 2010.

I know this entry is so scatterbrained. It’s literally everything I’m thinking of right now, in chronological order. Pretty typical-Amanda of me, I must say. Just for this post I’ve decided to start a new category on my WordPress: Males. Very appropriate way to begin the life of *cough* adult blogging? I was going to make it say “Men” but hey, I’ll keep it slightly broader, eh? Also, I’ve got two places I’d really like to take photos at. Namely, Lottie’s amazing bedroom and this other room with large windows. I fucking love large, photogenic windows. Why couldn’t this house have any like that?!

Current quote featured on my new whiteboard in front of me at the moment: WELL BEHAVED WOMEN RARELY MAKE HISTORY. That’s it, perfect. Motto for the end of 2010 and beyond, I say.

Green eyes just don’t cut it, quite, for me

Nothing ever quite pans out according to plan. I have a love/hate relationship with plans, because I love making and breaking them, depending which suits. The best occurrences are when things and people I didn’t know even existed suddenly formulate in front of me as our paths cross and intertwine, then part again. There’s been a couple of really stand-out occasions where that’s happened for me, and I guess a lot of feelings have been re-evoked in me tonight from watching “Before Sunrise” and “Before Sunset”.

There’s always the lingering questions and regrets, l’esprit de escalier and the utter hatred at fate for having granted you such a movie-like scene in your life, only to make the circumstances unbearable. Have you ever met someone who you felt was utterly perfect for you, but just in the wrong place, at the wrong time? Is there someone in your life that would be utterly perfect for you, give or take x amount of years?

Also, I think one of the most interesting phenomena (or theory) I’ve experienced, is the time in Taipei where my friend Joel and I had met some guys on a shuttle bus out of the airport, only to meet them twice more in Taipei: once at the 101, and another time on a metro! What are the chances of that happening?! Imagine if we had been at opposite ends of this very full metro carriage? Or different carriages? And so on… it intrigues me how you could potentially be at the same place at the same time as someone, and would never have known it. We had joked that if we crossed paths yet again that we would buy each other drinks. Obviously this didn’t happen.

I would keep thinking, “had I not left that gig early, I would never have met…”, or “had I not been reading a poster in the hallway, then…” I know life is too short to dwell on these things, but at times one can’t help but wonder. It’s times like these I wish I had a very anonymous blog where I could spill all my juicy, deep, dark, sad, mysterious encounters with various “important” people.

Product of the day is the following Christmas card I made earlier tonight. The lighting ruins it, but it’s black ink on silver card with a touch of red.

I won’t try, I won’t try
to make our paths collide
because next time, next time
I won’t let us say goodbye.

say it anyway, I would say, wait for me

It feels like the dates of December have blurred into some form of collective humidity. November in California seems like light years ago. I’ve been too distracted in this gallivant lifestyle lately that I can’t seem to do more than three productive things in one day. But today I read somewhere whilst Christmas shopping that, “life isn’t about finding yourself, life is about creating yourself” – an anonymous quote that just rang so loud in my head I couldn’t shake it off. So I’m glad that in about 15 hours’ time I will be having a jam with a man and his guitar, to hopefully put some music to lyrics I wrote some days ago:

If walking away was so easy,
Then why can’t we all?
What is this magnetism,
What is this draw?

Just because it’s there
Doesn’t mean you should
Just because I let you,
Didn’t mean you would.

Wandering through, your unknown house,
Learning your room, like I’m learning you.

If time was so infallible,
Then why can’t we count?
The moments are inconstant
And the moon isn’t round.

Just because you see it,
Doesn’t mean it’s there.
Just because I feel it,
Doesn’t mean you care.

Feeling up your walls, looking for the light switch,
Looking for my mind, afraid that I’m your kitsch.

When we walk so close together,
Something’s gotta give.
When you can’t move any closer,
Into me you start to drift.

It’s not about any one thing or person in particular, but rather like a snowball of how I feel, how people I know feel, and how it all somehow got magically regurgitated through this mind of mine. That sentence itself was like a snowball!

I’m going through one of those periods again where I feel like I am being too much of a Jane of all trades… If we set aside my old part-time cafe job, for the first time ever, I’ve made more money through my photographic work than playing music gigs. That said, the first year of jazz school and all the undesirables I went through this year has really shaken me from the core out. I’ve spent a lot of time on the road, on the plane, in the depths of the night with black ink trawling out from my fingertips, forming words and prose that didn’t exist on any conscious level until the moment they converged with paper. It’s hard to keep up all three outlets for me, balancing time, let alone all the mental factors – bass: practising jazz, refining my technique and writing music that spawns from some mysterious corner of my mind; photography: I’ve just not found the time to set up any of the photo shoots that I’ve plotted in my head, and have mostly just done spontaneous momentous work, which I must admit is my favourite; and writing… I’ve started up a couple of large-scale writing projects which are both hovering in my mind, with only a few pages of actual physical existence. This needs to change.

These photos are from the Viper Room where The Binges and Delilah played. Oh, Jamie Burke, what can I say? His London accent was like velvet to my ears during our far-too-short exchange. More will be uploaded soon, and I’ll be working on finishing my Californian journal.

Before I forget to mention it, one of my summer hockey teams (I play in four teams over two nights) is undefeated and we are playing in the finals on Wednesday night. Yay for a free meat pack to be devoured at a barbecue on Sunday! Yes, I’m already assuming we will hands down win. Hopefully I’ll get some satisfactory goals like I did last week.

Your eyes say the things you won’t

A couple of weeks ago I got hired to shoot a band that a couple of my mates from jazz school play in; ironically (although, kind of characteristic of me, I guess), my favourite shots aren’t the “picture-perfect” ones, and are instead the more experimental shots I took towards the end of the set. Some people might say that these are merely flukes, chance shots I got by fiddling with slow shutter speed or smaller apertures for bigger depth of field thus forcing longer exposure times – partly true – but I must say that these aren’t merely the result of “chance” and play. I’m not sure where my interest in trying out different effects spawned from, but I remember the first gig that I really tried this on was the Animal Collective show at the Powerstation at the end of last year, but I hadn’t really given it conscious thought much since then. If anything, I think the influence is mostly based on the idea of trying to capture a double-exposure-like effect on the digital medium, without the use of photoshop.

I’ve actually got a roll of film floating around in my room somewhere that I’d done some double exposure on, but I haven’t been bothered to get it processed yet. For one, the only place in town where I can get that type of film processed at isn’t anywhere near my daily commutes; not to mention it’s not cheap.

Anyway, here are the shots – I haven’t done much editing besides making them black and white. Just cos y’know, I’m not a big fan of this particular purpley-pink light they used on stage that night:

I should really get off the internet and work on my assessments now, but I’m way too good at procrastination. I have at least one assessment/test/assignment every week until October 29th. I can’t wait for that day – it will mean hell on earth is over, I am alive and that I will have completed 1/3 of my bachelor’s degree. Yes please.

Randomly though, whilst lyric-scribbling the other night, the line “Your eyes say the things you won’t” (title of this post) reminded me of Radiohead’s line from There There: “just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there”. Sometimes all the speculation and self-torture in the world means nothing without the validation from a particular, spectacular person. Sometimes I’d prefer all the airy-fairy things to end, and things to be black and white, but isn’t this part of the package of “Joys & Pains of Youth”? And just admit it, it’s not quite as lip-bitingly exciting and dramatic if things were spelled out to the letter. But all hail the mighty mighty, they are still right through and through when they say “we are accidents/waiting waiting to happen”.

There’s a thunder in our hearts

Sometimes I just want to post a picture with no words. And sometimes I want to post just a single, striking line with no explanation. But I always think far too much to be able to do that.

The second half of semester 2 starts tomorrow – actually, by now it’s today – and I don’t feel ready at all. I haven’t done a fraction of the things I had wanted to do during this 2-week break – sure unforeseeable circumstances struck up, but I was also lazy. At the moment I also have a sinus and throat infection and dealing with it is just a pain. Not to mention last night we had a scare with the cat being ill and had to take him to the afterhours vet clinic and pay a hefty sum for him to be anesthetised   so they could look down his throat to see whether there’s something stuck or if it’s infected or both. Turns out it’s just infected, and apparently it IS possible the same bacteria plaguing me could have done it to him. Yikes. I only managed to get him home at 3.30am which didn’t help my sleeping pattern at all.

Irrelevantly though, I’ve been wanting to post these two moments of joy:

Left: A photo my mum took of my sister and I jumping on a bridge in Sydney. Looking at it really makes me miss school athletics days where I got to do high jump. I always made the “qualifying” jump but then bunged out and there was always a certain height that my foot didn’t want to get over.
Right: The present that I spent a lot of time thinking about and wrapping for W.’s (sic) 21st, and I put the card in there at the bottom too. I’ve even abbreviated his initials to the bare minimum, so unknowing people can always wonder who my long-time adored is.

My friend Lottie is crazy for the Arctic Monkeys and Alexa Chung, and I just can’t resist posting this, a love note from Alex Turner to Alexa: “My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it. The idea that you may kiss it again stuck in my brain, which hasn’t stopped thinking about you since well before any kiss. And now the prospect of those kisses seems to wind me like when you slip on the stairs and one of the steps hits you in the middle of the back. The notion of them continuing for what is traditionally terrifying forever excites me to an unfamiliar degree.” This is the precise reason that I think great lyricists are underrated. I can’t think of a less pretentious and more realistic way of being so romantic in words. He hasn’t used any flamboyant adjectives, simply described and put it in such a way that is so heart-melting. This is also the exact reason why I love men who are good with words. I don’t think I could ever date anyone who tells me every other sentence that he doesn’t understand a word I used.

Something I wrote the other night, simply because I just had to use the word “bilocation”, although it might be a little… misused – I hear that’s called artistic license, haha:

You are
A rare occurance
When you talk
I want to turn you up.

You are
A bilocation
When you’re here
I never have you to myself.

You are
Inside, outside
Everywhere to me.
The places I go
And the people I see
The art I adore
And the songs that I sing:
You are
Too fucking much to me.

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