lizi –

soundtrack: is on replay // thoughts: keep running in circles

i live in dread of what tomorrow brings.

actually, according to bladerunner (or my english teacher’s interpretation of it), we all live in dread of what tomorrow brings. the uncertainty of life fucks with us all; we are but puny humans in a world which does not need us. it is terrible not to be needed, especially by something you need so much. the constant questions we are left to ponder will never find what we deem to be a satisfactory answer, and we remain drifiting through these different types of confusion for the rest of our lives.

that is, of course, unless you’re unbelievably stupid.

so today, admist all my casual wonderings came a few new questions. the normal questions have all been asked; what is the meaning of life? what happens when we die? will eating this make me fat? etc. i have advanced into a new era. my big question is this: do you grow hair when you’re in a coma? (god, that was major bathos. (lol pun))

maybe, because there is someone that can answer my question, it does not match with the great puzzles of humanity, but it puzzles me nevertheless. yet the insignificance of such a simple question is overwhelmed by all the current events which surround us; the events the media deem newsworthy and report to us; things such as the earthquake.

and although i acknowledge that there are extremely sad things happening on this planet we share, my human instinct can’t help but take over and view these people as completely insignificant in the light of what will happen to my selfish being within the next few days. i have no time nor emotion to spare for others with a fate so horrific compared to my own. but i have time sufficient to write a blog.

re-evaluation of values and character?

maybe. but not yet.

for every dream, there is a reality. for every precious moment, there is a regret. yet the reality of these regrets are not recognised until it’s too late.

he’s walking towards the light in my dreams. there’s no long tunnel filled with dark emptiness, just a speck of light that he thinks will be better than anywhere else. the speck of light is in the opposite direction of me. driven by the possibility of a happy ending, he walks on.

like a black and white movie, the colours eventually blend and his outlines fade away. not even a shadow remains now, and the memories of characteristics and mannerisms are seeping out of my consious mind. i still dream, but when my mind is catapulted back to reality all i can do is remember. there’s a gaping hole in my life. i dig up some earth and attempt to fill it up, but it just falls into the never ending void.

it makes no difference.

i need to take the pictures off the walls of my mind. redo the furnishings. change my surroundings. but i can’t seem to refurbish my dreams.

soundtrack: why not me; varsity // thoughts: in quite a daze

should i stay, should i go; should’ve asked, don’t wanna know … who are you thinkin` about; shouldn’t kiss, shouldn’t tell; shoulodn’t leave without farewell … what were you thinkin` about?

a tim tam packet has nine tim tams, not ten. i know this because all nine are sitting in my stomach now, waiting to be digested. along with another half packet of chicken crimpy shapes i ate. i also ate lunch and dinner, so the next time you see me don’t be surprised if i’m a million times fatter.

because you’re stuck in my head like my favourite song, you put the scene on pause, it still plays on … it’s chapter three, it’s hard to breathe; the words are slowly fading … without you here, i get nowhere

my mind is quite numb at the moment because i watched this movie called wristcutters; a love story. i think the movie is trying to tell people not to kill themselves, but after watching it i think i’ve leaned that way a little bit more. it’s one of those movies that make you think, i think. i hated the ending though, because the main character who once believed he had nothing to live for gets lucky. love saves the day, and everyone gets a second chance. hate it, hate it, hate it.

could’ve been, could’ve had; how could you do that and not look back … you couldn’t wait, you couldn’t breathe; you couldn’t be sharing the same dreams with me

how come emo-ness is always associated with love now? why can’t someone be unhappy with their life because of something else? and why do those who are lucky enough to experience love make it all one big emo story?

what is it that keeps me hanging on to every word you say; what is it that keeps me holding on to you?

but hey, who am i to talk?

 soundtrack: six whole days; matt palmer // thoughts: still spinning

nothing ever goes according to plan. i planned to write a draft major work today. shouldn’t have expected so much. damn.

i was reading some people’s blogs about me today, which is kind of weird. i mean, sometimes i write about people too, but it’s never explicit. i don’t know if writing stuff about a person explicitly on the net is any better than hinting about who they are when you write about them and making it a mystery to the rest of the world. personally i never get the extremely subtle hints people aim at me, so maybe it’s hypocritical to expect the same of those who read my writing? is it a bad time to say that most of my writing has some meaning, some direction? maybe so.

however, sometimes it’s interesting to read about yourself, not in a conceited way, but like knowing what people think is good. if they think you’re awesome, be flattered. if they don’t, it’s just a blog. we’re only human.

soundtrack: the chewing of watermelon // thoughts: lyrics of a song i can’t remember

there’s this woman at my bus stop that i see every sunday if i happen to go home early. she sits on the wooden bench and screams unintelligible words so passionately that the people sitting beside her get up to wait for their bus. but that may also be because she smells (i wouldn’t know, i never sit down). even the tired old people let her have her own bench. she never catches a bus, just sits there, sometimes yelling at her own reflection through the bottleshop window, sometimes smoking and yelling at the people around her.

the only time i’ve understood the words she screams through my earphones is when she was counting. six-hundred-and-fourty-four, six-hundred-and-fourty-five, six-hundred-and-fourty-six… by the time i got on my bus it was eight-hundred-and-twenty-three.

no one understands.

i look at her, unnerved sometimes, but i don’t shake my head and walk away like the others do. i just wonder how she got that way, and what she believes she’s saying. maybe she’s telling us the world will end in a few months, but no one will believe her because she’s just some crazy woman from the street. and while the suits and ties look down upon her ragged appearance and her evidently horrendous life, a silly school girl tries to trace the different paths between what they name as success, and what the world regards as failure.

but then the bus comes, and it’s all forgotten.

soundtrack: life; loyd // thoughts: a myriad of complications

many strange ideas occurred to me today. we’re probably very familiar with the idea of truth, justice, law and stuff due to overexposure through the media, but because we’re in year 12 everyone is starting to ask us to reconsider. add all the controversy that’s been happening and you have yourself a brainful of stuff to contemplate.

first things first. today i learnt that when the british convicts got to australia the men came off the boats and built stuff while the women stayed on, even after months of confined sea travel. you might think i’m going to start talking about womens liberation and rights, but that’s not it. what was amazing is that when the women came off the boats there was lots of rape and a massive orgy. how come i wasn’t taught that until now? and how many people knew that?

secondly, just as the idea of truth becomes even more hazy to me i remember courtcases where there are two versions of the truth and a jury gathered admist all sorts of selectiveness. apparently if you look like a gangster you’re not fit to judge whether someone is guilty of a crime, but if you’re middle-aged and wear a tie, consider yourself a part of the privileged elite. in addition to this awful prejudice there is the fact that a lawyer is hired to portray your ‘truth’ at the angle he/she thinks best suits your case, or rather will get you off easier. i used to want to be a lawyer, you know, but if i wanted to feed people shit i’d rather go into advertising.

last, and definitely least, is the fact that everyone has started talking about our formal. my friends in particular have already decided to get something called a hummer limo (sp?) in which they will roll on the fur carpet, drink champagne and arrive fashionably late to what they deem as the most important event of their lives apart from their wedding. needless to say, i looked on with much despair at their exitement. it’s april, or to be fair it’s may  tomorrow. the formal is in november. do you know what happens between now and november? i also heard that a girl who remains unnamed in our school has asked a boy to the formal which is happening in november. the very thought makes me shudder. what if you don’t like him in six months time?  what if you find out that he’s actually a dickhead? but hey, at least she won’t be alone for the rest of her life.

/end rant

the handsome prince on a white horse is not longer the ideal man in modern times. nowadays, the best thing a girl could have is someone rich, successful and hardworking. big house, nice cars, exotic holidays; that’s what life’s all about.

of course, the essentials remain the same; the prince was probably the wealthiest chip on the block, and becoming a princess allows a girl to have anything she wants. it’s just that the idealised version had been scrapped, and replaced with a modern, materialistic and superficial version of love. no one minds, though, because we’ve all evolved into sophisticated people.

so i sit here, looking at a balding man in a grey suit, flaunting myself in hope that he’ll come over and buy me a drink. a woman once told me that this is the club the elites come to, so i quickly secured myself a bar stool. i saw him get out of a jaguar. cinderella may not be interested, but i sure am.
i smile, cross and uncross my legs and flick my long blonde hair in his direction, all the while pretending that i have something more interesting to look at. it’s so easy to capture the attention of a man, but so hard to hold it. women today are at a loss, because what she wants in her life can be interpreted in so many ways. i hope this guy just wants a trophy wife, not like some men who feel the need for an independent woman.

i turn a little to get another glimpse of him in an attempt to fit him in either category. and i see something that devastates me. he has a woman. they smile at each other as she kisses him hello, and i glare. time to pick another target.

the truths i’ve learnt :

_____________ that sometimes you repeat your mistakes

_____________ that a perfect world can’t be perfect

_____________ that he will always see what he wants to see

_____________ that you can type the first letter of your process to find it

_____________ that there is no truth

_____________ that she likes your hair when it’s soft and fluffy and not geled up

_____________ that there are no unbreakable promises

_____________ that pi radians is a hundred and eighty degrees

_____________ that he sometimes forgets his regrets

_____________ that eventually she learns to keep quiet

_____________ that you can never like someone just the way they are

soundtrack: paper ruffling and furious writing // thoughts: about food

i am at state, attempting to write the first draft of my major work. i am also extremely hungry, but i know if i leave to buy food i will never return. it’s amazing how well i know myself, really.

i feel good about sitting here though, even though i’m typing a blog on my laptop. i know i’ve made an effort. which is more than i can say for other people. actually, i lie. a few good days out of a million bad ones is worth it, is it not? it’s just a shame that i’m having a good day by myself with my only human contact being over msn. but hey, at least nothing shitty is happening.

school starts in a few days, which marks the beginning of the second half of this year. there’s still so much i haven’t done, and even more that i can’t do. i seriously don’t believe any of my english/history teachers when they say that i will be able to write an 8 paged essay in 1 hour by hsc. it is improbable. it is more than improbable; impossible.

soundtrack: bullets; erick right // thoughts: of a lazy feeling

woke up about an hour ago so decided not to go out. trying to be productive, but felt like blogging instead. it’s halfway through the year. twenty something weeks or so until the hsc.

i’m beginning to get scared.

it never mattered as much to me before, but seeing everyone so serious is kinda shitting me. according to josephine alibrandi, the year of the hsc is where one’s whole future can skyrocket or go through the toilet. but i’ve spent my last five years trying to disprove this statement and i don’t want to start believing it now.

the thing is, there are things i want. i’m sure everyone wants something. but it’s getting hammered into my brain that if i don’t do well this year i’m not getting any of it. which i don’t want to believe. but how else am i going to get there? after thriteen years of school which has supposedly built up to this moment, what else am i supposed to think, but ‘oh shit. this is it.’

and so, (i know some of you don’t believe me) but i’m trying to try. yet trying is hard after years of cruising due to the belief that in the end it will all amount to nothing. trying is hard because you have to put yourself on the ledge before you can cross it. and i don’t want to get on that ledge, because i haven’t been bothered to build a fence.