working at my new job seems to be going well... so so i think hehehe
i always get a little paranoid when i start a new place. Will i be capable? Will i come across well? Or with the think they hired a nut case? Luckily at this job i seem to be less anxious than i usually get. Is puppet becoming the epithet for a well adjusted person with anxieties under control - who knows?!
Its fun working here at carers NSW. Its in the city so all is near. Its 4 days a week - so i have more free time. Its a good career choice considering its going to help me with getting my registration as a pscyhologist. Yay :)
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
dorothy's dance camp
yay! i got onto the same same website twice!! here i am at Dorothy's Dance Camp. I was soo sweaty that my stamp rubbed off twice!!
Friday, August 17, 2007
postscript
Thanks for those who kept up with the story im happy to have finished it. Im not quite sure if ive put enough in the ending to make it mean what I intend it to mean - but thats cool. On a reproduction into zine form i'll be sure to clean it up.
A friend asked me if i was Jonas. Well the answer is yes i am Jonas and no im not. I identify strongly with Jonas. Much of his experiences relate to mine. Positive and negative. But then again the other characters draw from me too. I am like Sebastian and Toby too, in ways. All that happened in the story was 'true' in one way or another. Positions were inverted, meanings differed but still the essence of the event was never corrupted. So even though im not quite Jonas, Jonas is still a poetic (re?)interpretation of my life.
Statement of practice
the story was based on a original two page draft that did not have an end. The task was to complete the work via a blog format. Each entry was written in one or two seating's maximum. After entries i would avoid reading over more than once so as to avoid excessive rewriting. This was to make sure i finished it but lead to lots of grammatical errors. Sorry!!
Each entry required a deal of self containment so as to provide entry consistency. I wanted to be true to Ugresics theory/philosophy that a good story teller is a seamstress by making sure that i stuck to the particular motifs within the earlier entries and sought some sort of symbolic resolve at the end. Only the metaphor/motif of the compass was introduced at the end to symbolise (hopefully) the new/redetermining. The idea was to follow Jonas & to delve into a more internal landscape of thoughts and emotions rather than direct conversations actions or events. I guess this was an existentialist exercise at its very core.
Resolve
its been a long time since i last wrote 'fiction'. Ive enjoyed it - though i dont know if i'll do it any time soon again. And if i do i dont think it will be in blog format - i fear it may have confused and isolated readers. But all in all:
Writing this story has made me a better person.
A friend asked me if i was Jonas. Well the answer is yes i am Jonas and no im not. I identify strongly with Jonas. Much of his experiences relate to mine. Positive and negative. But then again the other characters draw from me too. I am like Sebastian and Toby too, in ways. All that happened in the story was 'true' in one way or another. Positions were inverted, meanings differed but still the essence of the event was never corrupted. So even though im not quite Jonas, Jonas is still a poetic (re?)interpretation of my life.
Statement of practice
the story was based on a original two page draft that did not have an end. The task was to complete the work via a blog format. Each entry was written in one or two seating's maximum. After entries i would avoid reading over more than once so as to avoid excessive rewriting. This was to make sure i finished it but lead to lots of grammatical errors. Sorry!!
Each entry required a deal of self containment so as to provide entry consistency. I wanted to be true to Ugresics theory/philosophy that a good story teller is a seamstress by making sure that i stuck to the particular motifs within the earlier entries and sought some sort of symbolic resolve at the end. Only the metaphor/motif of the compass was introduced at the end to symbolise (hopefully) the new/redetermining. The idea was to follow Jonas & to delve into a more internal landscape of thoughts and emotions rather than direct conversations actions or events. I guess this was an existentialist exercise at its very core.
Resolve
its been a long time since i last wrote 'fiction'. Ive enjoyed it - though i dont know if i'll do it any time soon again. And if i do i dont think it will be in blog format - i fear it may have confused and isolated readers. But all in all:
Writing this story has made me a better person.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
17. Parting gifts
'I'm going to miss you, but I'm sorry i have to go.' Jonas was sobbing by this point. He felt as if all he had said was an extended list of clićhes. He hoped that this was making sense. Sebastian looked pained. He saw the hurt he caused & the held back tears. Jonas couldn't help the situation. It had to be. They began to say their parting words. Things had come to an end. Sebastian stood up reaching into his pocket. He returned his hand to the table giving Jonas one last kiss. Jonas watched him leave. It was only as the door closed did he think to look down at the table. There lay a small little toy. A compass. A little tool for the safe return of those who travel by sea.
16.The tears of Eros
Wooden floor boards pressed into Jonas' belly. His face pressed flat on the floor. He looked through the open door and into the adjacent room with his slanted gaze. Every object he could see was now tilted to the side.
He remembered that first encounter. Bastian had held him so tightly. How he had longed to be held tighter. And why was that? he asked himself now. He thought about it again. He had been afraid. Been afraid that he would leave, afraid that the love wouldn't be returned, but there was something else about it.
Feelings flickered into the past. Jonas pulled his eyes tight and tuned to his side. His body contorted as he replicated his movements. Hand pulled across his chest as if to remember Bastian's grip. The pleasure, the pain, the violence. And then, just for a single moment, he had been pulled into Bastian. Jonas had disappeared. Given up completely to him. The sensation was enjoyed as much as it was feared. For he was in love and he loved it. And yet this love threatened his very existence. All these feelings while pressed so close to another was so completely different to all he had ever known. Yet he could not through them away. yet he could not completely accept them.
Salty liquid squeezed from his eyes. Were these tears of love or moruning? The weight of the present met with the weight of the past. He remembered that little boy who had such fear that he promised himself to never-ever be near anyone again as he hid in his closet. here was now that little boy who once again receded into a closet only to then realise that what surrounded him was the arms of a lover. And how he had enjoyed the moment even as he feared it. It meant the end of what he had been until now.
He remembered that first encounter. Bastian had held him so tightly. How he had longed to be held tighter. And why was that? he asked himself now. He thought about it again. He had been afraid. Been afraid that he would leave, afraid that the love wouldn't be returned, but there was something else about it.
Feelings flickered into the past. Jonas pulled his eyes tight and tuned to his side. His body contorted as he replicated his movements. Hand pulled across his chest as if to remember Bastian's grip. The pleasure, the pain, the violence. And then, just for a single moment, he had been pulled into Bastian. Jonas had disappeared. Given up completely to him. The sensation was enjoyed as much as it was feared. For he was in love and he loved it. And yet this love threatened his very existence. All these feelings while pressed so close to another was so completely different to all he had ever known. Yet he could not through them away. yet he could not completely accept them.
Salty liquid squeezed from his eyes. Were these tears of love or moruning? The weight of the present met with the weight of the past. He remembered that little boy who had such fear that he promised himself to never-ever be near anyone again as he hid in his closet. here was now that little boy who once again receded into a closet only to then realise that what surrounded him was the arms of a lover. And how he had enjoyed the moment even as he feared it. It meant the end of what he had been until now.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
durty at phoenix
i didnt take any drugs, and i only had 3 beers, but i still managed to find an excuse to take my shirt off hehehe
Sunday, August 12, 2007
15. the darkest peru
A boy lies to himself because the image of a loved one clutching the stuffed bear given by an ex 'just means too much'. A boy hugs a stuffed teddy bear and falls asleep, in this object he finds the false sense of attention that is he soo dearly needs.
The advent of love was unexpected, so much so that he does not understand it. He yearns it, and yet fears it. These feelings from the depths of his heart. It penetrates through all he is and it confounds all he knows. It threatens his very soul.
The advent of love was unexpected, so much so that he does not understand it. He yearns it, and yet fears it. These feelings from the depths of his heart. It penetrates through all he is and it confounds all he knows. It threatens his very soul.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
watership down
i watch watership down the other day. its such a fantastic movie. when asked what it was about the only way i could think to describe it was by saying its like six feet under, b ut with rabbits.
Friday, August 10, 2007
meme
i just don't get this meme business!
what does the word 'meme' mean?
who thought it up?
where do these meme's come from?
it reminds me of that 'never ever' drinking game - but without alcohol - wheres the fun in that lol
what does the word 'meme' mean?
who thought it up?
where do these meme's come from?
it reminds me of that 'never ever' drinking game - but without alcohol - wheres the fun in that lol
Monday, August 06, 2007
14. Scotch tape and PVA glue
it is always within half receded moments do we reach the truth.
There are those moments when we walk next to someone, down some city street that we come to make sense. We may say something revealing, deep and honest. Other times it is when we drink our beers in the bar, when we make eye contact at a distance with some stranger do we reveal something true. An exemplar for this moment moment would be when we say things while shrouded in darkness. Imagine lying next to our lover at night. Bodies are naked & yet hidden by the lack of light. We say things to each other that we would not otherwise say.
Only when we are not quite in the moment are we able to access our souls. This is paradoxical. It posits that we are 'true' to ourselves only at the moment that we are not completely within the moment. How can it be that we are true to ourselves when we have distanced our 'self' from 'our self'?
The paradox is only resolved through the realisation that truth finds its counterbalance in history. Truth is in our memories. The truth has always receded into the past prior its welcome into the present. The truth is never quite present, but also never quite past.
We find the fragments of the past scattered on the floor. In order to receive the past in the present our task is to pick up these pieces and put them together to make some picture. With strips of scotch tape and PVA glue we stick together our memories. Things without connection become firmly pressed into each other. We mould random events and small little gifts into something more. What we are left with is something between an artists master piece & a child's finger painting. It is the image of our past. Framed and mounted on a fridge in the house of our minds. It has all the romance of Michelangelo's David and all the smudges of an art school sketch.
For Jonas, as us all, history is always written in the present. But the present is a condition of history. Thus history is always in contest. What the past meant is always merely a tenuous allegiance of circumstance & event. Whether we hold our art sacred & kept to precious, or whether we tear it up & start over again is a direct reflection of the allegiance. Jonas withdrew from that kiss. There was a smudge on the canvas. Something glued to the picture that should not be there. It was as if the lights had turned out while he was at work. Darkness.
He could hear a faint voice whispering in his ear. It whispered all the fear, all the love, all the different interpretations that could be - all whispering because the truth is said in whispers. And they are said in the darkness of night. All voices speaking from the past to rupture the present. Jonas receded into memories - into his heart. It is always within half receded moments do we reach the truth, and so now too would Jonas find his.
There are those moments when we walk next to someone, down some city street that we come to make sense. We may say something revealing, deep and honest. Other times it is when we drink our beers in the bar, when we make eye contact at a distance with some stranger do we reveal something true. An exemplar for this moment moment would be when we say things while shrouded in darkness. Imagine lying next to our lover at night. Bodies are naked & yet hidden by the lack of light. We say things to each other that we would not otherwise say.
Only when we are not quite in the moment are we able to access our souls. This is paradoxical. It posits that we are 'true' to ourselves only at the moment that we are not completely within the moment. How can it be that we are true to ourselves when we have distanced our 'self' from 'our self'?
The paradox is only resolved through the realisation that truth finds its counterbalance in history. Truth is in our memories. The truth has always receded into the past prior its welcome into the present. The truth is never quite present, but also never quite past.
We find the fragments of the past scattered on the floor. In order to receive the past in the present our task is to pick up these pieces and put them together to make some picture. With strips of scotch tape and PVA glue we stick together our memories. Things without connection become firmly pressed into each other. We mould random events and small little gifts into something more. What we are left with is something between an artists master piece & a child's finger painting. It is the image of our past. Framed and mounted on a fridge in the house of our minds. It has all the romance of Michelangelo's David and all the smudges of an art school sketch.
For Jonas, as us all, history is always written in the present. But the present is a condition of history. Thus history is always in contest. What the past meant is always merely a tenuous allegiance of circumstance & event. Whether we hold our art sacred & kept to precious, or whether we tear it up & start over again is a direct reflection of the allegiance. Jonas withdrew from that kiss. There was a smudge on the canvas. Something glued to the picture that should not be there. It was as if the lights had turned out while he was at work. Darkness.
He could hear a faint voice whispering in his ear. It whispered all the fear, all the love, all the different interpretations that could be - all whispering because the truth is said in whispers. And they are said in the darkness of night. All voices speaking from the past to rupture the present. Jonas receded into memories - into his heart. It is always within half receded moments do we reach the truth, and so now too would Jonas find his.
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