tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61742118838968227142024-03-13T20:41:50.378+08:00Shoe Full of SnotStrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.comBlogger675125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-83586738296611283612017-04-09T18:11:00.001+08:002017-04-09T18:11:16.850+08:00gold<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pE5nwI8PKg4" width="480"></iframe></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-76101055634900264392016-08-16T21:58:00.002+08:002016-08-16T21:58:28.412+08:00the reapYou reap what you sow, that's what those wise folk tell us, and for me at the moment - it's harvesting season.<br />
<br />
I've had a lot of trouble at my work this year. Between shuffling roles, and the displacement that has caused; a delusional office 'romance' that never left the ground and shall we say - personality clashes, I've had a bit of a rough time. Nonetheless, it's a roller coaster that I've been doing my best to ride with grace. Every time I think I can't take anymore, I survive another week and battle on for that looming long-service-leave that keeps me hanging onto the nastiest of cliff-faces.<br />
<br />
The inner turmoil has had it's ever flowing affect on my home life, my health and my self esteem. Everything with <i>Manchild</i> and the feelings that accompanied this massive failure in discernment had me doubting myself. Allowing myself to shrink, and feel this need to be wanted, was nothing short of disturbing. <i>How could I be so willing to hand my power to someone else?</i> At the time, I'd heard about the transformative power of one simple thought; that is: <b>"I am enough"</b>. I clung to this like a lifeboat; if I saw it enough, if I thought it enough, if I repeated it enough - perhaps like magic, it would help put together these broken parts of myself. I purchased myself a mantra bracelet, and etched into it three words: You. Are. Enough.<br />
<br />
I took that bracelet off yesterday. Prematurely perhaps? The bracelet caught a few peoples eye over the time I wore it - some would comment on it. And I began to think to myself - am I giving my secret away? Am I handing strangers and familiar alike the keys to my destruction? <i>This girl has no self esteem... She thinks she's rubbish... She has no confidence... How can I exploit this? How can I convince her she's not enough?</i> It started to feel like it could be a target. A sign saying - hey - here's my glass jaw! Come hit me! Despite the inner-voice-implied subtext, I persisted wearing it, until yesterday - when I decided that I was strong enough to do without.<br />
<br />
It's Tuesday, and it's already been a tough work week. I have been on the receiving end of some cool behavior, which has honestly shocked me. <i>Manchild </i>has been all but ignoring me - avoiding my vicinity, my eye line and anything I say. That started most intensely yesterday - and I called him out on it today, to which he denied. He was lying.<br />
<br />
Some may say I deserve this. I've been cool with my coworkers for some time now, in the name of self-preservation I stepped back, I did not engage with people. I've been unhappy, and perhaps at times I have outwardly wallowed in this frustration. I am also a human. But, I recognise blocking these coworkers on Instagram might be seen as some kind of call to arms. I say I don't want people I work with seeing my inner most thoughts and observations, and feeling censored for it. And if any of them should ask I'll tell them the same thing. I'm not going to apologise for wanting 'space'. If they want to stalk me, they can put in some effort and do it the old fashioned way.<br />
<br />
But still, I thought I had remained steady with <i>Manchild.</i> Even after things cooled off and he lost any interest he had in me and found a real live girlfriend. Not only is he freezing me out, but he's being actively nasty and hurtful, and it's not pretty. It's not a side to him that I have seen before, and I think that has been the most shocking. It's ever so disappointing when those rose-coloured glasses come off unexpectedly, and the things you thought you knew about someone are suddenly exposed in a new light. He is nasty and angry and untrustworthy to boot. And might I add, a gutless pussy.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I have hurt him, or perhaps this has been him all along? It's an awful thing to feel dismissed by people, and his behaviour feels as if it's rubbing off on others too. I think I'm paranoid... it's complicated. It's not helping those grasping hands on the sharp cliff-edge. Evidently I'm reaping the 'rewards' of my misery, but boy I hope it lets up soon. I refuse to let this break me.StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-41831124343212115442016-07-11T21:28:00.002+08:002016-07-11T21:28:18.698+08:00the damage<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I lost a good friend of mine to cancer recently. For the past couple of years, it was a battle that defined her, and it finally ceased on 30 June 2016. I'd learned a few days before that she was in a bad way, so the bad news just kept rolling.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I've been finding it difficult to come to terms with what a loss like this means to me, and to the wider world. You see, she was quite a wonderful creature. A fiercely loyal friend, passionate, caring, protective and unafraid. She was the first real friend I had that used "fuck" a lot, and it delighted me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She was the kind of person, who really wanted to know how you were going when she asked; she didn't waste words; she didn't cower away from her differences to make her life easier. She was courageous - even before the cancer. The world positively needs more people like her in it, as do I.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My grief has been tinged with the sourness of guilt. We lived several hundred kilometres away - and since her diagnoses she would decline my haphazard requests for a catch up. I recognised that she probably didn't want me to see her, and while I respect that, I also wished I had tried harder. To add insult to injury, I couldn't attend her funeral.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">M was one of those special people, you meet and you know instantly that you have found a member of your tribe. I think, selfishly, what upsets me the most is that I won't have this wonderful spirit in my corner anymore (not physically at least). In this war called life, I have lost one of the most valuable members of my army. I don't have a lot of people in my tribe, and M's absence is a massive void.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In a frantic letter I wrote to her before she passed, I told her that I see reminders of her everywhere. In encounters with strangers, in bold reds, Greek reminders, moments of compassion and sharp witted folk. God, how I will miss her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">Years ago, we went to see Gotye together - the show was held in some amphitheatre in the bush. There were so many rules - we had to abandon pillows and blankets, and we had to deal with pushy hipsters and assholes too. At the end of the concert, as the line of cars abandoning the empty stage stretched the horizon, we parked, turned up the music - opened all the doors to the car and danced in the dark field until the cars went away. That was a very M thing to do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">The last time we saw each other in the flesh - we'd spent quite a few hours together, had a meal and a good chat, she dropped me back at my hotel, and before she left, she hugged me so hard. I was crying my eyes out, she said "I love you" and I told her I loved her back. We held each other for such a long time. It wasn't long after that, that she texted me with the news of her cancer. I'm sure she knew that last time we met, I think she spared me, I think maybe she knew that was the last time we were going to see each other. I wish I'd known.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">I don't know what happens to people when they die, but I refuse to believe they stop 'being'. I hope they go somewhere nice, where they don't have any bad thoughts anymore; a place where they don't have to worry about pain, fear or loss. Where their spirit is free to flit and meander wherever it so desires. Perhaps as we live we leave invisible star dust trails woven in the people and places we encounter. I keep M in my heart, and there she shall stay for as long as I am waking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">Good bye beautiful M.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ra4zy-IZQHQ" width="480"></iframe><br /></div>
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">..No one's ever lost forever</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">When they die they go away</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">But they will visit you occasionally</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">Do not be afraid</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">No one's ever lost forever</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">They are caught inside your heart</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">If you garden them and water them</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">They make you what you are</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">No one's ever lost forever</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">When they die they go away</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">But they will visit you occasionally</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">Do not be afraid</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">No one's ever lost forever</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">They are caught inside your heart</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">If you garden them and water them</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" /><span style="line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">They make you what you are.</span></span></i></span><br />
<i style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">~ </i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;">Amanda Palmer and The Grand Theft Orchestra</span>StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-23538229845656626852016-04-23T22:47:00.004+08:002016-04-23T22:49:50.740+08:00lost myself, again<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Look at me I’m such a basket case<br />Delivered to you wrapped in cellophane<br />Waiting on your doorstep, every day <br />Delivery, a basket filled with pain...<br />- Sia</i><br /><br />Something snapped in me a couple of weeks ago. In the lead-up I'd been dealing with quite a bit of work stress, I'd been chatted to by my supervisor, about my 'overworrying' so I was trying so very hard, to not try so very hard - or at least make it appear that way... I understood what I was being told, but I was trying to prepare myself for any foreseeable outcome, I was trying to arm myself with every weapon in my arsenal, but I simply couldn't carry the weight. I was trying to be perfect, flawless. I was told it was unrealistic, it was unnecessary. I knew what they were saying, but I was trying to prove myself. I've been trying to prove myself my whole life. <br /><br />Work has been a mixture of strange feelings for the past weeks. I'd been thrown back into a role I hadn't done in a long while, back with people I didn't necessarily mesh well with, relying on their assistance and my own skewed sense of competency. I'd also been sitting across from the source of my malignant workplace crush: <i>Manchild</i>. Working with him made getting out of bed in the morning easier, work more bearable and weekends became excruciatingly long. This 'crush' has also come to make a dire mess of me. <br /><br />It was a Thursday, my last day in this challenging work rotation and it was set to be a long day. I was strangely well-composed, even 'chilled' on the exterior. My last hoorah - come what may! In the late afternoon, I hit a speed bump - I was overtired and frustrated. <i>Manchild</i> had been away for work, was due to return this afternoon, it had been three days since seeing him. As I was reaching speed on my decline, he walked in... he shouldn't have been there. My heart leapt and I was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to cry my eyes out. It was as if my very own knight in shining armor had knocked at my castle door. People talk about being unable to wipe a smile of their face - I now understood this kind of smile.<br /><br />Unbeknownst to me he stayed. He stayed until I finished. He stayed for me? Then as I was collecting my things he told me he had decided to pursue a longstanding passion that would almost certainly take him out of our shared workplace, and out of our hometown. Tears were welling in my eyes.<br /><br />It was like <i>John</i> all over again. A lesson not yet learned, manifesting in some new cruel way. I had to flee immediately. I feigned part exhaustion, but I fear even a blind soul could sense my upset, my tears freely leaking.<br /><br />I had to rush to the safety of my car. Sobbing part way there - begging the Gods that I not bump into anyone I know. I got to my car and I sobbed heartily the whole way home. I'm quite surprised I actually made it home without incident. My parents could not understand why I was in the state, and neither could I really. I continued to sob in the shower, as I pleaded with God, the Angels, or whoever dared listen:<i> please, not again.</i><br /><br />I went to work the next day. On the drive home at the end of the day, I became a similar teary mess.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Monday rolled around, back to my old menial role...ripped from the company of <i>Manchild</i>, I slipped further into an ugly black hole. I started crying, in front of a coworker. I couldn't collect myself - I had to hide away in a dark room - more than once. I could hear other coworkers, including <i>Manchild</i> having a jolly old time in another part of the office. It seemed an added cruelty on my already frayed emotional state. Much of that day was spent fighting the urge to cry. Each evening going home, feeling ill with this darkness. Tuesday, Wednesday...fighting tears. Evidently I had lost the footing I had so solemly maintained after <i>John</i>, after changing jobs, after the death of my beloved pet, after so many knocks. I'd finally succumbed to the black dog again, and he had me in his jaws.<br /><br />This week just passed, went by in usual fashion. I thought I had begun to make some headway - but another work incident knocked me on Wednesday, and I went down again.<br /><br />I have whimpered and howled in bathroom stalls, showers and in the dark silence of 'bed-time'. I have hidden sneaky tears at customer service counters, and inhaled and exhaled the muted upset to just make it to another day. To make it to another day in which Manchild would finally declare his feelings.<br /><br />"<i>I can't do this again</i>" is what I cried to the Divine. Wrong. <i>I won't do this again.</i><br /><br />Again, I have lost sight of who I am, near-drowned myself in the shadow version of me that I thought he'd like. That I thought, the 'cool-girls' would like. I've been trying to be ok with eroding myself. I'm so messed up with these muddy thoughts that I don't even remember what I'm doing from one moment to the next. I cannot believe I sabotaged myself again. I cannot believe I fooled myself again.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It's late, and right now I should be sleeping, but I needed to get this out. I had hoped to spill everything; for as sure as I know I put myself here, with my thoughts, I know also that the situation does not belong solely to me.<br /><br />But most of all, with this anger-tinged clarity, I needed to write down, for the 'me' that will undoubtedly weaken momentarily again... I need to tell her - that this guy, these people, this bullshit morphing of myself is utter fucking crap. That none of it - that none of our late night imaginings, warm affections and sassy office repartee are anything other than slight of hand, smoke screen distractions from our self. I - we - started a journey of self discovery, we knew that the path to love was going to start with loving our own self - even the dark parts. I got lost. I got transported to another dimension, but I will get back to myself.<br /><br /><i>Manchild</i> is not the answer you seek. Nor is an attentive boss, a flattering friend, an approving parent, a complimentary stranger. These archetypes are not the missing piece of the puzzle, they are not going to make everything better - the power you are assigning to these faceless figures does not exist. I know it doesn't feel like it, but this is something we must believe - we must know, that all the power we will ever need, all the love we are seeking to find is already there, inside ourselves. Believe it. Don't be distracted by anything else, because this is the only love that matters, and it is the only thing that is going to fix you. </span></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-14372063919316666032016-04-04T21:16:00.000+08:002016-04-04T21:18:07.536+08:00settle<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Settle" by Vera Blue. Exquisite.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>standing on this wire<br />makes me realise<br />I am alive<br />and I won't settle...</i></span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/S6BFbesATTU" width="480"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-36737556387878076952016-03-22T21:15:00.000+08:002016-03-22T21:15:17.187+08:00thinking music<h1 class="yt watch-title-container" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #222222; display: table-cell; font-weight: normal; margin: 0px 0px 13px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: top; width: 824px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<br /></h1>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GPK2PMGI86E" width="480"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h1 class="yt watch-title-container" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #222222; display: table-cell; font-weight: normal; margin: 0px 0px 13px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: top; width: 824px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm having trouble putting words to thoughts, so here is an appropriate song in its place...<br />Montaigne is awesome. Enjoy.</span></span></h1>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-8913088832044662082016-02-17T20:47:00.003+08:002016-02-17T20:47:55.117+08:00giving words wings<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I do declare that someday I shall make a grand bonfire by setting alight the vast number of 'self-help' books in my possession <i>(save for perhaps a dozen or so 'favourites')</i>. The rising smoke shall be the chicken-soup-for-the-heavens-soul. And I will dance around those flames with ridiculous abandon - mostly because of the space I would have created on my bookshelves, but also partly because it will signal a time when I don't feel the need to fix myself anymore.</span><div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I decided a little while ago that 2016 should be the year of big internal shifts. In order to have my life change in all the positive ways I want it to, things have to alter. It's a multi-pronged goal, that quickly summarised would look a little like this: </span></div>
<div>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Discover who I am;</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Be OK - nay - happy with who I am;</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Be confident enough to take my place in the world, as this authentic me, and</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Make no apologies once I get there.</span></li>
</ol>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That 'place' is proving a little elusive, and its distance varies from day to day. Some days I think I'm going ok, but most days what I really want is for someone to side-step into my world, and flip that fucking switch for me. And the truth at the heart of everything I've been trying to say, since I started forming words, is that all I really want is to be loved like I've never been loved before, and I want to feel, be and emit the glow of that glorious love like no one before me.</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O3pDrg2CE28/VsRn9Os0YxI/AAAAAAAAA8M/CSAM8iqrgYs/s1600/never%2Bcut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O3pDrg2CE28/VsRn9Os0YxI/AAAAAAAAA8M/CSAM8iqrgYs/s1600/never%2Bcut.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lisa-falzon.com/"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">supreme source</span></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Everyone deserves that, right? Isn't that why we're here?</span></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-65882344082285995652016-01-28T18:58:00.003+08:002016-01-28T18:58:46.096+08:00always me<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Love is a dwelling known from a place of dreaming, and at its heart, a room. A room filled with mirrors, trinkets and things. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not loving oneself is like a hand grasping out at those glistening treasures, but not believing there is a right to reach for such delights. It is a gesture, a hesitation that screams <b><i>I don't deserve this</i></b>. And so, all those 'things' remain in some sad, stateless place, gathering dust and shit. Hidden from view.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until of course I decide I am worthy, and realise that those treasures are mine to do with them, whatever I will.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hope to dwell here awhile.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QbUi638mNdc/VqnzTG41pSI/AAAAAAAAA78/mLFCiDxMFLA/s1600/alone%2Broom.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="348" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QbUi638mNdc/VqnzTG41pSI/AAAAAAAAA78/mLFCiDxMFLA/s640/alone%2Broom.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Illustration by <a href="http://tal-ostja.com/project/lisa-falzon/">Lisa Falzon</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-72919166602871786342016-01-03T12:26:00.000+08:002016-01-03T12:26:04.076+08:00the man has spoken<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I simply couldn't put my hopes for 2016 any better than this, not with all the words and wit in the world. </span><div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All hale Neil Gaiman.</span><div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PYZK2ZS02b8/Voihq-TQ9zI/AAAAAAAAA7s/11nytpnZ2C8/s1600/gaiman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="544" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PYZK2ZS02b8/Voihq-TQ9zI/AAAAAAAAA7s/11nytpnZ2C8/s640/gaiman.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-68582251942665831172015-12-29T19:39:00.002+08:002015-12-29T19:39:25.229+08:00the miss list<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As 2015 clambers through its final days, I tried thinking about the things I had achieved, the notable experiences and such that had marked my 32nd year on this planet. It turns out I wasn't able to produce much of a list - so, in the absence of the groundbreaking, heart-shattering, mood altering list I had hoped to yield, I instead have a list of things <i>not yet</i> achieved.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a 32 year old female, attempting to adult her life, I shamefully admit that I have not been able to master the fine, and delightful art of the 'winged eye-liner' (<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.1;">à la</span> exhibit 1A). The style, so beautifully worn by the likes of Angelina, Adele and Dita, still eludes me. If I die before I successfully recreate this look, someone please ask the mortician to grant me a set of kick-ass wings for all of eternity. <i>Maybe I should put this in my will. Hmmm, I don't have a will. Should I? Fucking hell.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ytqz1y1Zug4/VoJrv5FiNKI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/E5IYF27C2hg/s1600/2015winged-eyeliner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="161" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ytqz1y1Zug4/VoJrv5FiNKI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/E5IYF27C2hg/s400/2015winged-eyeliner.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Exhibit 1A</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />2. </span><div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Considered writing a will. <i>Fuck you, item number 1.</i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">3.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Fallen in love - or been fallen in love with. Frida Kahlo said that one should, "t<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2px;">ake a </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2px;">lover</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2px;"> who looks at you like maybe you are magic". That's what I want, I want that (see exhibit 3A).</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ei9sK8F1SKk/VoJup3LbmTI/AAAAAAAAA7c/S_jBEIMJtvQ/s1600/2015_Flesh_and_the_Devil_with_John_Gilbert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ei9sK8F1SKk/VoJup3LbmTI/AAAAAAAAA7c/S_jBEIMJtvQ/s1600/2015_Flesh_and_the_Devil_with_John_Gilbert.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Exhibit 3A - I feel like this image sufficiently conveys aforementioned look of magic. *swoon* </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />4.</span><div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Successfully mastered my body and mind. (This one might take a while).</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">5.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maintained regular writing activities, and/or blog entries. Guilty, guilty, guilty.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">6.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Become a musical genius.</span><div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sTkQUL_MMLU" width="480"></iframe></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2016 - look out!</span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-78694056485207766322015-11-29T11:30:00.000+08:002015-11-29T11:30:32.092+08:00shadow selfI am so profoundly broken.<br />
<br />
Death, life, grief, pain, time and life have pummeled me. I don't remember who I used to be, all I know is that I am not that person anymore. She is gone.<br />
<br />
I feel as if, in her place, is this shadow version of me. This half-life me. She's ugly; bitter, angry, tired. I can't conceal her anymore. She is the person I have become when all my other masks fail me. I have no energy and I have no means to keep her hidden. I don't know what to do.<br />
<br />
I wish I could run. Home doesn't feel safe anymore. I am judged here, by people, the past, the mirrors. I want to run to a place where I can scream and cry and not be condemned for what may escape my mouth.<br />
<br />
I am at the end of my tether.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SIdRGZVS-Is/VlpweLS1UUI/AAAAAAAAA7A/pxn2bvDyT9U/s1600/broken-bird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SIdRGZVS-Is/VlpweLS1UUI/AAAAAAAAA7A/pxn2bvDyT9U/s1600/broken-bird.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">artist unknown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-59384427647718285662015-10-26T21:59:00.003+08:002015-10-26T21:59:23.532+08:00the cookie incident<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are a certain number of truths I carry around with me in life to help me maintain my sense of equilibrium in this crazy world - the kind of comforts I can lay my head on at night. Things like 'the Kardashians are mostly made of plastic', 'chocolate is good', 'baby pink does not suit my colouring' and 'you can never have too many pairs of earrings', so on and so forth.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">FACT: I can cook a kick-ass choc-chip and pecan nut cookie. Anyone who tries aforementioned cookie, loves it, and me - by way of the heart route via stomach phenomenon. I could hang my hat on that certainty.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I recently had my first year anniversary at my not-so-new job. Baking seemed appropriate, it seemed like the kind of thing Jesus might do if he had earned his one year badge with an employer. I went to the recipe - I carefully, perhaps even lovingly sifted, chopped, weighed, measured, mixed, spooned, baked and packed, to perfection, said kick-ass choc-chip and pecan nut cookies. This morning I took them in; I even hand wrote a kooky-yet-charming sign inviting my co-workers to partake in the cookie eating. I didn't expect a fanfare, I just wanted to say, you know "thanks" (read: "thanks, for not being <i>complete</i> assholes all of the time") and perhaps hope they would enjoy them as much as every other human who has ever encountered them before.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tasting got off to a VERY slow start. None of this pre-10am business. "<i>Pussies"</i> I thought. <i>Pfft - I had one at 7.25am.</i> My boss finally tried one, and seemingly loved it, reaction was baseline kick-ass cookie - grateful and kind. Someone else tried one, after I suggested it a couple of times, said nothing - may as well have been eating dirt I guess. Someone else tried one, told me I did "well" (like - what the fuck?) and kept moving on. Someone else gave them a go on her lunch-break and also indicated her enjoyment, even went back for a second in quick succession. By the end of the day, there was one lonely cookie left. As I walked out the door, picking up my box with it's single lonely kick-ass cookie, I asked my old supervisor, knowing she hadn't tried one yet, if she wanted it, "No thanks" she said. Then, I turned to the only dude that works in my department and asked if he would have the last one. <i>"No thanks, I already had one"</i>. <i>"Fuck you"</i> I said (in my head). I'm not a pretty face, by no means can I sway and seduce with any form of charm or charisma - but no man - no man has ever declined my fucking cookie before. It hurt. It hurt real bad.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe I expected too much. My previous bunch of coworkers loved the absolute shit out of these cookies. I'd get baking requests, recipe sharing requests. The damn container was always empty at the end of the day, and if there happened to be one morsel left out of politeness, I wouldn't have to ask more than once before a taker or two quickly appeared.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Had I lost my baking prowess?</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Had my faithful recipe betrayed me?</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Had I asked too much of the great cookie Gods?</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've been trying really hard not to hate the people I work with. (It's really challenging some days). I've had some frustrating setbacks, and experiences this past year and I've just been wanting to accept, and carry on like the good soldier I can be. Sometimes there are tears, sometimes there is sniping and there is always swearing - but Jesus, I try! And I made these people my prize fucking cookies!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I smoldered on the drive home. <i>What is wrong with these people? What did I do to deserve this? How DARE they?</i> I just couldn't reconcile the days cookie intake, or reaction. By the end of my short drive, I concluded that they simply must be queer. It also occurred to me after some venting, that it had been quite important, that they like my offering. This result did not meet my expectations, and I must own my part in wanting that acceptance to transfer to me. The person, not the kick-ass cookie.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It shits me to tears, but it is an undeniable truth that, right or no, all I ever want of people is for them to like me, accept me, appreciate me. Learning that this isn't always possible, is a lesson hard-won.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But seriously, who in their right mind says "no" to food offered by a half-blood Sicilian? It's unheard of. Work dude better watch out. He's going to have to work seriously hard for my throwaway laughs now. Fucker. And just as I was starting to like him too.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aCzy-dCADDM/VbSjqmgOInI/AAAAAAAAA6w/iB8W2KuF8u8/s1600/FullSizeRender-737369.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="195" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6175740941317317234" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aCzy-dCADDM/VbSjqmgOInI/AAAAAAAAA6w/iB8W2KuF8u8/s640/FullSizeRender-737369.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="mobile-photo">
</div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-50529910246493302692015-08-24T21:58:00.002+08:002015-08-24T21:58:21.508+08:00truth seeker, secret keeper<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Someone asked me a while back what I was passionate
about. I struggled to find an answer, I couldn't pin-point one thing that
I thought: <i>yes this makes my heart beat faster when I think about it!</i> I
found that profoundly disturbing. Today, I think I have the beginnings of
an answer.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It's weird to admit, because I consider myself a
sort of misanthropist - but I think maybe people are my passion. But hold-up,
not all people; 'authentic' people - this is where it begins and ends for me. I
am awed by people who are open, honest, vulnerable - the kind of people who say
"I don't give a fuck" and really mean it. Maybe these people excite
me, because they represent who I want to be? Or perhaps it's because I've had
my heart trampled on a few times, or maybe because in this world we're living,
I simply see an opening - nay - a positive <b>need</b> for every day
brave hearts. I simply love the people who trust me with their truths.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'm not a talker, I never really have been. I
find small talk excruciating, because I'm simply not much good at it, but I am
always thrilled when someone reveals pieces of themselves to me. I mine those
truths like the precious gemstone they are.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Sometimes I'll meet someone, catch their eye and
know they are someone I would like to know more about. I'd like to think the
appearance of a wicked set of sleeve tattoos and a manly, yet well groomed
beard don't steer me too obviously to this conclusion - but hey, I'm only
human. Sometimes the intuition and attraction lines gets a little blurry, I
admit.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Anyway....</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Sometimes upon meeting someone I just want to get
right to it, I want their story, I want their heartache, I want to know what
makes them tick.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">If I could meet each and every one of you, I would
ask you what you day-dream about? What you really want out of life? Where's
your joy at? I'd ask you to tell me about your scars. And it's not voyeurism
that drives me, I'm not a gossip, I'm not trying to tap you for ideas. I
see it as a gift - the act of listening, of receiving. When you ask someone
about themselves, when you engage their heart, there is a palpable soul
exchange - you leave marks on one another, like fingerprints. And if you
believe in the idea that everyone you meet in your life serves a purpose,
regardless of how long they stay, I think these are the exchanges that matter
the most.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I hope this doesn't sound like a whole lot of wank.
I've fallen out of practice of writing, and it is a vulnerability of my own to
declare this, and put it out into the world.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"><i>"I would like to beg you, dear
Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your
heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms
or books written in a very foreign language.</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">Don’t
search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would
not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the
questions now.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">Perhaps
then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it,
live your way into the answer." (Rainer Maria Rilke)</span></i></span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'm also passionate about the idea of finding
contentment. My whole adult life, I have been plagued by the idea of
finding answers - because surely life must be logical, and I have so many
questions and doubts, that there simply must be answers. I think
soul-mining the people I encounter is my way of making peace with these
questions, and also serves to remind me that perhaps the answers aren't so important?</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-73927077943410148982015-08-11T21:37:00.000+08:002015-08-11T21:37:28.655+08:00my heart is a clock<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/TYve1agwx1A/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TYve1agwx1A?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
I'm not sure why, but this song makes me want to cry. This is quite the pity, because it's a gorgeous song.StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-43684025366626411362015-06-29T21:16:00.002+08:002015-06-29T21:16:32.216+08:00the making of things<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, it's been quite a while. I have thought about you quite a lot, I wanted to drop by and say hi, (so many times) but so much time had passed that I didn't really know how...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I came across this video a while ago, and stashed it away for a later date. Today seems as good a day as any other to share it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In my own way, I'm striving to make something beautiful. Something important, and authentic, and resounding. My own tattoo on time. But not one of those dodgy ones that people get in the heat of the moment, and then three years down the track they are having it burnt off their flesh with laser therapy. That's why I'm taking my time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I suppose I always imagined that being truthful would be easy, turns out it's not. It's risky to live, to love, to be any version of yourself, but especially the 'real' one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0bR6uOsDn-Q" width="480"></iframe></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm learning things about myself all the time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For instance: I like Milo just fine without added sugar (you just need to up the Milo to liquid ratio), I am quite fearful of plunging to my death in a sinkhole, Chris Pratt is hot (both versions) and life, even in its complete ordinariness, hurts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7TRPkK_xlxU/VZFEH_CH8eI/AAAAAAAAA6c/l6YyE6MBgBM/s1600/menshealth-chris-pratt-c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7TRPkK_xlxU/VZFEH_CH8eI/AAAAAAAAA6c/l6YyE6MBgBM/s320/menshealth-chris-pratt-c.jpg" width="309" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jesus Pratt - enough with the sexy eyes already</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-43418106452711506642015-04-04T18:41:00.002+08:002015-04-04T18:41:45.523+08:00love after love after hate<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tTgl8A1L5wU/VR-_i5xumyI/AAAAAAAAA6I/hPl4FXo4oSQ/s1600/reflection-photography-50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tTgl8A1L5wU/VR-_i5xumyI/AAAAAAAAA6I/hPl4FXo4oSQ/s1600/reflection-photography-50.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">artist unknown</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The time will
come<br />
when, with elation,<br />
you will greet yourself arriving<br />
at your own door, in your own mirror,<br />
and each will smile at the other’s welcome</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">and say, sit here. Eat. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">You will love again the stranger who was your self.</span></span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart</span></span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">to itself, to the
stranger who has loved you</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span>
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">all your life, whom you
have ignored</span></span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">for another, who knows
you by heart.</span></span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">Take down the love
letters from the bookshelf,</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span>
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">the photographs, the
desperate notes,</span></span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">peel your own image
from the mirror.</span></span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="color: #141823;">Sit. Feast on your
life.</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“Love After Love” by </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Derek Walcott</span></i></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-66172986906235822312015-03-08T19:09:00.000+08:002015-03-08T19:09:22.045+08:00a Sunday kind of love<div style="text-align: left;">
It's all getting very serious around my end of the woods. It seems I'm surrounded by folks who are making all sorts of mature commitments, like getting married and/or having babies. And while I'm terribly happy for these people, it also kindles that little loneliness candle I have tucked away.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
While I'm day dreaming of a different life, or falling in immediate love with inappropriate, unattainable men (such as the lovely Italian stallion with the delicious melty-brown eyes who owns the restaurant I sometimes visit, 600kms away...) I've realised all I really want is a simple Sunday kind of love. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ttjh_kK62lY" width="480"></iframe></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-71597413706658248092015-02-16T18:18:00.001+08:002015-02-16T18:18:30.121+08:00unfortunate one<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LGgUneo8gF0/VN8klU2xIAI/AAAAAAAAA5Y/xi-7Z1qfBWE/s1600/cullen%2Bcopper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LGgUneo8gF0/VN8klU2xIAI/AAAAAAAAA5Y/xi-7Z1qfBWE/s1600/cullen%2Bcopper.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">'Copper' by Adam Cullen <a href="http://www.mukmuk.com/gallery/contemporary-australian-art/adam-cullen/copper/">(source)</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I recently finished reading a book by Erik Jensen called <i>"Acute Misfortune: the life and death of Adam Cullen"</i>. Before coming to this book, I didn't know anything about Adam Cullen. Still, the story of this tortured artist, and the writing of Erik Jensen compelled me to finish the book in record time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While I was reading the book, I would find myself overcome with an intense lack of hope, void of any positive thought at all. It was only after a couple of successive nights reading, that I figured out it was the books contents which had me at these terrible lows. I'm not sure a book has ever had such an influence on me, that I could be coerced into such a mindset without realising it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Adam Cullen was this completely unlikeable, manic and abrasive human being who seemed to seek out the things and feelings in life that send most people reeling. He seemed to be driven by some childish narcissistic view of the world, pushing his friends, family and even the author to breaking point. It seemed that he did whatever he felt, when he felt that way. He was un-apologetically himself - whatever he chose to be that moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Looking at his art, you can see these things about him. Things are painted seemingly with raw abandon - messy strokes and drips and a crudeness I'm not artsy-clever enough to describe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm not sure I learnt much about what made Adam Cullen tick, but I appreciated the insight into his world and mind, and I think highly of the author, Erik Jensen, who painted his own picture of Adam Cullen with disarming honesty and authenticity.</span>StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-64955832671439482622015-02-12T21:28:00.000+08:002015-02-12T21:28:31.489+08:00she let go?<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>"She Let Go"<br /><br />She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.<br />She let go of fear. She let go of the judgments. <br />She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.<br />She let go of the committee of indecision within her.<br />She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely, <br />without hesitation or worry, she just let go.<br />She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a <br />book on how to let go… She didn’t search the scriptures.<br />She just let go.<br />She let go of all of the memories that held her back. <br />She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. <br />She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.<br />She didn’t promise to let go. <br />She didn’t journal about it. <br />She didn’t write the projected date in her day-timer.<br />She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. <br />She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope. <br />She just let go.<br />She didn’t analyse whether she should let go. <br />She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter. <br />She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. <br />She didn’t call the prayer line. <br />She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.<br />No one was around when it happened. <br />There was no applause or congratulations. <br />No one thanked her or praised her. <br />No one noticed a thing. <br />Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.<br />There was no effort. There was no struggle. <br />It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad. <br />It was what it was, and it is just that.<br />In the space of letting go, she let it all be. <br />A small smile came over her face. <br />A light breeze blew through her.<br />And the sun and the moon shone forevermore. <br />- Rev. Safire Rose</i></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
The very idea paints such a wonderful picture. Imagine, just for a moment - letting go of everything you thought - about yourself, about other people, about what you think other people think about you. Letting go of expectations, and should's and might haves and what-if's. I feel like if I could let go of all of these things, I might cease to exist, or perhaps float away on the breeze, like a bubble or a helium balloon.<br /><br />Letting go... it's an idea that bears thinking about.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Hr2u2-gCI_g" width="480"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-56213815391881557362015-02-09T18:48:00.000+08:002015-02-09T18:48:40.886+08:00on the borderline<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There's so much to like about this song...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7zhwihAXMlI" width="480"></iframe></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I'm borderline happy and I'm borderline sad</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I'm borderline good and I'm borderline bad</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>And I can't get rid of a tingling fear</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>You'd sort me out if my head gets clear</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I live my life in shackles but I'm borderline free</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I used to be blind and I still can't see</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>And I won't get around to a change of mind</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>As long as nobody breaks my stride...</i></span>StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-87271097569526375802015-01-18T18:54:00.000+08:002015-01-18T18:54:58.706+08:00Elastic HeartI've had the need for an elastic heart of late. It is currently in a kind of misshapen heap, sort of what happens when a pair of undies gets too old, and when they finally succumb to the scrap heap, the released elastic is bubbled, tired and breaking in parts.<br />
<br />
I wonder if my heart will be the same again?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KWZGAExj-es" width="480"></iframe></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-53454811537837594672015-01-13T19:27:00.001+08:002015-01-13T19:27:51.381+08:00Vale Bonnie<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:</i></span> <i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">a time to be born, and a time to die...</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Eccles. 3.1</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I had to say goodbye to my best friend yesterday. She'd been in my life for 11 years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Life was kind of shitty when we first met. I was going through college, carrying out someone else's idea of my life. I'm not too sure how my sister and I finally swung it - but the parentals had finally agreed to let us have a pet dog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mum and I rushed to the pet store this Friday afternoon. I could even tell you what I was wearing, as if that mattered. There were a couple of different kinds of puppies for sale. In one enclosure sat a white, fluffy, delicate little thing, and next to that there was a shy, fuzzy, brown bundle we deemed most likely to be loved by Dad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She was so small, you could comfortably hold her in one hand - soft and lively, delicate in her own kind of way. I wish I could tell you about the ride home with our new puppy. I wish I had been smart enough to soak those minutes in so that I could recall them in full-colour-high-definition now. I suppose I was just too excited to be going home with our special little bundle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We thought about names overnight, made lists, but nothing stuck. I remember 'Tess' was on the list (as I recall, "Mcleods Daughters" was popular with us girls at the time) along with many other possibilities.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Saturday morning came, and I had to go to my crappy part time job, a place where you weren't allowed to call the boss by his first name. He was a naughty boy stuck in a bearded mans body. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I finished work, slipped off my wretched shoes and found she had a name: "Bonnie".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Bonnie was so small, she got lost in vastness of our backyard. As a young pup, she took pleasure in bathing herself in her giant water bowl, and rubbing herself all over the green lawn. As she grew, she loved to play - she got big enough to enjoy the toys we'd brought her, when really revved up, she would run in circles, huffing in excitement with her tail tucked under as if conforming herself to a more aerodynamic shape.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But, she had little frailty's too. She became nippy, and at times short tempered, especially after we had her spayed. We'd wondered if abuse was in her past. She wasn't great with new people, tall people, or people with booming voices - she would crawl with her tail sideways, and urinate if they reached out to pat her. Poor Bonnie, she was a bit damaged, like me - and that somehow made her even more special.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She'd bark when the roller door opened, and when the doorbell rang . She'd chase nearby doves like a warrior when someone caught her by surprise, and took pleasure in keeping cats out of her territory. If she were inside when you got home from work, she'd be first at the door, greeting you with her shy little shuffle. It wouldn't matter what had happened that day, she was a reason to crack a smile.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Like me, she loved her food, and I was always happy to share my peas with her. She loved spaghetti, and roast chicken and had an uncanny ability to hear the peeling of a carrot, or the opening of the biscuit barrel.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Most nights I'd have a cup of tea, she'd wake and share some biscuit with me. It was our routine, our tradition.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Life is made up of increments of time, pieces of things put together to make a whole day. Bonnie was so ingrained in almost every part of my life, I'm utterly devastated by her absence now. Now there are wide, gaping holes in the days - the silence is crushing, time has slowed to snails pace these past two days - I feel sick when I remember for certain she's gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I could go on and on about her, but I won't. I know some people don't understand how animals can be grieved so fiercely. And to me, those people aren't such great 'people'. My Bonnie - for all her faults and flying jumps was beautiful. She wasn't conventional, or easy to understand, but she was my friend and the best kind of 'person' I might ever know. Up until yesterday I don't think I've ever felt so alone. My 'almost Tess', my friend under the table, my hello at the door, I will miss you forever. And forever feels like a very long time right now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtlnhGN6V-I/VLT_3FJ-ByI/AAAAAAAAA5A/W8XBMrZvN-U/s1600/IMG_1720%2B(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VtlnhGN6V-I/VLT_3FJ-ByI/AAAAAAAAA5A/W8XBMrZvN-U/s1600/IMG_1720%2B(1).JPG" height="588" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Rest in peace my little Biscuit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-30412572756368290192015-01-11T19:00:00.000+08:002015-01-11T19:00:38.313+08:00A Year in Review<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">So, it's been while. So long in fact, I had wondered if I would even remember how to do this. Good news though, it would seem I haven't slipped into premature </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">senility just yet.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">So, a fair bit has happened since we last met. I finally got out of that horrid workplace. So, I'm now in a totally new job, which has brought along with it more than a few challenges. Not sure that I've found my niche, but for the moment, as I find my feet, I am grateful to be in a workplace that values me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">My body and I continue to be at odds. Some days we stand eye-to-eye 'till one of us cracks, but then other days I'm waving the white flag from the floor. So, it's still a bit of a juggling act, and lot of mind-fuckery.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">It's almost a year since I joined the world of online dating, and... well... the thing is - nothing has happened. Which makes this little fun fact, a little </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">disconcerting...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jXPYQhSJYsc/VLJTEqYr_MI/AAAAAAAAA4c/CgCuX9OrAo8/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jXPYQhSJYsc/VLJTEqYr_MI/AAAAAAAAA4c/CgCuX9OrAo8/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B(1).jpg" height="392" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Every. Day? In The World vs. StrangeBird, the score is 1 to nil. Or is that 3 000 000 to 1. That's a lot of fucking zero's. The Supremes said "you can't hurry love", but Jesu - must I wait until I'm a pensioner?</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Other news that has adversely affected me:</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XMyYh5rhoBg/VLJVh9v49dI/AAAAAAAAA4o/k2S91sWqiLY/s1600/joe-manganiello.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XMyYh5rhoBg/VLJVh9v49dI/AAAAAAAAA4o/k2S91sWqiLY/s1600/joe-manganiello.jpg" height="400" width="308" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Joe Manganiello got engaged dammit. And...</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PYMq1YgdQCg/VLJVziZZh3I/AAAAAAAAA4w/nII0rV2fUrc/s1600/joseph-gordon-levitt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PYMq1YgdQCg/VLJVziZZh3I/AAAAAAAAA4w/nII0rV2fUrc/s1600/joseph-gordon-levitt.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">Joseph Gordon-Levitt got married! I would've taken a hyphenated name for you Joseph?! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">And I found out these two pieces of news in the same week. It's been rough.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">Still, we gotta keep moving. Until next time, "take a card, take a seat"...</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ZtDXezAhes8" width="480"></iframe></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-53292564252472148202014-07-06T19:25:00.000+08:002014-07-06T19:25:59.191+08:00are you there yet?I was assisting in a group therapy program recently, when a lady known to us, but not part of our patient group tried to insert herself into the activity.<br />
<br />
Even to the untrained eye, all it takes is one look to know there's a lot of darkness, loneliness, sadness behind that lady's eyes. Her stare vacant yet intense, her words rambling and desperate - maybe because she's constantly searching for someone to listen?<br />
<br />
One of our group participants knows this lady. He takes me aside later and tells me how "lovely" she is and how much she likes to talk. "Some of us call her 'The Budgie'.... 'cause she never shuts up!" he tells me with a laugh.<br />
<br />
I couldn't shake this from my mind. I wondered what had happened to her in life, to make her so jarring. She held an unnerving disharmony, that you know couldn't be shaken out. Not for all the therapy or pills in the world.<br />
<br />
I feared becoming the "strange lady" myself someday.<br />
<br />
And then I thought. Are we, each of us, just one bad experience away from tipping the scales of our life-shit into this realm of broken? Just one sharp blow in the right spot from being cracked beyond repair?<br />
<br />
I never want to get to that place where I can't go back.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/1SP-PgW7U1M" width="480"></iframe></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6174211883896822714.post-59638144003762862502014-07-02T18:20:00.002+08:002014-07-02T18:20:50.304+08:00"sometimes when I get lonely I think of you"<div style="text-align: left;">
For today, my (ir)rational fear that the world will one day run out of great music is loitering in a dark corner somewhere far far from here, like the seedy character that it is. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If I was making a mix tape for you, this would be song number one. It is seriously stunning. Check. It. Out. Now.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/7xSqd76q2bU" width="480"></iframe></div>
StrangeBirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11388288839992036712noreply@blogger.com0