the man has spoken

I simply couldn't put my hopes for 2016 any better than this, not with all the words and wit in the world. 

All hale Neil Gaiman.

Vale Bonnie

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die... Eccles. 3.1

I had to say goodbye to my best friend yesterday. She'd been in my life for 11 years.  

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

I finished work, slipped off my wretched shoes and found she had a name: "Bonnie".

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.

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.

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.

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.

Most nights I'd have a cup of tea, she'd wake and share some biscuit with me. It was our routine, our tradition.

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.

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.



Rest in peace my little Biscuit.

"sometimes when I get lonely I think of you"

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. 

If I was making a mix tape for you, this would be song number one. It is seriously stunning. Check. It. Out. Now.

Now.

photo love

source

This is why I love photography. 

No indulgent 'selfies' or overcooked pictures of bare legs on the beach (why?) just slithers of time, telling peoples stories.

nobodies baby, everybody's girl

I sort of fell in love last night.... but he doesn't know it.

I happened upon him at a social outing; he was singing sad, bluesy songs with his sexy, gravelly voice. He had warm, youthful brown eyes and I had seriously considered paying him to say my name over and over and over again. His generous beard had ginger undertones, but I did not care. 

By his second song I was preparing the "Mum I'm going to marry a ginger" speech in my head - even at the risk of being disowned.  By 11pm we were meeting each others parents (and I was charming the fucking pants off his folks, let me tell you!) and at the nights end, we had fictional babies and a permanent address.

See, this is what happens when I go out in public; I find people I can't have. I fall in lust way-too-quickly.

But, I make a terrible groupie - so I was never going to make a very good impression.  When I went to buy his E.P's, he gave me back the wrong change and when I figured it out I didn't want to say anything (although he did realise and called me back) but I did make myself look like a total dumb-ass.  I'm not stupid, really...

the manifesto

where it's at

I love Wally #2



This is why I love Wally soooo much. Clever fella.

levitation love

I stumbled upon this clever lady today. Her work is so gorgeous - I love that the 'levitations' make the photographs look like dreamscapes, but they also feel completely planted in the real.  I want to fly too. She's sort of my hero now.

SB

I'm not miserable, I'm just not like them

There are a few talents that I declare must play me, in the event that my existence makes it to a tele-movie. 

Janeane Garofalo - 'cause she's just kick-ass awesome.

Daria - you know, it could be animated?

Catherine Tate - in case it's a BBC production.

 

SB

I should'a crossed...

By God, this is the sexiest song going around!  It has been taunting me on the radio for weeks - finally today I learnt what it was!

Ainslie Wills, you make me want to slink across a dirty bar dance floor, with that thumping beat in my hips and shoulders - certainly in kick-ass heels, hot jeans, wild hair and maybe even red lipstick too. I want to dance like I don't care! And. I. Don't.

I feel a theme song coming on.

SB

pardon the onesie

So, the happiest part of my day was stumbling upon a news report (while perusing the Internet on completely non-work related business) about an animal sanctuary in Costa-Rica.

Four words: Baby. Sloth. In. Pajamas.

The story was talking about how these orphaned sloths suffer from a disease called mange, which they become susceptible to because they are missing out on the antibodies from their mothers milk.  So, at this sanctuary, they have come up with a way to cure the baby sloths - by shaving all their hair off, smothering them in a paste they make, and then swaddling them into cute little baby bundles!

I was until today, a firm believer that onesie's should be the exclusive clothing choice of human babies and toddlers only - but I now add baby sloths to that list.

I think I've decided what I want to do with my life now; I want to have a baby sloth sanctuary for all the orphaned sloths - I can wrap them in funky pajamas and give them people names like 'Jerry' and 'Violet'.  Just one small problem... there's a small lack of native sloths in my immediate area... and by area, I mean country.

SB

all the fass

This man, Michael Fassbender is so handsome, it actually hurts (it hurts me.. I suspect it's quite advantageous for him).  Nothing like a little bit of Sunday afternoon loneliness to induce some 'real man' appreciation.

Oh my giddy gosh?! Insert swoon.

He can be the tormented Mr Rochester to my Jane Eyre any day.  I always fancied myself a period drama kinda gal too...

Now I have a legitimate excuse to source and 'endure' "X-Men First Class".

SB xx

the 'other' john

John Krasinski, how I love thee. He's just so disturbingly adorable... and funny.

Dear God, please give me a man who makes me laugh. I'll love him good, I promise.

SB xx

from the mouth of babes

Tonight, after a family dinner, I begged my little nephew to let me take a picture of him in his new pajamas - he looked so adorable. I pretended to be sulky and sad when he wouldn't let me, hoping it would work.  A short time later he came over to me, and said sweetly "Are you happy?... I love you Aunty, be happy."

It's funny; all the self help books, theories and meditations in the world, trying to teach us adults how to live in the moment - when all you really need is love... and to spend some time with a child.  They know how it all works.

Bless that little boy. If we have someone that loves us, then we are doing ok I think.

SB xx

woman of letters: 'R' for reply

I've been inspired lately, to be more proactive about putting pen to paper - about pushing the letter writing thing, expressing my feelings and kind of reaching out. So, I did some unusual things.

Like, when I finished reading Marieke Hardy's book I decided to write her a letter, telling her how much I enjoyed her book.

Then, after my Gotye experience - I thought it might be nice to write to the man himself and tell him just how wonderful I thought he was. This time, I had to resort to email, as he had no physical address.

So I did both of these things.

Yesterday an unassuming postcard sat on my bed. Perhaps another from the damn dentist? Wait, it's handwritten - wait, what is this person talking about?! Hold-the-fucking-phone... it's signed 'Marieke Hardy'. Holy shit - I was ecstatic. I felt so privileged to be holding a non-imaginary postcard in my actual hands from 'The Marieke Hardy'.  Even now, it feels weird, but incredibly exciting - that someone like that would take the time to write to me.  I'm so appreciative of that fact.

My Gotye email, which I sent two days ago.. not really sure if it would actually reach the intended destination, received a reply TODAY! It was brief, but kind and signed off... 'Wally'?!

These events have exceeded my weekly excitement threshold - and it's freakin' Christmas in a few days! Where to go from here?

So, this post isn't strictly a letter, but about letters. It makes me incredibly happy that two very talented people took time out of their days to respond to little old me.  Now, who said the written word couldn't change anything?

I think I'm beginning to like this letter writing stuff.

Best. Letters. Ever.

SB xx

man of the hour

This past Saturday night, amongst the bushy land of The Swan Valley - I endured so many people; people in front, behind, beside - they stepped over me; spilt a drink on my friend and some knob even told me off in a polite, yet degrading manner, that I wasn't sitting the way I was supposed to be?! All of this had me cursing at first - but then the show really began. There was a surprise lunar eclipse (I say surprise, because I didn't know about it - although I'm quite sure the scientists did) and then out came my drummer boy: Wally De Backer a.k.a Gotye.

Due to the aforementioned seat change, I didn't feel as much thumping inside my chest, but by God - what a show.  Suddenly the crowd didn't bother me.  Wally came on - he had eleven companions on stage, all sharing his energy and excitement for sound. My favourite element, his very own drum kit - front and centre next to him. His voice was flawless - it carried across the amphitheatre and stunned even the stupid into silence.  I could barely see him, I was so far away - but nonetheless, he gave me goosebumps - a lot. Sometimes it was magical, other times, it was as if the crowd didn't even exist and it was just a window into a jam session; and on the songs where he let loose on his drum kit - it was like watching a child playing - a really talented, handsome, awesome child. He struck my heart with his drum sticks.

I waited through two unremarkable supporting bands - we got him for 60 short minutes. I used my 'loud' clap and screamed my girliest scream wherever possible; I delighted in 'Learnalilgivinanlovin' and cried quietly during his last song 'Bronte'.

I love him, simply.

Bless.

SB xx

practical ghosts

And I had a dream
About my old school
And she was there all pink and gold and glittering
I threw my arms around her legs
Came to weeping
Came to weeping

And I heard your voice
As clear as day
And you told me I should concentrate
It was all so strange
And so surreal
That a ghost should be so practical
Only if for a night

And the only solution was to stand and fight
And my body was loose and I was set alight
But you came over me like some holy rite
And although I was burning, you're the only light
Only if for a night

And the grass was so green against my new clothes
And I did cartwheels in your honor
Dancing on tiptoes
My own secret ceremonials
Before the service began
In the graveyard doing handstands

And I heard your voice
As clear as day
And you told me I should concentrate
It was all so strange
And so surreal
That a ghost should be so practical
Only if for a night

And the only solution was to stand and fight
And my body was loose and I was set alight
But you came over me like some holy rite
And although I was burning, you're the only light
Only if for a night

I just cannot imagine getting sick of this album anytime soon. Florence and The Machine...and her practical ghosts in 'Only if for a night'.

SB xx

red hot

I have been having some seriously weird dreams lately. Last night, it was that I got together with the current male university student we have at work right now. Which is ok I suppose - except for the fact that he's a 'ginger'. I've already been told by my Mother, that she doesn't think she could love ginger, freckly grand babies - so I best not be making any babies with ginger men... or any men with ginger genealogy - which could get tricky.

Now might be a good time to admit that I think the ginger uni student is kind of cute. And that this dream kept me awake from 4.30am this morning.

Anyway - it could be that this student simply reminds me of the magnetic Michael C Hall. I sort of love him, and don't mind at all that he plays a disconnected, emotionally retarded serial killer. He's a hot little ginger.

Oh, Michael. C. Hall...

SB xx

the man in the silhouette

There might be something unhinged about drooling over a fictional character.  More disturbing still, is that said character is, kind of a hot mess. Well, I don't care. Donald Draper, I don't care that you smoke like a chimney and drink like a fish, because nobody - noooo-body - looks as good as you do wearing mirrored aviators.  And as for you Jon Hamm - you are spectacular.

"The reason you haven't felt it is because it doesn't exist. What you call love was invented by guys like me, to sell nylons. You're born alone and you die alone and this world just drops a bunch of rules on top of you to make you forget those facts. But I never forget. I'm living like there's no tomorrow, because there isn't one"

The question is not "What would Don Draper do?" It is, rather: "What would you do if you were in the same room as Don Draper?" My answer: exactly what's she's doing below. Oh. My. God.

See, I just don't know how anyone that handsome gets anything done.  Would you not just lose chunks of time in random reflective surfaces??

SB xx

the tree, and me

The hunt for the perfect picture of 'my' jacaranda tree began here. I continued my pursuit last week, with an attempt at a late sunset picture.  It was an exercise in futility; and while the photo didn't work as I had hoped - a little play with my friend photoshop, and I created a sort of 'dream' image (minus the power lines, which I really wish I had cloned out!).

I will be back for a sunrise picture - but that is going to involve a very early start for me.  The things we do....

SB xx