Paradise

When I walk I like to walk with my dog. He's dorky and doesn't do much except eat and dribble but he's good fun to walk with because he's like a child and like Bernard Black says, 'Children are always looking surprised. Everything's new to them!' So when Soda is gambolling about in some flowers it reminds me that flowers are actually beautiful and so on. 


I guess there's something romantic in being young and disobedient even for an anxious old soul like me. I realised this when I was running home at 1AM this morning still kind of tipsy and thanking my lucky stars that there were no other suspicious looking characters on the train. I put pearls and flowers in my hair because it made me feel like a mermaid princess but they fell out into the gravel on my dirt road with no streetlights. 


Watching Lady Gaga's Monster Ball tonight and she's always full to bursting with all these profound anecdotes that she speaks so softly and articulately it just makes me want to be her because she seems to live in a world where walking down the street isn't just walking down the street, it's an outer body experience with strangenesses and charms that ooze inspiration or something like it. 


I like the way my friends know to expect songs from me when I've been hanging around different crowds and when I walk furiously in headphones and when cider's on tap at the bar and I've got an envelope of Christmas money that should be lasting me until I get a job for the summer. 


I guess that mainly the words I write on my walls I'll just tear down in the new year like I'll probably cut all my hair off again soon like last summer and I'll drown in my own sweat and tears again but it will all be worth it because well one day I guess we'll all get out of this place

Have yourself a merry little whatever

Here is a list of my favourite Christmas songs just in time for, well, Christmas. 

SAD CHRISTMAS + MY NUMBER ONE CHRISTMAS SONG: JONI MITCHELL, 'RIVER'

The only Christmas I've ever known has included flies conquering the turkey, sweating with the effort of pulling a bonbon with my sister and squinting over the Sahara desert-esque parking lot looking for my car after last minute shopping on Christmas Eve. But if I am ever old and lonely and tired of this Australian life I think that I would move to Europe for the winter and live in a little house with a fireplace and on Christmas Eve I'd sit in an armchair and listen to River and cry over romantic failures and read poetry and be over-dramatic about everything. This song encompasses a lot of what is sad about Christmas because in our natural human way of balancing ourselves out, what is, for some, a time of great joy and happiness is, for others, a time of heightened sadness and reminders of regrets. I mean this song is still beautiful when the sun sets in this blistering part of the world but I just think it belongs on a frozen lake somewhere in Canada at Christmastime. 

WISTFUL CHRISTMAS: TIM MINCHIN, 'WHITE WINE IN THE SUN' 

IT'S-CHRISTMAS-BUT-THINGS-ARE-STILL-SHIT CHRISTMAS: KATE MILLER-HEIDKE, 'THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS'

COMEDY CHRISTMAS: THE BEDROOM PHILOSOPHER, 'PRESENTS' 

TRADITIONAL CHRISTMAS: JUDY GARLAND, 'HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS'

WHAM! CHRISTMAS: WHAM! 'LAST CHRISTMAS'

While I'm flogging some great Christmas tunes here is a preview of my friend's Christmas album entitled A VERY KELLEHER CHRISTMAS. I think it's genius. 

I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank every single one of you (and you Mum) for reading this blog and in turn supporting me so much - whenever someone approaches me and tells me they read something off my blog that they liked or whatever it's like being hugged by a puppy. Merry Christmas and I hope to continue to provide mildly amusing prose for you to peruse in the new year. Much love and take care and don't hurt your teeth on the coins in the Christmas pudding. 

x

I will see you in my dreams

My aunty's wedding was last night, and I don't know if it's because I'm hypersensitive or just a  WOMAN but it was like everything was shot in soft focus and the blushing bride would smile and the whole room would sigh collectively like those old movies where getting married was like the bees knees. It's quite funny really because I can't think of a bride more unconventional than my Aunty Em, who once drove down a freeway with a monster Christmas tree lying longways across the back seats of the car with both windows down, extending about a metre out each side and spend most of her formative years researching human rights in Moscow, Russia. 


Weddings are a prime example of tradition and the absurdity of such. My family and I were laughing about the mainly English/Australian tradition of the women guests of a wedding sleeping with a slice of the wedding cake underneath their pillow on the wedding night. I think it has something to do with the cake somehow transmitting dreams of these single girls' own weddings and future spouses. Needless to say I meant to sleep with it underneath my pillow - in a little bag all covered in cake grease - but left it forlorn on my bedside table sitting atop the piles of my diaries which are filled with enough secrets and insanities to keep me single forever. Rather than finding this sad, however, I kind of think it's funny, just like I think most things to do with my dismal attempts at emotional stability are quite funny and stories about crying into haystacks at parties quite hilarious in hindsight. Really. And rather than dream of my future husband last night, I dreamt of colours and sounds and stages and Motion Picture Soundtrack by Radiohead and Air by Snakadaktal. 


I've really never been quite as happy as I am right now and it seems as though I'm looking at the world through one of those colour kaleidoscopes and everything's moving in rainbows and I'm moving through with it, and I'm thankful for everything. For friends and family, for music and art, for sharing deodorant with my bandmates and sharing homemade margaritas with my friends and sharing colds with my family only because it proves our close quarters, I guess. I'm thankful for hair dye and Terminator and tissues and James Blake and dancing and dessert. There's always been so much to be thankful for and I'm ashamed that I've only really realised this now. 


I am also thankful for Lady Gaga and her newest and greatest video, Marry The Night. Below are some crappy screenshots from my favourite part of the video which is a montage of quite fast shots, including a sequence where Gaga is stumbling about trying to carry her keyboard and then her Dad - who I think is her Dad - helps her with it. This tiny little selection of shots touched my heart and reminded me of the zillions of times my own Dad - and Mum too - has helped me not only carry my gear but give me performance advice (sometimes taken, sometimes not, but always appreciated), come to every single gig, always applaud, always listen, always the first to hear new songs and the first to know of my achievements and the first to congratulate and always, always there to comfort me when I cry like a little kid. Just another aspect of my life to be thankful for!

You got me running round in circles

PHOTOS COURTESY OF SHANNAYA PHOTOGRAPHY

So the other night our band Volumetric played our first 'official' gig on a stage in a club and everything. There were even roadies with beards and I got to ask for more foldback for the vocals like a real rockstar! In all seriousness though it was a wonderful night; one of those occasions that seem to be multiplying where I am so overwhelmed by the generosity, kindness and support of those surrounding me, and also my bandmates. It's really wild. 


I guess 'happiness' comes in so many forms, and on so many different levels, that it's hard to choose a happiness that you could consider the best, or greatest, or largest. Somehow it's difficult to compare them, too - the happiness you find when lying on wet grass in the middle of the night singing pop music at the top of your lungs is incomparable to the happiness of achieving career goals. Perhaps one is greater than the other, but would living without either leave you lacking? I guess I think so... 


Anyway the point is I can't ever think of anything to be sad about when I get to play the music I love, with the people I love, to the people I love. And if it can be that simple for the rest of forever I don't need to worry about what will become of me because I'll just let this whole thing become me. Become of me. The end. 

A thing of beauty is a joy forever

Even on good days I still wish I could draw a picture in chalk and jump into it and become a part of it like in 'Mary Poppins'. I want to dance with penguins and ride carousel horses instead of waiting for buses and trains and attaching music to people and places in my head. I think that I would still choose this ugly place in place of a chalk wonderland though, because it's only here that I'm sure I can love a song more than and surer than many other people I've known, including myself - only here that I can listen to Bon Iver's 'Blood Bank' again and again during transit to the beach and back in some absurd attempt at capturing nostalgia. Even if carsick 18 year olds and the stench of hot jam doughnuts in that godforsaken vehicle will be the memory most vivid when I listen to that song again in the winter. 

Like a rainbow

Time is now a luxury that I'm beginning to experience as study slows down, and auditions draw to a close. Playing the waiting game is never willingly done - at least, not by me - so I've spent the time wandering art galleries, listening to Judy Garland and taking walks in the sunshine. I haven't been able to take huge chunks of time to nurture inspiration lately and somehow I think this has been a good thing - now I can appreciate the true wonders that surround us every day because I never had the time to before. Blahblurpshuppbleekplark. You can catch me doing inspirational speeches at a community centre near you!


I lost my mind a little bit this week getting sick and taking strong medication that messed with my head and my ability to make decisions that are considered wise by most. Again the luxury of time and freedom now allows me to wear whatever I please whenever I like, which is now a blessing, and another part of being a grown up I need to adjust to. A heady mixture of sickness and almost too much freedom had me staring disdainfully at the mirror yesterday when I put on a seriously mediocre outfit, which I then proceeded to tear off and bury deep within the strange centre of my cramped wardrobe. 


In times of outfit doubt (doubt-fit) (hahaha), my current state of mind is this: JUST WEAR ALL THE COLOURS. All of them! Seriously. There is nothing more fun than exploding out of your front door with patterns and lines and shapes in every colour imaginable and somehow, though you wouldn't think it would, the downright offensiveness of your unthinkable fashion nightmare of an outfit is magnificent, and pretty, and endearing. Something very freeing about wearing all the colours. Take inspiration from places like Madagascar and Mexico, from birds and flowers, from the ambiguity of Gordo's feelings for Lizzie McGuire and from little kids who dress themselves, and remember that, as my mother always says: 'Less is not more. More is more.'

I'm wondering myself

Well hey. I was going to write a super long super interesting blog post here but to tell you the truth, I am sick, and paying for staying up all last night watching rage, and sucked into Iron and Wine so far that this is now highly unlikely. So I'm just writing to let you know that this blog now has an accompanying picture blog so that I can post pix of me looking like this:

the hatRz just make me famou$ss or something 

Hello, boys! Visit a hyper heart at http://ahyperheart.tumblr.com if you like what you see lol!!1!

Walkaways

I have participated in a segment of the infamous "SCHOOLIES" and despite it being comprised of mostly everything that spooks me like a little bunny (men, vomit, vomiting men, vomiting men in wifebeaters) I really enjoyed it, mainly because of the its absolutely absurd inherence, particularly where I'm staying. My friends and I are staying in a commercial hotel by the beach, which is completely booked out with schoolies. 

I described it to my mother as some kind of bizarre school camp, where teachers are replaced with security guards and lights out means dubstep must be turned down and afternoon free time is drinking time and activities time is drinking time and pretty much any other time you can think of not including sleep time is drinking time. In between drinking and sleeping even the rookiest of schoolies observers will note the excessive appearance of the phrase 'woo hoo!' 


The 'woo hoo!' is the mating call and catch cry of the schoolie; that is, when the creatures arise from their dens of an afternoon they will blinking-step onto the balcony, wading through VB cans and wet towels and questionable liquids and rubbing their eyelids, swiftly downing the morning shot of the day and crying 'WOoO HooOO!' 'Woo hoo's certainly increase in number towards the late evening when most schoolies are out and about - my friends and I have a serial 'woo hoo'er staying in the apartment below us; similar to the role of the traditional rooster, this boy is the first to 'woo hoo' upon the arising of the schoolies at around 1PM and the last to feebly proclaim the cry of revelry and freedom at around 6.30-7AM. I tell you now, readers, there is nothing more humorous than to have crawled pathetically into bed on the first night of schoolies, overwhelmed and exhausted with a spinning head, and to just be on the cusp of sleep when a single, 18 year old male voice meekly and weakly filters through your consciousness before you go under: '...wooOoo.....hooOoo....'


Unfortunately I had to leave this madness prematurely because of several auditions scheduled for this week. I don't mind too much however, because I figure the beach didn't disappear all through year 12 when I was locked away in my bedroom clawing at my eyeballs, so surely it will remain patiently and contentedly for my return upon my true release into this crazy scary world. These auditions are a part of something much bigger than everything else in my life - they are representative of what is just everything to me. (Suffice to say I tried to keep 'woohoo'ing to a minimum these past few days to keep my voice in check, however this proved difficult as schoolies spirit is devestatingly infectious). This is my audition game face (I have worn the same outfit for the four auditions I've already had). I want this outfit to scream 'Let me in! Let me in!' without me actually having to scream it and be taken away in a van. 

(I dyed my hair again and it came out kind of weird but in a nice way but now it's hard to match clothes to it.)


I want to get into these music courses more than anything, ever, ever ever in my life. To get in to even one seems like some kind of mad dream - and is something I'm trying (in vain) to distance myself from, just in case things don't work out and a PLAN B (yet to actually be planned) is in order. 


I was walking again yesterday listening to music and thinking how much of me is truly and purely this ridiculous venture. I keep falling back onto it, onto art, onto sounds and noises. If you've ever leant precariously onto a loved one's chest, just to check their heartbeat is there - I've been there and every time, it's as though while the steady rhythm is a comfort, you know one day that it will stop. And yours will stop, too. But music - it doesn't stop, ever, it just keeps on going and has done since the dawn of whenever and will do until everything, everything ends. And by that time it doesn't even matter. So suddenly I'm learning all this stuff about myself and why I am who I am - I'm obsessed with security and safety so I like the ocean, and music, and big fucking mountains because they'll never go away, they'll never really die, and they're strong, not fragile, not breakable, like little human bones and brains and hearts. Or something like that. 

a schoolie in her natural environment

BRB

Hello. I will be at the beach for a few days. I'd love to say I'll be soaking up some summer sun, however judging from the above gloom...no worries. Thanks for reading, and I'll catch ya on the flipside. x

I know deep down

I get pretty frightened about losing things, mainly CONTROL - but also, lately I've been worrying about ever losing a sense of direction, or curiosity, or intrigue - something like that.


I went to a punk gig on the weekend and let myself be fascinated by the sparse crowd, all mid to late thirties, crimson mohawk and glassless glasses, bouncing around with beer in hand and revelling in this little echo of what punk actually was, used to be, maybe still is, I don't know. But these people, they were beautiful, and in a funny way the music was too. Perhaps it's reflective of a present state of mind however I think the idea of 'organised noise' is really fantastic. That feeling you get when sound gets right down into your organs, your bones, and starts throbbing and pulsing through your system and painting streaks of blood red along your little synaesthetic brainwaves. It kind of has an anaesthetic's effect too; I felt like nothing could touch me that I would feel - and wouldn't feel until later when inevitably its effects run their course. 


I guess I'm feeling a little disconnected - I thought I was sure what I was supposed to do and that was work, and worry, and be good - but now I've started noticing little glitches in my little reality. Noticing the little nice things that happen used to be everything to me - friendly strangers on trains, favourite songs on the radio, flowers that are only in season for one month in the year - and somehow I felt like those tiny moments were exceptions to the rule of a generally mundane existence. Friends and family, of course, are a given joy, as is music, and art, and all the other things all those people who, like me, find themselves compulsively drawn to do like some kind of spiritual vomit. These glitches, I don't think they're new - I think they've always been around, where I find them now - in new friendships, old friendships, in people-watching, in 'freedom', in change and new beginnings and letting go and sad ends. 


Now that everything I know has been turned all around and inside out in the past couple of weeks, I suppose I'm finally realising something that I think we all already know in the first place. Something along the lines of 'there's more to us than just this, than just what is happening right now'.


I think I really did know that already, but had trouble believing it when I was stuck doing what I didn't want to do, or with people I knew I would hurt or would hurt me in the end,  or caught up trying to perfect the one thing about me that I don't feel guilty about being completely flawed, and completely sad. The second you start lying to yourself, or start questioning who you are, your purpose, your talents, is the second you stop doing what you ought'a. 


So maybe what's happening 'right now', which is some kind of limbo essentially between losing one reality, and gaining another, is what I've been given to start noticing glitches when they happen. Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to be 'perfect' I lose sight of the point, when the point is why I'm trying to be 'perfect' in the first place. Slowing down is not something that's easy to do but if my perception of 'limbo' is right then I should only be able to move in slow motion like moonwalking. Or something. 


I know how long and un-flowy and confusing this post has been but as mentioned above, writing is one of those versions of spiritual vomit that is a habit of mine. I plan on marketing 'I have spiritual gastro!' t-shirts at uni next year so keep an eye out on Etsy. 


I also know how self-indulgent this post has been. Sorry. Hopefully you can gain something from it, though. I remember a comment I got a while ago on this blog that said the concepts of my songs were lacking, due to my 70%/30% ratio of songwriting concepts being based around 'love' (70%) and 'stupid' (30%) (and sometimes 'stupid love'). But I stand by my opinion in relation to that, in regards to this - everything I have ever felt, and will ever feel, is universal. The things I write about and sing about are, hopefully, relatable in some way, any way, to those who listen and consume what I do. That's kind of the point, for me, anyway. To find those people who know what it feels like to feel how I do and to give them a kind of emotional high-five:


'Hey! I feel really upset about *insert trivial qualm here*! But at least we're not alone, huh!'

Things that make me go GRRRRR, no. 483

Today, it was hot. Today was a hot day. Hot, today was. 


I dressed, consequently, in what I believe to be appropriate attire for a day when you expect to get sweaty. See below. 

I was running to catch a train at about 8.30PM this evening in the above outfit when, as I rushed past, a young man and his friend shouted:


'Put some clothes on!'


and in that second as I rushed on past, suddenly clutching my arms around my barely-bare midriff, I wanted to shout back. Scream back. Or maybe just scream. 


I'm still angry, because it hurts, to be yelled at like that. It's uncomfortable. And some may say I'm overly sensitive (which I am) but that is completely unrelated. Another thing that is completely unrelated, also, but I will still mention - I don't dress 'provocatively'. Mostly I dress like a fucking changeling. But the point is, it doesn't matter how a person dresses. We each have the right to walk around, to be late for trains and run around, anywhere we damn well please and I do not want to worry about people deciding to heckle the comedy show that is my life.  


I'm already a chronic worrier. I don't need to worry about being yelled at by ignorant people when I wear shorts. Or when I'm out running. The other day, after being beeped and yelled at from three separate drivers as I ran alongside the road, I actually went home and stood in front of the mirror, examining how I look and making sure that I'm not missing something - something huge that everyone else can see and is just so abominable they succumb to the urge to bring my attention to them by tooting their car horns. How stupid is that?


In a society where weight is a SIN and diets are EVIL and the internet is a TRAP I feel like there's been a somewhat convenient misunderstanding in the schoolroom of our population. In this particular person's curiously repulsive mind tank, it is socially and morally acceptable to loudly admonish a girl, who is alone, and whom he has never met, for her appearance alone. And it's OK for his friend to laugh. The saddest part is, though, no one disagrees - or if they do, they do it like me, on the internet (it's a TRAP) or to their mama or to their friends or whatever. And nothing changes!


Well, it's not OK. It's really not. And if I wasn't rushing for the train, and if i wasn't so adverse to confrontation, and if I was stronger than I really am, I would have turned right around and recited this blog post and watched his brain expand before my very eyes as he really truly learnt the meaning of the word 'respect'. 


GGRRRRRRRRRR!

Sad films

In an attempt to familiarise myself with the 'real world', I have abandoned my mission to collect and consume the entire Babysitter's Club series (for now) and have obtained both reading and red wine glasses, a frown and a copy of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. I read somewhere that it is the most beautiful piece of text ever written and so far, I've been in complete agreement. While the back-catalogue of books that I have read contains significantly more instalments of The Saddle Club than it does Russian literature, I can safely say that I am familiar enough with the book world to know a beauty when waved in front of my face, and Lolita is most certainly one such beauty. 

It got me to thinking - how unusual - about how one simple culmination of words can mean so much to so many people. Isn't that what artists strive for - to create something so wonderful that others can wear it like a cloak and fit it inside their hearts and minds until the day they die. We all have those words that cycle around and around our brains every now and again, those lines we'll never forget. Somehow they are practically alive, and don't they just adopt the parts of those who embrace them so enthusiastically - so that we're all a part of this thing that's so much bigger, so much more significant, than its initial creator? 


I was travelling through time and space today on a walk listening to Radiohead's Kid A and one such line hit me with its flawless logic and the way it just makes so much SENSE:


I think you're crazy, maybe.


I'm late, boarding the ol' Radiohead train, pretty slow on the uptake - only getting to know them this year. But my God. It paints a devastating pretty picture, don't you think? Something shot in grey with black stockings and movie credits and unpaid rent and getting old and finding out that losing the one you love means losing all these parts of you that you hadn't realised you'd given up, and just giving up. It's perfect. Perfect. To be the author of such lyrical perfection, the kind that makes the teenager in you 'eeeeee' and the adult weep.


Just quickly, another great lyric I remembered today:


Well I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed. So I set my sights on Monday, and I got myself undressed. (America - Sister Golden Hair) 


We've all been there, am I right?

Devil in a new dress

You know how brains have all those creases and folds and little flaps of brain meat? Between those of mine, sweat is dripping all down the insides of my skull. And it must be toxic or something because while I still can recall King Richard III quotes with perfect clarity, lately it takes a while to remember non-school related things such as how to cook rice and my name. Hence the shortage of posts - I seem to finally be able to prioritise the way my teachers always told us we should. (With that being, in simplified terms, SCHOOL > LIFE.)


All I know is, the ocean is still in the same place as it has been since the beginning of forever, and 'so constant to me, and so kind' - and I can't wait to get close to it again. 

Well, well, well

This afternoon I have my end of year Literature exam during which I will write an essay on Hamlet, and another on Jane Austen's Emma. Despite having professed offhand dislike for Jane Austen in general (the ignorance of this is not lost on me) I will miss Emma and her ridiculous existence. I will not miss, however, having parallels drawn between Emma and myself - as those around me have been tempted to do! 


However it is with Hamlet that my heart lies - the play being, in my humble student opinion, not being about 'a man who could not make up his mind' - but an exploration into morality, into illusion and reality, and the nature of humanity at both its best, and its worst. My family agree with me on Jane Austen (has anyone ever considered the possibility that she WASN'T being ironic? HUH??) but we disagree on Shakespeare. They adopt the view that Shakespeare is being unnecessarily taught year after year - when there is such prevalence of literature that holds much more significant meaning to students, and through studying which would take away something much more than anything old King Richard III could teach. 


I don't agree though! Sure, we should encourage the use of more modern texts within school's curriculums but for goodness sake don't stop teaching Shakespeare! The incredible thing about Shakespeare is that his work, instead of losing its relevance with time and technology advances and the relative abolishment of the class system and whatever, it has instead retained its relevance within society today and significant meaning can still be found within all of his work. I can accept that we probably teach too much Shakespeare in our schools (in my school, anyway) and I think we shouldn't start Shakespeare until year 11 at least. The worst thing about teaching Romeo and Juliet in year 9, for example, is that most of the complex but glorious imagery is lost on students as they struggle to differentiate between 'thou' and 'thy'. 


Anyway maybe I should actually reread Hamlet instead of talking about its relevance in society today. As much as it would please the examiners to see such passion in regards to keeping Shakespeare in the curriculum I don't think it'll do me any favours to misquote... 


'To be, or not...not to...uhhh...'

Wow

Second post today because I forgot to include the song that killed me so good. 

'When I caught ya walking on water.'

Every you every me

Sometimes I think my inability to cry in the face of many moments in normal life, such as my almost elderly teacher openly weeping in front of me, when faced with all those ads with starving children in third world countries, even when I burn myself cooking dinner, makes me an awful strange person. How is it that I cry so extraordinarily easily at all those silly little songs but can't muster up a single tear when I really should? 

Ahh, oh well. Above are some pictures of some of Lady Gaga's magnificent outfits at the 2011 EMA in Belfast. She is her own universe and her art orbits around her like that perfect hat. 

Combination of the two

Ahh, salut, mes amis! Aujourd'hui, c'est une bonne journée! 


Well voila, that is the extent to which I can recall any of the three years of education in the French language that I completed (apart from that French line in 'Lady Marmalade' which everyone knows) - which is precisely why I had to download the version of 'Janis et John' with English subtitles, despite their being hilariously sub-par ('It would be out of playce!')


I stumbled across 'Janis et John' about four years ago late at night on SBS, and I cannot remember ever having been so drawn into a film as I was then. Obviously the attraction was the strange, absurdly but comically unrealistic plot which includes two of my favourite people to ever exist in this world, John Lennon and Janis Joplin. I won't spoil the story for you, because it is sweet and nice even if it may induce eye rolling at some crucial moments within the story arch, but it involves an acid trip-vision of Janis Joplin and John Lennon walking into a bathroom in 1973, washing their hands, then saying 'We'll be back,' before walking away. Ooh so good and creepy. 


My favourite thing about this movie is clearly the abundance of references to particularly Janis because when I first watched a portion of this film, I was going through a phase where I was listening to Janis Joplin exclusively, ferociously obsessed to the extent only teenagers seem capable of. I breathed her, and she was everything an introverted music geek like me needed - she was everything, everything to me. She remains one of my most revered idols. 


The most wonderful thing about this movie is the transformation of Marie Trintignant's* character. So consumed by the persona of Janis Joplin, she learns to live. One of my favourite scenes in the movie is towards the end, where her character literally mimes Kozmic Blues in this pub - the entire song, unedited. I feel as though a lot of people like me would have related to her character's total immersion in Janis Joplin's life throughout the film. (*A really awful sidenote: Marie Trintignant was actually murdered by her husband - I think he was her husband - some days before the film's release. Look it up.)


Janis Joplin was the master of her own existence. She oozed confidence even when all evidence shows that she quietly possessed little. She moved so beautifully, and sometimes it seems as though she's singing like seven different notes all at once, and it sounds so broken, but so mind-blowingly real, all at the same time. She was so groovy!


And I didn't intend on this post so uncannily resembling my diary entries from 2007 so I'm gonna stop! 


This movie is really so great! And funny! And pretty! And freaky! Particularly when the main guy wakes up and walks past Janis Joplin and John Lennon sitting on his couch in the middle of the night! OoooooOOOooOOOooo!

Rosaline

Like my little dog, I can't help but wipe the floppy skin around my face when it all gets a bit much. Perhaps getting depressed about how much energy I spent getting depressed about how devoid of morality the Twilight Saga is is pointless in itself but too lazy, too bored, too unenthusiastic to do anything about it (like, um, changing the channel). I'm still adjusting to this new life and it's all just a matter of clearing out the static in my ears and in my head. 


Weddings await, actually! In the weeks to come, I will find myself sitting more exams, playing gigs, at the beach, in auditions, shopping for a pretty dress for my aunty's wedding and for Christmas presents and instruments and various other items. For right now, however, I've found myself mainly alone, baking cookies, watching Twilight and crying as songs filter in and out and through my brain, from time to time. 


But I get the feeling that happiness is really and truly coming, and soon, just like everybody has been saying that it would. Typical teenage me. Refusing to believe in anything that could be good. 


Maybe I'm growing up!