Messing

Wow I just stood up again, after sitting at this screen, some part of me has this fear in writing. Distraction supposedly protects me from writing. Wait, microwave just beeped. Cookie that was frozen is now not frozen, I will come back. OK I am eating the cookie. Pretty terrible. Who decides to produce and sell citrus, sultana and oat cookies? Not I, I decide to purchase them. Now I really have nothing more to say about the cookie, other than it is now stuck to the roof of my mouth and the citrus taste is regretful, possibly even apologetic.

What is so bad about sitting here and just writing? The clock keeps ticking and the fridge keeps humming, the birds outside keep singing. And before you know it, it turns into an appalling reflective poem. The whoosh of the wind taps my loose window panes and the snails... ok vomit vomit vomit.

The fear inside comes from thinking that, someone else writes, lots of people write. And they must be better and smarter and wittier than I am so why even bother starting sometimes. I think a lot of us can get like that. Or we just do not have something good enough to say. If we crap on about feelings or the onomatopoeia of... nah that word sounded good but totally forgotten what it means so will drop that train of thought. The fear also of screwing up. When you are given something good, you wanna hold it, whether it is physical or it was an event or an experience. You want to treasure it and not take it for granted. Cup it in your hands, peek inside and grin. But the wind may pick up and may blow it out of your hands. Or it may seep out, lacking breath. Though the key word being MAY. And the key word is forgotten and to protect yourself you say WILL. So you can easily give up and accept this WILL happen so why bother holding it. Let it go. Elliot the plant doesnt think like this, he hasnt moved all morning. There are some wild winds outside and every little leaf and branch outside is knocking around wherever the wind chooses to shake them next. Yet Elliot is still, in the foreground, totally calm and unaffected from the flurry outside. But screw it. There is also the other side. That wild wind, that lack of oxygen or just simple badly designed structure, cannot stop events, experiences. They happen and will continue to happen. And I have something to say, as does everyone. But I can only speak for me, and will continue to talk, continue to create. And good things happen. Cringe worthy words yep, but because overuse of phrases such as these have sucked the meaning out of them, doesnt mean I cant squeeze my eyes shut and smile. Sometimes your gut just says it all.

Now for all those who tuned out, hello. I was five once (or twice) and my aunty sat on a log beside the fire. We were down at the holiday house in Manyana (when I say down, I mean down from Sydney) and this log had been sitting there for ages. It was a summer night and the ocean could be clearly heard in the distance. Mosquito repellent and smoke married together with the warm evening, to create that distinct southern coast Australian smell. The fire was quite close to this log, and it sneakily licked out every now and then towards the wood. As my aunty sat there casually, something inside the log was not so casual. Something felt uncomfortable and unsafe, so decided to work out what this was. Sorry, some THINGS, not just one thing. My Mum was there also and notified my aunty, not to move. Her shoulder, her other shoulder, her left arm, and three different places on her back now had alarmed and anxious spiders quivering on them. Now come on, what person decides to go, "Ha, OK I wont move"? Though we really should be considerate of the poor spiders, freaked out by the heat threatening their home. No, rational thinking there. My aunty stood up and shook, shook shook shook. And also did a bit of human verbal diarrhea that meant she was panicking. The kinds of sounds I couldn't even type, cause they would sound Russian or something. The spiders went flying, some landed on my mum, some on the cool grass, and some landed in the fire. Option 1, 2 or 3, they didnt get to pick one. Nor did my mum. I have attached a photo, to show you what they look like. Yes the clock says "prestige":

I am not too scared of them and would be fine picking one up. I had to when they would crawl across my lap in my van I drove at 17. They loved the van as a home and so when I drove their home (in a slight jerky motion back then) of course they would be anxious. Though the screaming friends in the passenger seat as I hurtled along the freeway did not appreciate my calm approach. Trapped inside the van, jumping over into the back seat and getting stuck on the gear stick in the process, one foot stuck in the seatbelt. Though the spider I reckon had a sense of humour and would walk along the ceiling towards them, my friends shoe missing the spider by a mile and hitting my head instead. I had to pull over in the end, not cause I cared about my friend but cause my eyes were so filled with tears from laughing so much.

We could totally analyse why I am talking about spiders, but we shan't. Lets just listen to the wind.

Puff Paint

Ok, since I admitted it a few weeks ago, I will again now.

I made a shirt in craft at school when I was 11. When I say made, I just painted it. The actual shirt was an old white polo shirt that I found in my brother's drawer. We all needed a white shirt for the activity at school, I forgot and last minute snuck into my brother's room and found the shirt. It was slightly off white, though when it was purchased it would have been "white".
So with my creativity in full swing and a set of puff paints, I decided to paint a Christmas tree, with some presents underneath. Though we all had to put the slogan, "Jesus is the Reason for the Season". So neatly underneath I wrote that. And I had a shirt that I proudly wore to Christmas Carol singing on the corner of the shopping town in Engadine with the other members from Church. I also wore it as a costume, but will tell you about that another time.

So a few weeks have gone by since I last wrote. Elliot the plant has grown, I am successful for now (with the plant that is), and I keep getting to know a fella called Mike. We went down to this beautiful part of the world called Anglesea, just before the start of the Great Ocean Road. I do miss the ocean, one of the sacrifices of moving to Melbourne. You may argue if you are a Melbournite that it is next to the ocean. Yes, technically, yes. But Melbourne, you have a bay, and it is flat and the water a disturbing colour for a bay. One that no desire inside of me decides to nudge me and go, "Hey Lloyd, swim!" Possibly if I was covered in a hot substance, like fire. But the Ocean is about waves and raw white/blues/grays crashing and singing. Mike did oblige nicely and we went down onto the actual beach. It was not swimming weather but at least part of me did nudge me and say, "Hey swimming wouldnt be totally out of the question, no?" And the wind roared back onto us from the Ocean. It was like it was breathing onto us, I opened my mouth and it filled my lungs. Fresh and brilliantly clean. Ocean.. yes I miss you. But the weekend was great and the clash of movie titles occurred. First it was 'Inglorious Bastards' then followed by 'Notting Hill'. Mike has no control over these posts so I will say Mike chose the latter. He loves them movies that make him cry. Joking aside, do people watch sad movies to evoke their own emotions from their own memories? Or is it simply a human being upset over a tragic story that they can relate to as humans? Mutually exclusive perhaps.

Last weekend (the weekend before the ocean weekend) I decided to surprise my Dad for Father's Day. I flew up on Sunday afternoon after work and timed it so he arrived back from Church and there was Lloyd standing on his doorstep to say hello. I had made him a card, I used markers from work and drew a spotty tie and expressed how much I really do value him. Without Dad, aside from the obvious giving me life thing, could not have done many of the amazing adventures in my short life. Through simple support and sometimes the good old parent financial aid, he loves me unconditionally. Even if I make crap cards.

Also met up with the girls from work who were on a luxury weekend away in Sydney. I gate crashed it and then moaned a lot of the time as they continued to do girl things like Yoga (which I was forced to do also) and then flower shopping. All of this was also when I had my pyjamas on as Kitty thought my pyjamas were suitable yoga attire. I thought we were heading straight back to the car, but no. We went to one of the most expensive suburbs in Sydney for brunch. I kinda loved it though. PJs in daring places, kind of like people not knowing you got no underwear on yeah?



They are eating chips.



So am I.

Tutankhamun finishes in another few months and so those flags inside my head (the non-literal kind) remind me that I need to find work. And they will not be lowered until there is some new form of employment I know is to be lined up. There is so much inside of me that I want to explore through my career and it is just the point where I need to choose which part. Or can I involve all parts? No limitations should be applied. Kind of like IKEA but not made in Sweden. Sweden does seem to be a cool destination though, make note to go there.

I wonder how long my flat has been around? Wish I could ask it. Doesnt talk back usually so its establishment date really wont be an exception. Yeah nope, no answer.

Postcard

"I just got your postcard"
"What?"
"I just got your postcard"
"Where did you go?"
"I just got your postcard"
"You went where?"

The skype call distorted, showed half a camping lantern, and half my mum's ear. I decided I would at least amuse myself by continuing to repeat myself.

"I just got your postcard"
"I dont think it is a very good signal"
"No, I dont think so either. I just got your postcard".

The sound of Skype hanging up occurred, and it went back to just the ticking of the clock. A pop up message on the video program filteree through my dimly lit apartment.

Mum: R u there?
Lloyd: Yes
Mum: We... (user is typing).... {wait 30 seconds}... We r not having a good signal.
Lloyd: Yes Mum, we are not. Another time?
Mum is offline.

Hey, it is the thought that counts. She continues to drive around Australia, currently south of Broome. Might see her in December.

On Wednesday I did the random thing of going to a local bar's annual Drag Queen awards. Was a mate's 30th and he thought it would be fun to do. I didnt have to work the next day and my friend Renata from work wanted to come too. One of those nights where nothing was expected (you may see a pattern forming) and we have a lot of funny memories from the evening. One being the fact Renata (female, just to specify) was asked to enter the contest, so she did. She was an absolute champion. Some of the other contestants were not sure if she was female or male, and were quite pushy for her to prove it. I had to apologise to her later for bringing her somewhere that involved her having to prove she was a woman. She laughed. And my other favourite memory was when I walked past a drag queen, and my tie (yes, I was wearing a tie) got hooked on her sequin dress. I just had to look up how to spell sequin. An awkward situation occurred. My tie was hidden underneath a plastic wig and the dress smelt like my neighbour's Rock Eisteddfod outfit from the early 90's. Side step, Rock Eisteddfods were and still are for schools all around Australia to perform in musical style performances (I guess a bit like Glee Club.. kinda??) and most had sequins in and bike pants. I just had to look up how to spell this as well, it is a Welsh word. BACK to the story, so I had no idea how my tie had become attached but the drag queen became a bit distressed as she did not know why I was tugging on her dress.
"Stop it!!"
Shouting over the noise of the pub, "Sorry! My tie seems to have become attached to your dress!"
"Stop it!! Now!!"
Fumbling, my hands became mixed up in masses of brown fake hair, and swirls of makeup smell slightly touched my senses though old beer quickly covered them up again. Others began to watch, wondering why I was slightly bent over this drag queen, like I was biting their back.
"Erm, sorry, tie.. wont.. unclasp or untangle! Hang on!!"
"What are you doing?? It isnt funny!"
"Trying.. to get unstuck.. "
It did not help when others kept trying to push past in the crowded pub. I squinted my eyes and still the tie attached to the Dorothy shoe red sequins. I felt if I yanked it I would either screw up my tie or her dress. I didnt want to do the latter more so. I decided to do the smart thing of walking the way I came and bam, released.
She turned around straight away and looked might impressed (see how I use sarcasm?) and I just shrugged and kept walking. If they didnt hear me the first, second and third time, its just not gonna work.

My mate Damian and I sat in the cinema last week, we went to see a movie called "Hanna" which actually was not too bad. While we were waiting for the curtains to go up, and they actually do at this one, we heard two ladies talking nearby. The only comment that stood out was, "So my friend is doing chemo, but like, the one that does not make your hair fall out. Gosh she has lost so much weight, she looks so good!" Damian and I just looked at each other. I didnt know what to say.

Mandarins in a vase really look better than in the fridge. It is like they are now trying to make a statement, as they slightly sweat it out.

What is going on with this pen? They sell these at work. She just looks.. unsure. Perplexed?

Fort

When I hear the beginning of the kettle boiling, it makes me think of the times I was gently woken up in the lounge room under a fort of pillows, Dad boiling the kettle. I would hear the gentle distant roar, the kettle waking up from a deep sleep, louder and louder. Click of the kettle and a random clearing of the throat by my dad. Then splash of hot water filling the cold ceramic mug. That really quiet splash but so familiar. Would mean I survived the scary sleep out in the lounge room and I remember the uncertain noises coming from behind the piano when the old kitchen clock said 5:10am. I pushed the pillow wall over next to where my sister was meant to sleep until she chickened out at 9pm last night, just after 'The Bill' finished. She was concerned some chav's from Tooting would get her, she was seven.. And in Australia. Anyways I was the brave one, 11 years old and king of the leather cushion and old blanket cubbyhole. It may not have been the most structurally sound but the heavy Yosemite National Park book on top of the table that held the blanket up only fell on my sister once during setup.

Oh I am on the tram. Two sets of couples were so focused on each other they both forget to hold onto a bloody pole and fall onto me. No apology either, which is fine since I never did apologise to that blind man that time, but no point making excuses.

Magnolia's are out! First symbol winter is dying. Mike pointed out that they remind him of purple flames amongst the trees. I like this image, and bring a fire extinguisher just in case.

Marissa and I went for a spontaneous bike ride the other day. No expectations always lead to surprise. I had no idea how beautiful the scenery is by the Yarra river, we decided to ride along it. Some parts were like Wind in the Willows, some other areas were like Waterworld (the big budget flop which then became successful as a stunt show at Universal Studios), with the boardwalk for the track laid right on the river. In summary, we felt like kids going on a Saturday afternoon adventure! And we both left the day with big grins on our faces, and what more can you ask for in a day of your life? We sat there and watched the sunset over Melbourne, the faint smell of new flowers and ants taking the crumbs of cheese we left.






I had a bath tonight. My bath is about 4 foot long. So I end up having my legs scrunched up against the shower wall to fit my torso in. To an onlooker (not like I would have onlookers in this situation) it must look mighty awkward. It is just a bit less awkward for me, the one experiencing it. And I swear as I have gotten older, my hands wrinkle so much faster in the water. Is this a sign of getting older? And I will admit, I still make my bath a bubble bath. Though my shower gel sucks as bubble bath, the bubbles do not have the right consistency for relaxing. Why? Because they pop too fast and make a lot of noise and so there is no peaceful silence, just that quiet crackle, especially the ones stuck in your ear that you cant get rid of. Yep, so the reason I share this with you is because I was going onto say, I listened to a song. This was the song, reminds me of being up near Bundaberg in QLD and laying in a Spa with the ocean in the background, parrots in the trees and the worries of then were so different to any worries I have now. I am thankful for my worries now. I was not of the past worries. I will say worries just once more. There, worries.


I laid in the bat

Beef and Mushroom Pie

“Two Beef and Mushroom pies?” is announced as the waiter with the sleeve tattoo walked across to the cheap looking table.

“Yes!” Gestured a man with a black jacket (the type sold at one of those stores where they sell jackets for Dads at a low cost). He was at a totally different cheap looking table. Though this one was red cheap, the other a brown tinge cheap. Sleeve tattoo man ignored this as he placed the two pies on the brown table. The two customers at this table seemed willing receivers of these pies and silently accepted.

The jacket man casually yet more awkwardly placed his hand back down again, realizing the pie announcement was not for him. He looked around slightly, if he pretended he didn’t shout out, no one else would know. Maybe he had also ordered two pies that were the beef and mushroom variety, though he was sitting alone and to have two pies is greedy. Not like he cared about that I am sure. Back to the sports tips in the paper. The broadsheet newspaper took up all of the room on his part of the table, along with the space next to him. It is one of those unsaid rules of personal space at a café table, keep to your space, yet he had broken it. The paper was laying across the space of a young man who had flushed cheeks and a flushed red jumper to match. Red jumper guy looked at the paper then at the man, then back at the paper. It was half turned, ready for the next page of sport jargon, while he waited for his coffee. He was not staying.

The pie still hadn’t come, did he even order a pie or does he like to just accept any food coming his way? His wife Kathy was at home and so this café was brilliant for his whereabouts currently. Whether he had ordered a pie or not.

The smooth slide of a plate was heard, looking up, his pie arrived. One pie, beef and mushroom.

The little girl at the smaller cheap brown table swung her legs and grinned at jacket man. She was with Daddy and her Panini was bigger than her head and her forced pigtails. The kind of pigtails her mother was trying to encourage and tend to, like the mother’s garden hedge. They were quaint, cute and also open to other compliments by passers by, both the hedge and pigtails alike. Daddy had a pie. Pie’s are popular. Though the build up and drip of a chunk of corn and chicken that fell to the plate referred this pie to the non-beef and mushroom variety. Pies yes, though not all one variety. Though the word variety is still relevant. Daddy constantly kept his face down to his plate and ate, the girl averting her eyes back to Daddy, as Jacket man was not entertaining and nor did he smile back when she did. Looking up into her milkshake cup, metal and frosted, slight pink milk dribble down the side . She reached up to stir it casually, Daddy still staring at his pie, there seemed to be waves of concern over his face. Was it the pie causing this or the argument waiting for him later on?

Jacket man slid his chair, making a loud and attentive sound. The “I am leaving and paying” kind of sound, his chair was his instrument. Walking up to the counter, giving exact change then he left, headed back to his wife Kathy, Friday afternoons meant Sudoku and Kathy always needed help. Not the kind of help he enjoyed to give, but his duty that he had prolonged enough this afternoon.


The waitress smiled at me as she approached, “Wow, I love that sticker on your laptop!”

“Yeah, do you understand it? “

“Apple Juice!”

“Yep, you are one of the few to work that out!”

“Well its cool, where did you get it?”

“So you understand the sticker says ‘juice’ and has the shape of a juice box and then the apple symbol on my mac goes in the middle of the sticker overlay therefore combining the two and causing it to look like an ‘apple juice’ image?”

“Yeah, didn’t I confirm this before”

“I was checking.”

“Ok. So where did you get it?”

“I bought it online, I bought two as I was unsure which one to get. They were five bucks each, the other is ET interacting with the apple sign.”

“What store?? I am excited, I love it”

“Are you sure you don’t love me?”

“What?”

Awkward silence. Thankfully the other waiter, tattoo sleave walked up to the conversation, “Are you guys talking about the sticker on his mac?”

“Yep, sure are.”

Sleave waiter walks up futher, “It is really cool! Apple Juice!”

“Oh so you get it too??”

“Yeah! I used to watch the Game Show ‘Catch Phrase’ so I am good with things like that!”

“Well done, you guys are a rarity!”

Both waiters smiled, and headed back behind the counter. They then continued to chat, one making a blue milkshake, a very non-descript flavor might I add, the other pushing buttons on a microwave. The microwave was black.

Forced pigtail girl and Daddy stand up and go pay. A faint smile is made from Daddy to his daughter and change is handed over. She is allowed to buy a Mars Bar also and she grins, grabbing his hand as they walk out. The cool overcast air runs over them as they exit, turning left, not right.

OK, back to writing. I am not the type to go, “Right I need plotlines and characters, who, what, where, when, why and how.” Does that matter, or does that mean I wont ever compose a story. Do musicians just play what sounds good or do they plan what climaxes and what mellow areas of the song will exist, prior to listening. I think both musicians would exist. They do exist.

“How much is a square metre of coffee?” the guy wiped his glasses while asking.

“I don’t even know what that means? Said his friend, he also had glasses but was not cleaning his.

His wife sat next to him, her face shiny yet her face dull. So it was the shiny dull look that so often occurred with her, and her sister. She was totally not interested in her husband with glasses and his mate with glasses’ conversation. She was actually assessing the lady’s shoes that just walked in.

These shoes made no sound but yet they really did scream, “Hello, I was made far away from here”. The owner’s necklace said nothing. Though she (the owner, not the necklace, necklace’s do not have a sex in this story) was another middle aged woman with blonde streaked hair that lay flat and did not necessarily promote volume, informed the Apple Juice waitress she was waiting for “someone”.

Apple Juice waitress then smiled and filled up the China Jasmine tea I ordered with hot water. She knows I do not like it strong, because the tea seems to choke your tongue, make it thick and gritty. Why do I order it? Habit, and also the way it looks when you first pour it out. There is something clean about it, happily filling up into the white ceramic. Also makes me feel grown up and mature. It does not make me grown up though, because if tea did that, life would be less complicated. Because how awkward if a four year old makes a cup of China Jasmine tea for herself (what kind of mother lets a four year old play with boiling water? Terrible mothers no doubt) and then the four year old suddenly knows how to discuss and reflect on the human experience. If this is what maturity means, awareness and knowledge of mankind’s experience. Her discussions and would not be appreciated by her peers as she enters Kindergarten in 12 months. They are all talking about who is better at jumping on the logs that are spaced out (not so evenly) in the playground. She rolls her eyes and goes down to their level.

So let us all be thankful that tea does not create maturity. The worst thing that will occur with 4 year olds, boiling water and some smuggled China Jasmine tea is soggy cake and a spilled plastic pink cup, maybe a disgruntled teddy bear. No child is hurt in this scenario, other than his/her pride. Pride to them though is also cut down when they hug a stranger’s leg, mistaking it for their dad’s leg. Mortifying, as the adults around giggle at how cute that was.

The mother with the loud bangles at the grey table is a mother that will be treasured by her twin daughters, now and in the future. She does not dress them in the same clothes, or matching clothes. One is looking like an edgey hippy child and the other, skater girl. They may be six but they know the difference between each other. One sips a Chocolate milkshake, the other a blue milkshake that Apple Juice waitress made earlier. Their mum and her friend (who is wearing an identical jacket to black jacket man earlier), chat about potted plants, and how amazing herbs are. They make dinners taste so much better. Oh and also renovations. Is there an age where this becomes interesting? I also blame those renovation shows.

The owner of the talking shoes still waits for her “someone”. She looks across at the grey table where the twins sip their milkshakes, listening to the renovation conversation. She looks as bored as her necklace is. The newspaper in front of her is invisible, only pretend focus is made. She may as well be staring at the yellow table underneath, the Booth style. Shuffling the paper and turning a page, once again, looking through the paper, words and images meaningless, her elbow slides across. She looks into her handbag, locates keys and her shoes once again silently talk the same talk as she exits. Table, newspaper and renovation talk are reasons to leave the café it seems, whether her someone was coming or not. One of the twins waves to her as she leaves, hippy twin of course.

Chef, has a chef costume on. Well, chef uniform but hey, it’s a costume if you are not a chef. It is debatable that he is a chef, Panini’s and heated up pies being the specialty, and I am pretty sure Apple Juice waitress helps. He looks happy though, Dan is at Chef’s house and has already driven to the Bottle shop, boozy night ahead. Sarah may just be a little easier this time, and Chef may not be sleeping alone tonight.

The “someone”, that the owner of the shoes was waiting for, has arrived. They have passed like ships in the night as they discuss their ship’s movements on the phone. They laugh at the analogy, well he does, as her laugh is not audible through a mobile. I so carelessly assume the laugh was there. He hangs up, his gold chain necklace would have gone so well with her lifeless one. Unsure about the shoes, he is dressed to advertise himself, his watch glinting like the golden chain. He looks safe in himself though. He sits at the same place she did, and he has adopted the newspaper she flicked through earlier with as little purpose as her attempt.

One twin (hippy twin) has gone and the other twin stays with the friend of the mother. A dumbed down conversation occurs, discussing how hard it is to focus on swimming lessons and that skater twin is a better swimmer than hippy twin. Though really, we all know that she can get away with saying this as hippy twin is not there. This would not be mutually agreed on if hippy twin was there. They also apparently only swim at one pool, they are not multi pool adapted. This is such a better discussion than the renovation one with the mums and the girl looks pleased. Renovations suck.

The owner of the shoes enters again, greets the gold chain man, her “someone” and they discuss that their ships have docked into the same harbor.
Such a beautiful analogy that they chuckle at. The newspaper is pushed aside and folded and they confirm they are both busy people. Like me, I am busy. And that they dislike lateness, he shrugs his shoulders and apologizes once again.

Scissor paper rock is played out aggressively between a child licking his icecream and his Dad, the red table welcoming another set of visitors. This game is so much fun. I wonder if another element will be added to this game ever, whether stapler could be added? Or knife? Stapler would beat paper, have a discussion about being stationery items with scissors and be smashed by rock. Stapler could then return to scissors and discuss how much it sucks to be smashed by rock but how they can crumple paper. No, they would be allies, it would not work. The original trio are different personality types with different strengths and weaknesses. I dare not meddle with a classic game passed down through the ages. So lets not even start with knife, too violent. Though scissors are banned on aircraft these days, unless they are those child safe scissors.

Gold chain man, continued to interrupt their business-like meeting by answering his constant ringing phone. His insincere apologies are answered with “its fine” style remarks with a fake laugh from the owner of the shoes. She looks across to the humming fridge, the juice she ordered from this fridge half full and half green. Green juice is going down well it seems. He just finished the call and is back into his waving hands and talking routine. He has lessened the use of hand gestures these days. His presentation about developing nations in grade 10 geography class involved a heavy inclusion of his flying around arms, and was marked down for how distracting they were.

The famous afternoon sun entered without announcement and the peeling image of Greece on the wall lights up. It looks a tad more enticing but not enticing enough to dive into, too flat and flakey. Though the sun was just giving a sneaky preview, as it fades through the overcast afternoon again and leaves the store, no goodbye is necessary. It’s presence, even though brief, was missed straight away. The older lady in the corner with the mauve glasses (her optometrist told her they were hip, and hip they are) pays for her carton of milk, smiles and shuffles out, the door ringing gently behind her. Billy is waiting on the milk.

Trivia

"Hey, my name is Lloyd. Like the car."
"The car?"
"Yeah, my mate called his car Lloyd one time."

Had a few drinks with an old good friend the other evening. Spoke of his experience of accepting an oscar (yes, that sounds wanky to drop that in but screw it), and what was going through his mind while on that stage. One of those moments where you cannot even process what was going on and if this was actually happening. Though my favourite part of what he said is when his mother commented that when you google his name, the second search option says his name and then "gay" and the third option is his name and "boyfriend", and in a disappointing seventh place was his name and "producer".

Warning: Gym story ahead so to those, like myself who dislike people talking about the gym, especially on facebook, go to the next paragraph. I love the amount of old asian people in my gym. They are always smiling and exercising away, talking together. I want to be old and asian so I can talk with them.

Still talking about the gym. No, I am kidding. Horses!!

Just saw snaps of a guy being arrested in the London riots right near my old home in Brixton. I always defended Brixton as a safe place, I did not have much proof for my side of the argument and if you Google Brixton riots, there are a few words about it. But hey Jake and Blake (see my references about my fake pet gay Candadian Geese in the 2006 entries) did not seem to mind living there and they are the peaceful type.

Have you ever gotten your hand stuck inside a tissue box when reaching for one of the last tissues? You feel slightly dumber as a human being.

Off to Trivia night again tonight. This time last week I had no idea what was gonna happen in the last week. I really didnt say much in that statement. I may as well say, last week when I went to the grocery store, I had no idea my Dad was to call me on the following Saturday. Geesh. So really, what I am saying is, something unexpectedly nice has occurred since last week's trivia and it's fun being vague on here.

Kimbra, below. I am seeing her in a few weeks, she had that odd quirkiness that makes her music kinda creepy but good. I like this video, especially the creepy young girl dressed as a 50's housewife.




PS - Elliot

Naps

I was asked today, if I did not grow up being told I was a sinner everyday, who would I be? I sat there being kinda cynical and thought, well I would be someone else, not me. He pushed further with the question and asked me again, "if you were not told countless times that who you were was someone who constantly did the wrong thing, who would you be?"
I didn't know what to say. I instantly felt defensive and unsure. Stumped as such. The concept of not feeling that weight and constriction was so far away from me as a rainbow is, always moving further away if you step closer to it.
I fell into a well of thought, no bucket to bring me back up straight away, but the coolness of what that would be like, deep and dark and endless of what the possibilities of who I could be if I did not grow up that way. But then, I was reminded, I still can be all that, whether I was told that or not.

But also just want to make it clear, growing up was not a painful experience constantly. Hey it is sure, but I had such a loving and warm home. I think it can be easy to either blanket it with one coloured blanket. Multicoloured blankets are a bit more souvenir shop like and complicated. IKEA blankets that are one colour and cheap, are easy. What?

I think I had one of the best first dates of my life tonight.

I fell asleep for a nap today, set my alarm and everything, even though I am anti-nap. But I was sleepy and it was day one of four days off, so I felt the luxury was welcomed. Just like eating cheesecake even though it is pretty disgusting but if you are at wedding reception and there is no option, you will eat it. Well, I do, you may not. So yeah, nap nap nap, then I hear a distant buzzing sound. It is my phone, I look across and its 6pm. What?? I set myself a 20 minute nap at 4pm! And my drinks were at 5:30pm. Shit shit shit... I slid the touch screen to answer, "Hey, shit shit shit". Stressed me out on two levels, I hate the feeling after waking up from a nap as you have no idea what country or time zone or dimension you are in. It may be that you are 11 again and its time to wake up for school, or you may be 55 and thought you were dreaming of when you were 27 and now you are back awake again and its mexico outside and slightly chilly. The second reason it stressed me out is that I am an on time person. This situation happened to be a date also, and the good old saying "First impressions... something or other" may could well have applied. Though thankfully, I dont think it did and it will be a story. For whatever reason, like those moments, they are stories of your life. That will be brought up, at a dinner or drinks with mates at age 37 where you go, "So I accidentally stood up a date when I napped a tad too long cause iPhone technology sucked back in 2011, and I set my alarm for 4:30am, not pm". And my mate Barry (cause Barry is a brilliant Australian name and I aim to find a friend who has this name) will go, "Oh Lloyd, thats a funny story, it made me chuckle and relate to a time I had a nap and left the fridge running with a child inside". I didnt say anything about whether Barry was sane or insane.

I like to ride my bike, and I shall express this thought, soon.

Location:Lansdowne St,East Melbourne,Australia

Engadine

I walked along the slopey and rocky footpath past my old church last week, used to love doing this as a kid. Now I have old clark leather shoes on and I have a beard. Not a kid.

Its ok, I am alive. I was writing and then stopped and then wrote and then stopped.

I wrote this though:

Writing this while in my brother's old bedroom in our old family home. It has rained all week, which has been great. Always loved my home growing up when it rained, as the metal roof made the rain louder and if you were cuddled up in bed it was the most comforting sound. But if it was winter, you have to lie really still and not slide your feet across to other part of the bed as it would be cold and who wants to have to go through the experience more than once of warming up the bed.
Thunder just rolled down the street and a dog barked. More rain. The splash sound as cars drive past the top of the street. And this bed gets more and more comfy.
My nephew came in before, he walks but cannot walk on a bed yet, way too unstable. You throw him up high and he giggles a lot and has learnt the word "more" much to his advantage. He is just stoked at that. I wish my plant said "more" when it needed water. Look further down the page to read about the plant, as I have placed this in as a warning.

Then I got back from Sydney and I wrote this:

My cousin told me this blog was emotional vomit. I actually had no issue with her saying this, as perceptions really do fascinate me. This really could be seen as emotional vomit. I just blurt out whatever comes into my head and it is usually emotive. Vomit also comes out unexpectedly, so in a beautiful harmony, vomit and emotion mix together, with chunks of carrot and sometimes corn.

I got home from Sydney after a fairly uneventful trip other than seeing loved ones (yep that part was eventful), and got texts from friends all saying welcome home. Welcome home. Yeah I would say it is home now, it has been 6 months today since I flew here and wheeled my suitcase next to the bluestone gutters that are so familiar in Melbourrne. And I do not regret it at all, I love it.

I bought a plant. It has green leaves that then turn into red leaves at the top of the plant. I walked into a florist when I saw it in the window, with a lovely rafia bow (Gee, I have rafia and a bow in my house. This reminds me of my mum in the 90's making rafia hats at christian camp). I walked in and after the quick smile and chat that its cold outside, asked her what plant in here will survive in an apartment. She pointed to the red one and destiny was mine. An old man came out the front of the shop and wrapped it up in brown paper(must be his duty, maybe his only one), I do not know why but it protected Elliot from the cold. Elliot is the plant's name, and he does not have a star sign.

I love that I do not lose my romantic bone, or romantic heart for that matter. I can keep hurting myself and yet I still have that hope. It also projects back on the love I have felt and also given and there is a memorial service to that past sometimes. Some mix tape is played and a sad song or a happy song is there, but there are so many songs yet to be written that will remind me of a future love and other songs that have been written that have simply not been discovered by me, that will be introduced by someone who will make me smile.

Have not seen Mr Fox for a while. Some say he may have been ousted as Mr Fox and is now just Fox, over in St Kilda. Sucks hey.
I have noticed that Tram Drivers, wave to each other. Just as in Sydney, Bus drives wave to each other. It makes me wonder if the entire bus company or train company of drivers know each other or do they do it as some social formality. "You drive a Tram too and are going past me, hello!!" And the wave returns to them "Gday mate".

I saw this video and the words are haunting, he is such a great artist and it just gets topped off when Kimbra turns up in the video. She rocks.

Coffin

Something I value about jobs is finding the really cool aspects and then sit outside of yourself and smile. Painting a base of a wall in one of the galleries for King Tut and having a 3500 year old golden coffin sitting there near me. Noone else is inside the galleries and it is late at night. My music playing from another of the rooms, educating the artifacts on music from 2011. Something about it, was just simply, simple.

I had a dinner party last night. Vegetarian style, and I so reminded myself of my mother. I do not know how that happened, but just how she loved to cook and host, I like doing the same. Though not the same kinds of food, my own twist. I like cooking but do not like those cooking shows and reality comps like Masterchef. It makes it so common and addictive and generic. Just like when you fight with window blinds and you pull the rope cord and the stupid thing does not catch or it lopsides and not straight across. And you end up communicating way too heavily with strips of metal and rope as to why it is not cooperating with your desire for less or more light.

Had my mate Dave here the past few days and he inspired me to go back to the ACMI (Some letters representing the museum of the moving image I think) and so I took another friend Bernard and his sister there. There is this pretty cool (yes Dave, pretty cool) wheel that moves around and around and then the lights start flashing and it comes to life. This is kind of stupid to explain in writing as I bet you have no idea what I am saying.. youtubing now... There, just watch.



And so, was showing them and then they walked out half way. Rude. Only to discover his sister is epileptic. Oh. So just check beforehand next time. Epileptic warnings are there for a reason.

Off to Sydney in a few days. My thoughts currently are mainly drained at trying to organise to hang with people. It is not an easy task. Funny how visits to see friends/family is not a holiday. Though hey, if my chicken Denise was still alive, I would be guaranteed to be chilled. Maybe I will find her grave. Just as much talking would go on, pre or post her death. RIP once again Denise.

I found this photo on my camera, taken the day I was about to move to Melbourne. I put it as my facebook profile. Because I was not smiling people told me it was a bad photo. Does a photo of a face have to be smiling to be a good one? I just liked the rawness, but trying not to be up myself with it. We attempt this all the time and fail yeah?