Grace Notes @ Snarkattack

I finally got back another local submission of some poetry I made ages ago, and none of them were chosen, which doesn’t really surprise me. It’s making me think twice about going to the Wollongong workshop in Jan 2007 – I only have to choose 12 pages of recent poetry and I’m not really happy with any of my stuff at the moment. But come on! 12 bloody pages is hardly anything. Perhaps I’m not mature enough a poet to really get anything out of this workshop? I want to write more but need to keep my health and sanity too. Keeping the sanity even without writing the poetry is hard enough as it is!
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Of course, not by American filmic portrayal. Marxism = communism = worst evil on the planet = Satan. From what little I know about the US, this is what I gather, anyway.

Last night I saw the film The Machinist on television for the first time. Talk about bleak! Surprise, surprise – the filmmaker couldn’t get funding to make in the States so he had to go to Spain in order do make it. Surprise, surprise #2 – it stars my fantasy bonk Christian Bale. Putain, the man is a phenomenal actor but it was genuinely sickening to see a human that thin.
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Well no, actually I don’t. This wasn’t supposed to be the agony aunt blog but at the moment…well, if you don’t fancy reading about some random twenty-something loser’s life, don’t bother clicking on the ‘more’ bit.
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So I submitted this blog to yet another blog directory-type thingie and was told that it was refused on the basis that i. it was commercial ii. posting wasn’t frequent enough (at least twice a week) and iii. the URL to my blog wasn’t functional. Was it even checked by a human being?!
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*enter Survivor’s hit song here*

So I have this plan, it’s kind of like a training regime Rocky Balboa-style but as well as the physical stuff, I have to keep a handle on the mental stuff too. So far, it’s been working well – if you discount the fact that the last 2 days I’ve been hit with either irritable bowel syndrome, side effects of my mood stabilisers (colitis-like symptoms) or a tummy bug.
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Is the word that explains me best at present. Things have been worse than this but…the isolation is deafening.

Today was relatively constructive even though it’s been two weeks now since I had anything published on Blogcritics. In the next week or so, there will be quite a few going up, with some hope. Definitely three, at the least.
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I decided very late on in life, as in my twenties, that I wanted to do more with words than just read them.

It’s a pretty corny thing to say, but as soon as I was able to think consciously, I always wanted music to be a part of my life. This seems odd given that my immediate family have little artistic inclination – or is it that they chose not to follow it?
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I wish I had’ve taken a photo for the benefit of my makeup-loving friends as I wore some very vibrant colours on Sunday evening – our family went out to celebrate my brother’s 25th birthday. Very early that day, my father had remarked that his ‘pickneys’ (West Indian talk for ‘child’, or in this case, ‘children’) were now fully grown.
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Well, last week was long enough to feel like an era of sorts, I guess. It’s the end of lots of things, though.

It’s looking like I’ll need to go back to therapy, because I can’t vouch that my mental health will remain stable. It’s the end of my hopes of going back to study – I could push myself to do it, and want to, but I know where that will lead. It’s also the end of…Miniblog.

I’ve had enough of Miniblog, so today my dear admin friend Rob helped to navigate me through the trials and tribulations that is installing a new Wordpress blog from scratch. This required parrying with MySQL and sparring with myPHPadmin. I think I handled my first forays well.

So all the entries that are currently here will be moved over to this new blog I’ve installed. I’m very excited, as I got to really struggle through it myself and can upload all the awesome things that took me forever to learn…

That was the best part of my day. Oh – that and writing a short song at about 3am this morning entitled ‘KGB Dental Plan’. I’m looking at putting in more poetry submissions and am toying with the idea of submitting this but I’d get crucified! It’s for NMD who is in a band (well, not really, it’s more of a duo) that sings/performs songs on a very specific topic. It’s a hilarious idea, and very much in the vein of a band he introduced me to called Killdozer (try looking it up on www.allmusic.com).

Speaking of NMD, supposedly my best friend – I say that because I am the one at fault, not he – he was kind enough to accompany me to my brother’s birthday supper. I didn’t mean to, but I really ruined the little time we spent together though I do feel there was no need for him to be quite so…blunt to me about certain sensitive things. He is never hurt or upset by my idiotic behaviour – just pissed off, angry, annoyed. I would like to feel the same way, but it is like there is no control over the neurochemicals, and I just get hurt – rather pathetic. What he doesn’t realise is I’m just as fed up of myself as he is with me. This resulted in my sleeping most of the day to avoid crying. Who wants chronic sinus infections? Not I!

But at least my dear cat slept close to me, and it wasn’t for warmth as the day was quite sunny, yet mild. Some clothes I ordered arrived but the excitement seems to have disappeared. Can’t wait to go to bed; am hopeful that the sadness will dissipate slightly by tomorrow.

Speaking of bed, I knuckled down and cleaned my room. It’s completely spotless. Dusty, but totally transformed. Isn’t it embarrassing that it took so long? It feels like my true talent at present lies in letting everyone down, or inciting disapproval. I don’t mean to – am really trying hard not to. If I have, I’m very sorry and trying my hardest to be…better. Hopefully the good ol’ mental health pros can fix me up a bit. Then I’ll be a real boy (like Pinnochio, heh heh. Sigh).

After yesterday’s incredible burst of intelligence (not), it may be safe to assume that which I’d been ignoring all week and possibly even last week: I’m not doing well! So I should stop bloody forcing myself to work (write) when I’m just not well enough to do so!

So I spent today resting. Sleeping. Mucking around on the computer. Just resting, no forcing of anything. I feel so much better, not trying to squeeze words or evidence of productivity out of myself. By habit, it feels odd not to have really done anything when I managed to get so many articles up for Blogcritics the other week.

So no writing or reading at my end but some details on the book I bought – it’s called Writing Poetry: a practical guide by Julia Casterton. The exercises at the beginning sound pretty hippy-ish, but are very good and could be useful for many artists, not just poets. I think in particular it would be good for composers.

I ache a lot after all that walking yesterday: it must have tallied up to about 8-9 kms? This morning when I woke up, I most certainly did not feel like a fat cow anymore.

I’m also feeling confident that next week will be loads better. I now have quite a few review deadlines clocked up for Blogcritics, but it’ll be okay…I think.

We’re back to that idiotic stage. I mean “I” am but it sounds better in the first person plural.

For a couple of weeks things have been declining. In some sort of stupid burst of infinite wisdom gone wrong, I decided that perhaps if I went out today and didn’t cancel NMD (who, it turns out was going to stand me up for his beloved computer project…this is getting old, real old) then things would get better and all would be well.

It might have been better to try that on a day when it wasn’t 36 degrees. Ugh. I parked my car about 3-4 kilometres from my old university. It didn’t seem like a large distance. I thought given my current reclusive state, I could do with the exercise: at the moment, and I hate to admit it, I’m a flabby cow. I was probably about 10 minutes from my favourite bookshop and I started to panic. There wasn’t any particular reason, everything was fine – to a healthy human being. It was hot, a few people – too many for me – walked past and for no discernible reason I was stricken with fear.

I’m still not entirely sure what it was that I was afraid of. Crossing the road without getting hit. People touching me. Freaking out in public.

I did make it to my bookshop and bought a book about poetry. It has exercises one can do to stimulate ideas and the like. I’d begged NMD to meet me there and even though the poor dear was having a work-related meltdown he came and walked me back to my car, not before making me eat and drink something.

It all sounds dreadfully silly now but about 6 hours ago, I really could have used some sedatives. I haven’t freaked out that badly since I was going to uni and having panic attacks. That was about 5 years ago. I really need to start believing my instincts: I didn’t feel comfortable going out, but I forced myself to do so anyway.

Gee, you’d think a freaking BA and I would’ve learnt something. But no, stayed tuned for more chronicles of the university-educated and infallibly stupid.

I’ll say because I know anyone who reads this will think I’m exaggerating, but if one person will inspire me to take my own life, it’ll be my mother, easily.

There I am, minding my own business having breakfast and she pulls out this fairly tacky necklace and earrings by my standards. She asks me if I like them. I say no. She says young people like these things. I say I’m not like all young people. She then proceeds to pretty much insult me just because I politely refused what I thought to be ugly jewellery.

In twenty-seven years, she has never bothered to remember what my taste is like. In fact, whenever I say I like “this” she just rants on about how horrible it is and many other things. Can’t she just keep it to herself? I do, about how I don’t really like her taste.

So in case you’re ever interested as to the reasons for my self-hatred and obsession with death, meet my mother. Yes, of course she’ll seem nice to my friends and people she doesn’t know but when everyone is gone…shudder. Seriously, what did I ever do to her? It’s her fault I was born, not mine.

As you can tell, I’m having a peachy time at home. Three days and it’s been so noisy that I just couldn’t get any work done. I’ve wasted three days because everyone has been at home, and the TV is either too loud, or the treadmill is running. Thankfully, a friend was kind enough to ask me to spend a few days at the place she is housesitting. I somehow doubt I’ll half-finish a massive historical novel and rock band biography in those three days but perhaps if I don’t sleep…groan.

I’m never going to be able to afford to move out. I might as well just get used to the notion of rotting here in suburbia.

A while back, I decided to try out yet another beauty e-tailer that specialises in fragrance, and mineral makeup. I didn’t order any of the mineral makeup – just a few fragrance vials, and some bath and body products. Now it’s time for the report.

The three fragrance vials I chose were Orchid Mist, In Yoku (Lust in Japanese, supposedly) and Sweetest Dreams.

Today, I’m wearing Sweetest Dreams – described by the maker Fyrinnae as ‘beautiful freesias with a background of other light flowers, on a bed of sweet cream’. On my skin, though I’ve not been wearing it very long, it is definitely floral and I can smell the beginnings of the freesia and even lilac undertones but initially it reminded me of Fruit Tingle sweets – very sherbet-like, and citrusy. I like it very much but it may be a tad too ‘girlie’ for me.

Orchid Mist, represents ‘the slightly musky and damp scent of wild purple orchids’. This is easily my favourite out of the lot though it’s still not as floral as the name would indicate – it has a lot of fruitiness in it. I prefer this scent in their rich body cream as it’s creamier and the fruitiness is tamed. Nothing about this fragrance is overpowering – it’s very enticing.

In Yoku – where ’sensual fragrances like honey, sandalwood, hyacinth, and rose come together in a captivating, feminine blend’ was dreadfully unsuitable for my body chemistry. It attacked my sense of smell from the moment I put it on and was just too overpowering despite my frugal application. It had to be dowsed down with Kenzo Eau de Parfum. It sounded like it’d be right up my alley but that wasn’t at all the case.

I have still to try the Mayan cocoa bath bombs I got from them, and gave my mother the Gothic Aristocrat soy and shea lotion which made me gag – it was like one of those old lady scents tainted with an insane amount of stale cigarette smoke. Again, not suitable for my body chemistry. Fyrinnae labels it as ‘more sophisticated than the EGL fragrance, this captures the scents of a glass of wine and jasmine flowers with a soft, seductive base’ (no, I don’t know what EGL is, I’m afraid). I do not at all agree with this given description and cannot wait for even my mother to finish this lotion because it really hurts my head and tummy. Ugh, how can a non-fecal scent be so offensive?

The writing gig is going pretty well. I found a few of my articles republished by Blogcritics’ affiliate sites and online newspaper-type sites.

So naturally, my gamba playing really sucks. It’s so frustrating – I had to cut some of my nails so short a fingertip bled, it hurts to type and I shake so much because of the stupid meds which is naturally made worse by my nervousness. Slowly, my body is starting to remember what it’s like to play. It’s sad to think that at my best on the instrument, I was also at my mentally worst. Geez, I almost prefer the latter…

In other retardedness, my savings account was 10 dollars short and a PayPal payment bounced back to me and I copped a whopping dishonouring fee of 40 bucks. Talk about nasty – not to mention the fact that my stupid dole payment should have been there before this happened. Not happy: I could have bought a book or two with that money. Sigh. So all that dough sitting in my PP account I had to transfer to my bank account. No fun spending money for me. I wanted a bright red sweater with poufy sleeves!

To end on a random note, I’ve been having a few bad dreams. In one of them, I flashed my boobs at a guy and got pissed off because he didn’t think my boobs were hot. Weird, but funny. There wasn’t even any reason to flash him. What would Herr Freud say? Lacan? Jung? Perhaps it’s a sign that I need to go on the Jerry Springer Show or something! As if.

So as some of you may be aware, it’s springtime here in the Southern Hemisphere.

Our backyard has one fence, half of which has this beautiful bush of jasmine cascading over. The neighbour there is really nice, so it’s no big deal, and technically, anything hanging over your fence is actually yours so I’m planning to cut some tendrils and put them in my room.

You can smell it from the house! They are so fragrant and it’s like they just blossomed overnight. It’s easily 200-300 metres to the back fence and you can smell them as soon as you come through the side door. Because it’s not yet summer, the smell isn’t pungent, but nice and soft.

Just thought I’d share that. It’s hard to explain – it’s like you can tell by the scent how far it is to summertime. At this precise moment, the flowers are still young, and sensual. They smell especially divine in the dead of night. I do so love jasmine.