Study (An Ode to Jack Torrance of the Overlook Hotel)

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. ll work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boyAll work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dullll boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and NO play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, all work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, all work and no play makes jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull murder.

All work and no Play makes jack a dull boy, all work and no play makes jack a dull boy.

all work and no play makes Jack a bull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a DULL boy.

All work

and no play

Makes JACK

A

DULL

BOY

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dulll boy,
all work and no play makes jack a dull boy,
All work and no play make Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no ply makes Jack a dull boy,
all work and no play makes Jack a dul boy,
All work and no play makes jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All work and no play makes Jack a dulll boy.

All work and no play makes JAck a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull bou.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a full boy

All work and no play makes jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Achromatic

"I'm not living
I'm just killing time
Your tiny hands
Your crazy kitten smile

...

And true love waits
In haunted attics
And true love lives
On lollipops and crisps"

Fairytale.

The picture above... it reads "Britt". Over and over and over. Who is Britt? I do not know. Who wrote all this? I do not know. All I know is, there's something wrong here. There's something wrong when anyone has this amount of influence over someone. A romantic symbol or an obsessed ramble. I've know both. This could be either. All I know is I hate it. I hate how idealised and easy love is painted as being in films. It's not. It's like some dance that people try to learn while doing... in that sense, having big feet is not helpful. I don't dance. I don't do this right. I remember why I enjoy being alone. I don't disappoint myself. I don't frustrate myself. I also don't make myself happy, but I don't make myself sad either. Lately, I've been rewriting my childhood ideals. I don't want to love a "Britt" or be loved by a "Britt". Love should be easy and free and fortify happiness... instead, it breeds insecurity and stress. Maybe it's just me... I wouldn't be suprised if I just struggle with the mundane and enjoy the thrill of the chase more. I'm only 18. I don't understand love. I'm a child. A baby.
This is not a fairytale, its life. I am not Romeo, I'm Ryan. Love is not love, it's chemical... and I failed chemistry.

Adios.

Cut me loose

I need luck. Luck me up. Come on! I sacrifice for some wriggle-room. Let life work and let this end right. I don't ask a lot. I just want a little functionality and peace. I'm sick of worrying about things that I should embrace. Shut up brain. Just let things work. This shouldn't be hard. This shouldn't be hard. Such primative anger... and fear. Just be fluid and nice. Just be happy. Just let me be a human. This is a plea to the Universe. For crying out loud, just work. Be normal. Just like the comic books, this should go smoothly for me... I'm a background character. A pattern on the wall. Adding difficulty to my life achieves nothing for the narrative. I want to be normal. I want my plans to work. Take charge and be a man. Cut me some slack and let me go, give me this, let something work to some extent for once and I'll close my mouth.
That - I promise.

Adios.

Happy Birthday!!

"You say it's your birthday
It's my birthday too, yeah
They say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you."

At this moment, my Birthday is nearly over. Such a good day. So disappointed to see it end. I like having people wish me happiness, especially when I've never spoken to them. A few people even suprised me by knowing my name. Many cakes and gifts and treats. The way such a greedy occasion should be. Pictured is Caitlin's Rastafarian Jelly-Jar; et taste lark de Coribee-han. I liked it. Lime, mango, creaming soda... brilliant. Next to that, on the top, is the assorted cakes and pastries that my Aunty had arranged. The three candle are not monument to my actual age. Below that is part of the Question Mark shaped cake baked by Madeline. It was really good. Creamy chocolate and covered in love hearts. Hahahaha. Again, I think the cake only had Nine candle. Gah! Nine! I thank everybody for everything. Especially the poncho from Papa.

Also, on a coincidental note, the very song I mentioned in my last post came up on my iPod the second I left the house, while the iPod was set to suffle. Chance of that; 1:670. Below is photographic evidence (I got really excited). As you can see, it took me only 11 seconds to get my camera out, aim, adjust, focus and shoot (I was REALLY excited). I thought I was phychic. In the image, you can see the little Pod-sock that Mumma knitted for me. Pink and green. Thanks for the colours.

That'll do for now.

Adios.

Agtien jaar in net 'n regmerkie

"Happy Birthday to me

Happy Birthday to me

Happy Birthday dear myself

Happy Birthday to me"

This is a photo of a Lithgow Spring. Haunted weather. Ghost weather. Ooga Booga Boo... and such. Tomorrow, it is my Birthday. What do I ask of Mother Nature? I think my ideal day would be a little like this;
Similar skies to the ones you see in my picture. Black clouds and a trace of sunlight swirling about in amongst the ebonic sky. Trees become silhouettes - skeletal remains of Nature. With Spring, however, buds and new flowers sway in the warm, humid wind... surely confused by the liar's display of temperate shade and eerie winds. Still, a showcase of absurdity and a step away from the norm. An unusually warm day, betraying its darkness. Unusually relaxing, despite the heavy wind. Most importantly - no rain. I don't want rain... but if there is rain, make it pour. I want to wake to silence and stroll the house before my Dad awakes and after the celebratory shouts and tales I'm sure he'll tell - "You were a baby you know. Yep. Good job not dying! You could fit in one of my hands. I had to hold you tight so the wind wouldn't carry you away. I had you when no one else would. No one." - then I'll walk to school. Listening to this song;

I like that song.
Anyway. I have little else to say. I hope I get myself a grey day. Here's another of my photographs. I <3>

Adios.