The Man of a Thousand Faces

"His words are quiet like stains are
on a tablecloth washed in the river
Stains that are trying to cover
for each other
or at least blend in with the pattern
Good is better than perfect
Scrub till your fingers are bleeding
and I’m crying for things that
I tell others to do without crying

He used to go to his favorite bookstores
and rip out his favorite pages
and stuff ‘em into his breast pockets
and the moon, to him, was a stranger"

On Tuesday, I took it upon myself to see how poeple saw me. I asked if they'd draw pictures of me and for the most part they were negative (although I blame artist flair over hatred). Here are the pictures I recieved;

1) This one is Kurt's. I know, it's a little bit... terrible. On the plus side; he spelt my last name right. On the bad side; he apparently sees me as some kind of serial killer with thin hair, sausage lips, oddly shaped nose, strange ears and a perverted stare. Thanks Kurt.

2) Ah, Caitlin. Someone who can, at the very least, draw. I don't look at myself very often and I see the side of my head even less, but that looks pretty 'spot-on'. I like it anyway.

3) This one is a painting by my Grandfather, John Hodgkinson. He did this for me without me asking a while ago. Personally, it scares me. I like it and I admire his ability, but it strikes a chord with my fear of the lifeless. Like a Porcelain doll; made to look so real and warm but it reality it's basically a synthetic corpse. Cold and capable of little more than representing a memory or idea. Some dolls are such a melancholy creation, with those little rosie cheeks and glassy eyes. Gah! I hate them. This painting, the eyes and mouth in particular, make me feel like the painting knows something that I don't. Lifeless stare, egoistic smirk and such a limp stance. Maybe it is me perfectly.

4) Juzen. Juzen, Juzen, Juzen. Apparently I'm a hillbilly... or maybe a mechanic that says very inappropriate things in a thick, Cajun accent while staring you down like he's suspicious of your body. You would need to think twice before agreeing to following him to the back room to "fill outchoor papa'work", especially with the way he holds that wrench... the way he holds the door open for you, hand resting against the lock and you can't see a desk inside the dark room, only a leather hammock, steel boxes and a stained sheet covered in what you hope are oil stains. Ah, little side tracked... anyway, thanks Juzen.

If you want to draw me a picture (of anything), I'd happily accept it.

Adios.

The way I play

"It's become a habit
A way
To start the day

I go through all this
Before you wake up
So I can feel happier
To be safe up here with you

...

Imagine what my body would sound like
Slamming against those rocks"

This blog is, unfortunately, dedicated to my Obsessive Compulsive behavior - which is oddly active these last few days. I'm not sure why, it usually kicks in really bad when I'm upset but I feel alright. So, I need to find the culprit...

When I was littler, I used to hate playing Tic-Tac-Toe when I felt compulsive because I felt like dying if anyone (including myself) won diagonally. I also hated winning unless it was symmetrical... which sounds really stupid, I know. It's also very difficult so I'd prefer trying to set up a clean win for the other person, mirroring their moves and hoping they'd start with the centre square. Thank God I rarely felt compulsive as a kid (despite a bout, while living with my Grandfather, where I flicked light switches 3 times). That was because of my parents divorce though, and I was too little to realise that light flicking was unusual. I just thought it made the room feel more like it loved me, like the light was brighter and I wouldn't need to cry. All I can say is that I'm glad I did it an odd amount of times, rather than even, allowing me to end where I wanted it to end (On - off - on, off - on - off). Highschool has lovingly brought out the most compulsive of my behaviors. On Friday, Hannah Gausden jumped infront of me in role call and asked "watcha' doing?" I looked at her a little disappointedly and replied "Counting the tables." She asked me why and I answered, as though it were obvious, "I need to know how many there are". I was, subconsubconsciously rearranging the room, again. I liked it when I had blue desks with red chairs and yellow desks with green chairs more than the current set-up.

Ofcourse, it never lasts after I arrange it. I also don't like hearing people say "What kind of a fuck-wit would do this? What a waste of time!" I waste my time all the time. While writing this, I also just realised I've stopped clicking my fingers! I used to do that every time I was nervous around a girl and it seems to have disappeared. That's good, I guess. I still get terribly anxious while speaking in front of an audience, I used to be so comfortable. I did debating for so long and then... well, maybe I'm just maturing into a Mountain Man, who fears humanity and lives with amongst thick trees and shaking knees. I really have no idea. The letter of the day is 'I', and not because I'm selfish.

Anyway, writing this has calmed my nerves. Come the HSC, I think I'll die. It was good to hear "Ryan, I don't want you to fade away" on Friday, as compared to "I want you to die" on the Thursday. What will I do? That's all people ask me now, I don't want to finish school and have to spill out into the place I'll live and die in. I don't want finality. I don't want progression. I would give anything for a speel of my life and then be let to move on quietly if I chose not to live it personally. Then again, I think I'm insane so I wouldn't trust myself with such a decision. Zoe, thank you for the invite to your party but also for having the name Zoe. It's not Zooey, but it's close and I respect you for having a neat name. S'all so dandy. I have more to say, but I feel I'm getting carried away. I wish I had a river.

Adios, friends.

[Title missing]

"Something always
Takes the place of
Missing pieces you can take
And put together
Even though you know there's something missing
Something always missing
Always someone missing something"

Rain, rain - I love rain. I love that I turn up 40 minutes late to History and Mr. Gasparre accepts my excuse "I was lost and have wet socks". I love walking through these streets, kicking puddles up onto my jeans and seeing other people scramble with their umbrellas. Most of all, I love it how in the rain, it looks like everyone is crying and so very tired. My shoes both have holes in them now (which is what happens when you walk so damn much) and the water fills them so I get this wonderful squelching noise on certain surfaces. I love seeing Dad looking at me as to say "Why must you be so difficult" when I walk in the door and sing "Me feets are wet!!"
Infact, in the rain, there is very little that I don't love. I love you.

I found a script I was writting earlier this year, back when I aimed to direct the 'Worst Film Ever'. It sounds pretty bad, here's the opening;

- - - - -

[Wide shot of green field. Sun high in the autumn sky. Slow motion shot as the aged leaves fall to the ground. No sound but that of a child’s laughter. Transitional fade to a shot of young Chippy, the protagonist of the film played by Nicholas Cage, as he plays in the long grass. The scene is narrated by an adult Chippy and his therapist ‘Doc’, played by Christopher lloyd overlaying the images of the young Chippy playing.]

Chippy (Narrating) :

It all started when I was a boy, Doc.

‘Doc’ (Narrating) :

Go on.

Chippy :

I was eleven, playing on my family home’s property. My pet horse was missing. So were my one thousand pet spiders. The old abandoned mine was glowing. It was a simple childhood day… and that’s where my troubles really began…

[Shot of farmhouse and Chippy’s terrified mother screaming as she runs onto the porch.]

Mother :

Chippy! Horse have attacked all of the worlds capital cities aided by spiders! Take your cyanide pill! Now!!

[A large horse like shadow falls over Chippy as he pulls a small emergency suicide pill from his little orange overalls. Chippy slowly turns, shaking, and drops the pill back into his little pocket as he is faced by a horse of decent size. The horse is covered in spiders and screams as it scuttles closer like a crab. Chippy fumbles for his pill but is too slow and is harassed by the horse. It pushes him down and picks him up by the scruff of his neck and runs towards the glowing mine]

Mother :

No! Chippy! Your psychic drawings where right all this time! How could I have been so foolish.

- - - - -

My life long dream has been to own a cinema or atleast work in one at some stage in life. It's the only career that seems... good. I'd mop the floor if it meant I could hear the films throught the door occasionally. I love cinema and I love film. One day I will achieve this - not the mopping - I want to own a cinema more than almost anything. Until then, I'll write silly little scripts and watch my favourite movies over and over again. Here's to the future.

Adios.

The World is brighter upside down

"Ghosts of the past

become barbarians of the future
And I still pity you
Because what you said was true

Goodbye, sober day
Hello, milky way"

Camping was great, as usual. Two nights and three days of drink, music, sun, food and friends, all revolving around a little campfire. The drive down was so smooth and spirits were high... suprisingly the weather was brilliant (emphasised by the heavy rain that hit the day after we had left). The view of Wolgan Valley always gets me; so deep, so wide and so infinite in charm. The camp ground we set up was long and boardered the river, under the shade of surrounding trees that were housed by a curious possum who was well fed, thanks to us. A few tried to kill him, but he was so small and docile. I'm glad Nick didn't manage to hurt him, but I can't imagine Nick being able to do... anything. I ate a strange amount, considering my normal diet. There was a lot of frisbee, soccer and football going on most of the time and the group was organised to the point that I felt at home (if not slightly polar to the seemingly random events of nature). Pictures were a plenty, thankfully, and I cannot honestly think of a complaint... oh, actually; Stinging Nettles... my complanit is Stinging Nettles.

Being the celebratory occasion that it was, I did drink. That's right Mum, I got wasted. I'll let that sink in... hahaha, okay. I didn't. I did drink though, but I didn't come out of it badly. This birthed the quote/title of this blog "the World is brighter upside down"- William. To an extent, it is true. Night 1, I drank a little amount (I stopped counting after the vodka) and took to singing with the Twins. The Twins, for you uninformed few, are Admirals in Awesome. Here's some pictures of them;

We sang a long list of songs from a long list of artists, lyrics optional, ranging from NIRVANA to the Beatles. Fuelled by alcohol and Oreos, we sang well into the night, before being abused and going to bed. That night, I learned "Being drunk is strangely freeing, but also causes you to act moronically". It wasn't a huge suprise. Sadly, after the Twins had left I found my true feet as a Drunk Scholar and Philosopher. The second night I drank more, and although I was mentally fine, my body was a slight bit awkward. I roamed into the darkness countless times, once hearing Dykes in the distance screaming "Ryan's missing! He's my bestfriend, we need to save him"... incase you can't guess, Dykes is a weak drunk and technically speaking "could not handle his shit". I felt annoyed by how stupid a few other drunks were, I said at one stage "don't you hate the fact that this night seems so epic and special, so new... to me anyway, and yet every minute mechanic and impressive tweak in this universe simply continues on regardless?"

Will replied "No, I - it doesn't it's like... because this IS...", he mumbled for a while and I replied "Forget opinion, it's fact". I was convinced I was the only sober one lying in the field at that moment who was sober (besides Caitlin, lying quietly on my right). That was until I stood up and found I wasn't all so sober. Still, this drug seemed so powerful in unleashing bliss and confidence, coupled with deep thought and the strange puppet-like movements which sparked a wonderful sense of creativity in me while leaving one or two others confused messes. I can't imagine wanting to do this each weekend, or even bimonthly... it needs a reason. Not only because of the price, but because I enjoy the surreal feeling of walking like a spaceman, having my voice heard and having my thoughts so uni-tracked and free... not because I want to look like a man by stomaching more than anyone else. I enjoyed the party, the alcohol was a medium rather than a purpose and I don't for one bit regret lying in the wet grass, holding hands with Aron talking about shooting stars, aliens and light.

By the time this light has reached your eyes, a World has lived and died...

... but we're here.

Adios.

Dr. Manhattan

"Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners

Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water
Maybe I'm too young

To keep good love from going wrong
But tonight, you're on my mind so
You never know
...
Too young to hold on
And too old to just break free and run

...

He has no-one."

Don't you hate drawing parallels between yourself and something so depressing as this. I love 'Watchmen' to the point of rereading so many times... I often get compulsions to find a single image I remember from my first read through. I model so much of my photography after it's art; reflections, silhouettes, contrast, extreme colours... or occasionally extreme dulls. I love it so much and I hate the fact many people will never give it a run due to the fact it's a graphic novel, "What the fucks a graphic novel!? It's a comic book you faggot!"

I hate the fact that I feel socially absent even in the most social of occasions. I hate that I can laugh and feel like a jerk on the inside. I hate that I can make people laugh and feel like Pagliacci the Clown. Why do I feel so distant so often? Why do I crave solitude over romance? Why do I feel such a parallel between myself and such an esoteric, unhuman fictional character found in Comic Book? Sadly, I lack the superhuman powers, intelligence... but I have the love of self-isolation, routine and over-analysis.

"The light is taking me to pieces."

Atleast I'm still human... and I do have fun. I still have that. Camping will be a good release. I hope everyone turns up and I can just relax for 3 days and the 2 nights...

Adios.

Pre-war, pre-camp.

"Perfect photographs
Of Everest days
And postcard nights
Tearing through the paper walls of time

With sunset eyes
Telethons, Grand Canyon hearts
You numb your mind
With gloves of white and turpentine
Even the bombs and scarecrows will sing!"

I've thought in great detail about Nuclear War lately.

I agree. That sounds unhealthy, but it's human. I don't fear it or expect it... rather I just think. Unleashing the power of an Atom seems so unnatural, and yet it's really just showing the potential that already exists. I blame all the Sci-Fi I watch, play & read. It's so good though! I trust the Russian's... Korea is the one most people think will trigger the hail of bombs, intercontinental exchange followed by the long silence. I actually think Earth may appreciate man destroying himself.
Sarah Teasdale wrote a piece of poetry on the subject back in the 1920's called 'There Will Come Soft Rains';

"There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone. "

I like the idea of the birds not holding any grudges.

I did my resource shopping today for Caitlin & Rob's party today. I'm very much looking forward to it, I love camping. I think I might grab a notepad and jot down my thoughts there and churn that into a blog. I'm still throwing up whether I want to drink or not... sobriety is great if theres someone to be sober with, but I expect Caitlin will want to drink as it is her 18th and it'd be lousy without the traditional drinks associated. I guess I'll drink... maybe I'll be the medic again - get a full shoe of vomit again. I hope Nick controls himself this time and I hope Will manages to not die... it'd be terrible if he got as sick as he did last time in the vast depth of the bush. I also hope lots of people come. I feel like socialising and I always make a better impression outside of school. At school I just walk fast, touching window sills, clicking my fingers and other things similarly. I feel less constricted outside.

Before I go, I now have 7 followers. I think that can be considered a 'small gathering'. Zoe, Emily, David, Caitlin... Voldemort... Copernicus... my Mum. Right... hey Moom. Thank y'all for following me into the mystical realm of Blog... and Caterina; official apology for being such a grump. I can't help but think negatively. Thank you for the song and enjoy your e-mail.
Also; eh hem... Caitlin, you are currently being mentioned. Good effort, champ.

~~~END TRANSMISSION~~~

... I mean, Adios.

A boy stuck in the 70's.

"You float like a feather,

In a beautiful world,

I wish I was special,

You're so fuckin' special.

...

I want to have control,

I want a perfect body,

I want a perfect soul."

These are Green, plastic Army Men that I was playing with recently. There should be no other variety. These little men came from little moulds, forged in the image of men destined to die. I played with Army Men a lot as a kid... although many got melted with magnifying glasses. Occasionally, I'd piece them apart, carefully, and then melt them back together in new poses... segmenting their limbs and making them look more 'battle ready'. I mean, look at Mr. Balacklava on the left. One hand akimbo, the other thrusted into the air... although the shadow hides it, he is holding a small pistol. Deadly. On the right, the soldier has his left hand floating below the gun, making no contact. I could make him look better. The point of me writing this is History. I like learning history, seeing how then became now... but I hate regurgitating it. I don't like being told "No! You need to emphasise the death, desolation... how cruel man can be. How selfish, pompous, loathing - how cancererous man is upon himself. Understand? Your pen should run red with the blood of the fallen soldiers, trivialised in your simple hand writing... you need to detail mass murder to inhance your marks. Ryan! You miss the point. You write the eulogies, I give the marks."

This is why History leaves me feeling depressed...

In response to the title, I actually don't mean the 1970's. I mean 70%. On my trials, every exam ended in the proximity of 70%. I don't mind 70%, but I feel so far off where I want to be. I still don't know what profession I'll follow... or if I'll simply spend all my savings on many fine suits and live in the hills. A Debonaire Mountain Man. Sitting in a cave, legs crossed sipping Eucalyptus Tea... tie straight as an arrow, face gaunt with sophisticated delight and hair twisled fashionably. I guess I'd die rather quickly. Still... 70.

The snow today was so magnificent. I truly wished it settled so I could march home through. I love the crunch - how it seems to hold you up for a single moment and then give in... and the cold. I love the cold. I love being cold and knowing how relaxing it is to get warm again. I love music written for the cold. I love cold colours... even more than I like eccentric colours. I saw this blind man once, he had dark skin and the palest shade of blue you could ever imagine. I wished I had eyes so noticable. Ironically, he'd never see them... they were probably that blue because they had never been stimulated. The pigment fading after being hidden by black glasses all of his life. I was lucky enough to see them and I still remember them. I love cold colours.

Adios.