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.

Fear has a Glare that Traps you

"When they dance

In a reptile blaze
You wear a mask
An equatorial haze
Into the past
A colonial maze
Where there's no more confetti to throw"

I did my speech today and completely freaked out, as I do. I volenteered, stood and felt fine... first palm card down and my knees starting dancing. If you've seen me during any public speaking 'ordeal', you'll know the second I cross my legs I'm gone. I crossed my legs after, maybe, 30 seconds. From this point millions of little voices in my head beginning mentioning the position of everyone in the classroom and I feel unable to check. Its the strangest thing. I constantly feel like I have accidentally mispronounced a word without noticing or something and my eyes always want to reread what I've just spoken... but I can't let them. I don't have the time. Speaking of which, I didn't hear how long I went for. Anyway, I felt pretty stupid. I don't know why I react the way I do. My mouth became so dry and my eyes begin to water. I imagine I went quite red aswell. I get so anxious.
Counterwise, I felt so terrific afterwards. I actually felt very happy. Very inspired. I took a lot of pictures of flowers, which usually is rarity. I prefer taking beauty from something without such a natural advantage... like a puddle or a dead bird. Here are my 3 favourites;

... flowers calm my nerves. I'm such a nervous wreck.

Adios.

Dual Duel

"A Town of disrespect

The Trains are wrecked

The night is younger than us

Nowhere is anywhere else

You keep to yourself

...

And if it's meant

Some accident

Some coincidence

Crumbs fall out of the sky

When you wander by

The dust clouds blow"

Today was one of those days. For me, 'one of those days' is a compliment upon 15 hours I wander the Earth. One of those days where I feel good - head to toe, breakfast till bed. Seemingly little details. Sleeping in actually made me feel refreshed, new music got me to school... I even felt obliged to volenteer for speeches tomorrow, despite being the most anxious public speaker this side of Albuquerque (I chose Albuquerque, not because they are particularly renown for terrible speakers, but more more the reason its fun to say). One of the most influencial parts of the day was the Moon in the Mornin'. I woke up early (despite going back to bed again and leaving 20 minutes late) and the moon was in the sky, the sun peaking and a dash of mist circling Old Lady Lunar. Here's a photograph, I wish I got a better one... so inspiring;

But! To the point! The main feature of today, which may not amuse you as much as it amused me. Today, I was in a duel. A social duel. A duel or duality, of sorts. Theres this man I see walking home most afternoons. He is the only regular that ignores me everytime. He always smokes, has short graying brown greying hair, jeans and a blue work top. He's out of shape and has a caveman-like lower lip protruding. He reminds me of a 'Bill' or a 'Norman'. Today I saw him in a new light. Anyone familiar with DC comics during the 1960's? There's a planet in a few issues called Htrae (Earth Backwards), which is more commonly known as Bizarro World. The planet is cube shaped and contains the complete opposites of our world. This man, at this momentr today, reminded me of Bizarro Ryan. Old, overweight, grumpy, possibly illiterate, rude, smells of gasoline. Nice guy. The reason this rather obscure thought popped into my mind was that it was in one of the alleys between streets. He was at one end, I was at the other. Middle of the road. Arms akimbo. Very Spaghetti Western. In my head, the theme to 'the Good, the Bad and the Ugly' played. Look it up as you read this... I'll wait.

He stood, slack-jawed drawing his hand to his filthy lip, picking the cigarette from his mouth. He held it, arm enlongated against his thigh, smoke illusively drifting his hip and obscuring his pistol (there was not a pistol). I mirrored his action, instead removing the Apple Flavored Lollypop from my mouth, flashing my eyebrow in a Gentleman's Wager. "Listen up, you hear; I challange you to a duel... you up to it ol' timer?" (I didn't speak) He laughed a cowards laugh, dust (no dust) kicking up around his towering figure. "I killed kids for less than that" he muttered, spitting his chewing tobacco aside (why would he smoke and chew tobacco at the same time?), "I don't mind addin' you to the list, you piss-weak pile of steaming, horse shit!" I stared into his dark eyes, questioning his past. He could pass as a ranch-hand. I licked my lollypop and set back into the traditional akimbo stance... and so began the Duel. My fingers twitched by my holster (iPod), and I knew I had two choices. Draw first, shoot first and fast but sacrifice accuracy OR wait for him to draw out of worry and impatience then draw myself, mopping him up like a shaken mess. He seemed concentrated, so I drew first, assuming he was mid-thought about his choices. I fired once - twice and from the explosion of smoke and noise came my determined eyes, peering through the cloud of death. Bob... or was it Norman... anyway, the dude grabbed his chest with his left arm, his right arm sliding down his thigh as his torso crumpled under his weight. His silver firearm falling from his shivering finger tips, before it was even fully from his holster. With that, he shook violently on the ground, moaning and spitting blood and tobacco. I approached the body, kicked the oaf in the shoulder and saw the life fade from his eyes... actually, I just kind of looked at him and he grunted and puffed smoke. No battle. Sorry. Still... I love that song. Ah... how I dream of a Bizarro Duel.

Adios.