overocea: (please)
I last updated exactly half a year ago. Facebook has made me lazy.. it requires no thought and minimal consideration. arrr.

I've been making lots of clothes with fabric bought from ebay 'cause Brisbane has no fabric that isn't hideously boring, or just hideous.

Come to see Infected Mushroom with us on February 23rd please.

Today is my only day off for the week and I am spending it nakedly simultaneously watching Samurai Jack and playing laptoppy computer games. and typing here random things I think of throughout. and meeting people later for pounds and pounds of coffee. Yes, pounds.
's working too much :<

I don't tell my livejournal private things like I did 7 years ago, when there was no one I knew personally who read it. Maybe that's why I don't use it anymore. I'm an exhibitionist unless it's at people I have to deal with on a week-to-month basis. You know.. when the world rests on your head/in your bed, and you feel like a deeply loved goldfish.

My fish are deeply loved.. the first half of my day off was spent transferring them out of their slightly leaky tank into a brand new one.

Last night, walking home from work, I passed under a railway bridge (the lights were orange, stared eagerly at suspicious shadows), and smelt sparklers. You know? What is that smell, what are sparklers made of? I heard loud bangs, and vividly imagined the bridge crumbling, plundering my noggin.. or perhaps just as I emerged from under it, spinning around in shocked disbelief, heartbeat, calling triple 0, trembling "there could be people, cars, me, under there..." Then racing home for my camera.

Ah, yeah I am loved... more than I love.

Anyone who reads this, post a comment and hit Ctrl+V, and nothing else. Just paste what's in your clipboard:

62% reported having been raped in prostitution.
73% reported having experienced physical assault in prostitution.
72% were currently or formerly homeless.
92% stated that they wanted to escape prostitution immediately.
Farley, M., Baral, I., Kiremire, M., & Sezgin, U. (1998). Prostitution in five countries: Violence and posttraumatic stress disorder. Feminism & Psychology, 8 (4), 405-426.

haha that was unexpected. SEE? IT'S FUN.
overocea: (Default)
I recently caught up on my (heavily filtered) friends page. Unfortunately, many of you rarely report anything worth commenting on. So if you're wondering why my commenting is lacking, it is because you are boring. However I admit that I am a poor LJer in general. YOU SEE, I CAN'T HELP BUT FEEL THAT LJ has ceased to be a journalling tool, and has instead become a tool of communication. The fact is I lack many basic communication skills due to the fact that I hate people, thus my entries

hmm I must have become distracted. damn it, I can't even finish ONE LOUSY PARAGRAPH of an entry.

My point was, or was eventually in a very roundabout way going to become, that I've been considering being more journally in my livejournal, as opposed to my once per month: "Look! Look at my latest attempt to convince myself that I am still an artist! PRAISE ME!"

I used to keep paper journals for actual journally business, but haven't written in my latest for months. I blame that on recently losing faith in my keeping written memories idea after reading not-so-long-ago entries, the basis happenings of which I can still recall; for several times per page I forget that "I mustn't put strangeness where there's nothing. I think that is the danger of keeping a diary: you exaggerate everything, you are on the look-out, and you continually stretch the truth."

But! I SO love reading my past journals. It is an addiction to which I'm sure any self-obsessed person can relate. So should I try, RIGHT NOW?

I am at work, and just came in from smoking a cigarette. Smoking cigarrettes inspires me, especially to write, which is why I smoke them, which is further why I am writing now. This particular cigarrette I stubbed out too vigorously and in doing so accidentally snapped the remaining quarter from the filter. As I picked up the pieces and brought them inside to place in the bin, my vision flared into a burning blindness as I was arbitrarily overcome with a white rage at the thought of those who flick their butts into gutters, gardens, graves. Although my cigarrette butts are pink and could thus only increase the prettiness of anything I cared to flick them into.

Okay that is surely the most inane thing I have ever written. Curse you LiveJournal, curse you.

Here is a list of updates that may interest you, because lists are ALWAYS full of win:
  • I am working on many webdesign projects lately, the most complicated one I am not being paid for. Why I agree to these things I DO NOT KNOW since I supposedly hate people.
  • I am saving uP to go to Japan to teach English for a year.
  • Going to Japan for a year means giving my ratties and my fish up for adoption. This makes me sad every day. However various family members will be taking my cats, hurrah.
  • I like my boyfriend. He is good.Pretty Pop
  • I recently bought Pretty Pop, my first new pony all year. She is my new alltime favourite, even beyond G1s which I usually greatly prefer. Here is a picture, and if computer monitors had smellovision you would be able to tell that she smells like bubblegum.
  • I faint when I have needles of any kind (no heroin for me, thanks). As a result I have been terrified all my life of donating blood and have made excuse after pathetic, unreasonable excuse. I have decided to be great and mighty and overcome this fear by facing it directly etc etc. I have convinced one friend to come, WHO ELSE HERE volunteers to save up to three loves with us? (That should obviously have read "lives" but I think it works better this way.)
  • Finally, here are some bash quotes at which I have been chortling all day.

    <peer`> I cut off gummy bear heads and put them over the LED's on my keybaord
    <peer`> now I have glowing gummy bear heads

    * ab is away - gone, if anyone talks in the next 25 minutes as me it's bm being an asshole -

    <Tsk> oiuyniyu98h987h89yh87y98yjn987j987y897yhkiuk;''''
    <Tsk> sorry.. there was a spider on my keyboard.
overocea: (can_t sleep)
hallo internets. I have a question for you.

I am writing my social psychology essay. it is an academic paper, so is meant to be dry and humourless.

however I've no other way to describe Contact Hypothesis but as "a lumbering fog-monster."

I love the lecturer of this class, and am reasonably sure he likes me just fine. plus he has a great sense of humour.

it is fourth/honours year level, so he can safely assume I have sufficiently shown my dry, humourless academic prowess throughout my undergrad career. and, since this is much less significant than, say, my thesis, or even a postgrad essay, surely he can appreciate my creeping ever-so-slightly out of the usual format of description.

right? so come on. tell me I can leave it as is and will get 50 A+s, yay.

also, will McDonald's cease advertising with Channel 10 as a result of their airing of Supersize Me? haha. we shall see.

also, my userinfo page has been given a virtual gift. THANKS, ANONYMOUS!
overocea: (Default)
how do I start writing again?

after so long not it seems an unachievable feat. something that had been such a huge part of my every day seems now.. not worth the time! and so hard..
how did this happen?

not even my daily, which was always so easy.. noting down memorable/unmemorable events/thoughts.
not even uni stuf! I should have finished my second introduction draft today, ..

my thesis. hmm.
well it's on food sharing.
how people from different groups sharing food can influence observers' perceptions of intergroup relations.

it's amazing how many people,
when I tell them this,
say "I thought psychologists researched useful stuff."

well why would anyone think that? psychology, useful?

after a year of not writing..
a year my octogenarian me will have forgot happened
forgot happened..
I need to write a summary of it, the year. okay. goal #1. it can even be in list format, so it's not so ..
overocea: (i'm an unbutterflie girl)
I have moved too Brisbane and Griffith University. in one week I will dissect a human brain. tooday is my mother's birthday.

my 2004 calendar is woeful! i've nothing too say for months.

one year ago: I can't help it, i'm a dread-head;
two years ago: anymore my brain's gone tough
three years ago: i'm talking to the aliens in my brain.
four years ago: behead the twelve white roses in the garden.

1. if I could fly I could fall from unimaginable height.
2. I need as many lungs as a tree needs leaves.
3. if i'd been born blind i'd think everyone was lying.
4. oh i wish, I wish I could have a nightmare. desperate but unsuccessful attempts at running, screaming but nothing comes out! it's right behind me, it's sucking me in, I know it's there but I can't see it, I can't move!
5. I retract everything i've ever said.
6. well, you can say whatever you like, as long as you touch me every ten minutes or so, or not object if I touch you every two!
7. how do you know sound exists?
8. too many people live in their mouths. but! everyone has a whole LIFE!
9. it's ok, I don't mind, if you want, it's up to you (antipathy, boredom, contempt, disdain).
10. listen, if you could just
pull up, plug up, overflow, undergo, go.
i'll pretend I never was until I never am.

just don't bother,
and don't bother me.

now is time to look away:

overocea: (Default)
AHAHAHA. HAHAHAHAHAAAAA. UGH I need to jump up&down on someone right now.

so is there anyone on livejournal who doesn't have a self-diagnosed personality disorder?
me? i'm like, so histrionic, antisocial, AND schizoid.

I think you are all liars. LIARS. love ya.
'specially Americans. I think "mom" is so cute. I <3 your mom.
overocea: (can_t sleep)
things I love: in no particular order
oilslick nailpolish
public transportation
circus&carousel ponies
other peoples' dreams
mismatched shoelaces
birds on cafe tables
watches with tiny faces
pineapple juice
the names of colours
making lists

thinking "how can something beautiful you see every day of your life remain as beautiful after a lifetime as the first time you saw it?" makes me feel sad. I shouldn't let such things make me sad. but then, people shouldn't let anything make them sad.

I collect cornered animals
feel like everything I say is an insult. well I move my mouth and words come out.
oh yeah, i'll be keeping this child in my womb forever.

I live in a city that if not for 100billion tourists avalanching through the airport every five minutes would not exist. as a consequence, every second store I pass in the street offers an abundance of glaringly corny postcards featuring the usual banal tourist attractions X 42958623586. rainforests/mountains/perfect white sandy beaches/great barrier reefs (reeves?)/naked sand-covered butts/cute fluffy little creatures that everyone not Australian thinks quite quirky and impossible and that maybe they don't exist at all but are a national joke like dropbears or those rabbits with antlers.

so anyway. stick your address in the darling little boxxx below and i'll send you a hideously tacky postcard, 'cause I like to do funny things like that with people I barely know and people I intensely know and people I don't know and people I know. you don't have to put your name if you don't want, and i'll make one up for you.

overocea: (Default)
I write this poem on public toilet stallwalls where-ever I go
(but in only pencil, because I am a thought-full graffiti-er):
smile smile smile smile
smile smile smile
smile smile smile smile smile smile smile

now I think every time I do, I will take a picture
and keep a collection of public toilet stallwall poems.

heart string tied hearts
they always kissed with their heart in their mouth, no wait
it was on their lips,
instead of their sleeves

in the Charlotte's Web animated movie, when Charlotte tells Wilbur "i'm languishing to tell you the truth,"
she says it like she doesn't know what it means, and with the wrong accents.
I picked that up when I was seven, because I ran off to look up "languishing," thinking, from the way she said it, it meant she had some horrendous secret to tell.

and I must be a small r romantic, for I found Jo's marriage to Mr Bhaer quite unsatisfactory. she should have remained alone forever, only to fall for Laurie decades too late, and pour her secret sorrow into a million brilliant and celebrated novels.

why is "the smell" on my interests list? what smell?
doused in alcohol, crimson and magenta, burnt mouth, grazed knees, whatever.


May. 10th, 2003 11:16 pm
overocea: (can you hear them)
i'd just like to point out to every one that
so if you're some one & you think you know something, I assure you you don't.

cellulite & acne, lipstick mark, claw mark,
on the same cheek.

teeth marks, burns & scars, cuts & bruises, varicose veins, carpet burn, nappy rash, frostbite.

black eye = black heart/soul/lungs
black brain, black blood, black bones,
black head.

rupture, rift & rend. dead weight. suck in a breath.
?marks the spot.

I shudder to think.

& I added as a friend everyone with "unkempt hair" as an interest.
unkempt, unkept. bird's nest, wasps' nest. dishevelled, lost & alone, whirlwind, static electricity, my but you're dirty. come in & get warm, have some soup & a bath, i've some spare clothes & a spare bed.

I imagine the best thing ever is hugging someone who's wearing your clothes.

February 2017

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