overocea: (Default)
I am noticing little flashes of dark paranoia: like thinking a shrub in my corner vision is some twisted creature spying, or about to attack, till I leap and notice it is but a shrub. but mostly I am happy.. I can't turn my smile off! if I notice something that is sad or mad I am mostly capable of quickly distracting myself, my mind like a twitchy bird, catching ideas like bugs.

my brain wanting to see things in the trees... shapes that are.
we're such pattern pickers.
the veins in my limbs mirror the rivers & streams
the branches & trees
the skeletons of leaves.

I would like to be an empty vessel, blown about by uncommon events occuring in my vicinity.

my left knee keeps telling me it doesn't want to be.. my legbends are much like wingbends.
ah, another bird analogy! am as one, today. a thing of nature.

I could just as easily be a deep-sea creature; jellylike. incomprehensible propulsion. illuminated from within, my own would be the only light for me.
life under pressure
scare tactics & survival mode
temperature & tremor
breathless, voiceless, sunless, lungless.

like a table with two chairs set out at 45 degree angles being so much more inviting than if they were pushed all the way in, merely perfunctory functional.
o, but a construct.. how inorganic of me, she muttered with disappointment.

my flesh is as any thing's flesh. my construction needs more swirls & spirals, but the fractals in my pores & wrinkles will do... for now.
overocea: (Default)
you know how your time, today, is so precious to you you don't want to waste it, don't know how to spend it, it's like coins dripping from your hand
rush around your own head; flip and switch, no, nothing is worth it
  thinking, thinking

I've obviously accomplished nothing, today,

beyond work. A group reflection session, in which we had to talk about a call that had gone terribly, or terribly well. How did it make us feel, what would we have done differently, "what about you, Jessicah, what would you have done?" to ensure you weren't really staring completely vacantly at the concentric circled pattern, faintly raised, textured, on the close, closing walls.
"I don't know any of you, your sympathetic lip-stretchings or uncertain eye-narrowings."

I don't think any one tells the truth at any time. Go to work, go out on weekends, invest in term deposits, pay off loans, cut up vegetables, give way to the right, keep yearly dentist appointments, find pleasure in your collection, produce, consume, oblige, fuck.

overocea: (please)
coldcomfort Full time work is a craggy bear of lethargy and indifference, slowly gnawing off my hands. My head functions as usual; my eyes point wonderingly at everything and my voice comes vomiting up and lightning bolts of ideas shoot out of my brain and I make endless plans for wonderous things to do and create and complete. The lightning never gets anywhere... my hands are eaten off before the flashes reach the ends of my arms. My eyes are sliding closed and my voice grows pale with "how may I help you"s.

Limbos of working for short but very constant spurts to pay for the exciting adventures in between, though, is more desirable than steady streams of equal parts life and living. Oh, ugh, I obviously wasn't meant for the dreary lives society has decided. I dream of rolling down hillsides composing odes to visible bodies of very fine water droplets as I go; but too much of even that and my brain would eat itself for lack of sustenance from the world...

It's how I see having roots of any kind. Horrid! My life shall be intense, overflowing, practically drunk! and wildly varying; I will have lived everywhere, been everything, had everyone. So there, there there, it's okay, it will all be okay. I'm here [only for now].
overocea: (the spell)
I sometimes think I would like to implant little radio transmitters in everyone I care about, so I know where they are at all times. more! little video cameras in their pupils, so I can see what they see.. at all times. i'd have a wall of television screens, one for each person, and would sit in front of it all day long.

my intentions are lousy with selfishness, self absorption.
I would like to be honest to a hate-inducing fault.

I can count my bitter exes on twenty hands.

"You were born to be a radio song girl, they're all singing about you, it's uncanny. Have you ever really listened?"
"Of course not; I merely hear."
"Nothing I can say matters. Your armour leaves these words broken at your feet."
"Oh, tears! and accelerated heart."
"I don't think about hitting or hurting you, but sex somehow seeps in, and I have thought about raping, or treating you as someone not worth anything more."

so the rain, oh, the rain. i'd had to go into the city last night to visit my visiting mumm, walked as usual to the bus stop with my umbrella.
umbrellas are my favourite things and I would like them to grow from peoples' heads instead of hair, from angels' backs instead of wings.
my umbrella was insufficient. somehow I got soaked from eyelash- to toe-tips so I left footprint puddles on the carpet. I had to borrow my mumm's clothes, tie up her jeans with a ribbon from her hatbox and fall over in her pointy shoes.

then, wandering cold and lonely 3am streets, I feel that everyone in the world must also be wandering cold and lonely 3am streets, so why aren't we doing it together? then I realise they're curled safe in warm and unlonely 3am beds. bastards.
overocea: (follow my fishie)
The beauty of strangers astounds the strangest stranger, leaving them sucked of breath and blood; thus in effect, every stranger is a breath and blood vampire. Until they say hello, and become just a person. Do you want that, to be just a person? Of course not, or you'd wear nothing but grey, be nothing but pleasant, follow your father's footsteps and consume nothing but multivitamins, black coffee and apple pie. So don't say hello to me.

Today, as a day, was only an average day; breakfast, lunch and dinner or we'd all be blown a way. Imagine if we didn't wake every morning! I imagine we'd stare directly at the sun all afternoon, leave our babies as tips, become whatever we wanted and consume nothing but our own skins. If I didn't wake every morning I'd glue peacock feathers to my fingernails instead of painting them pink and powder blue, laugh openly at the de-limbed and cancerous, waltz instead of walk, laugh instead of talk, ride on the backs of albatross as they flew to Peru, then trade them for spices and silk for their trouble.

When you're loved and loving you should question and question it until it sickens of your insolence and wanes into distaste. When you're on your way to something great you should glance over your shoulder to ensure you're going the right way so often you end up never seeing where you're going. When you're exactly where you've always wanted to be you will realise just how naïve and stupid you've always been and want ever more as you become ever less naïve and stupid.

The minute you begin to plan your life is when your plans will commence falling apart.


Mar. 22nd, 2004 11:07 pm
overocea: (can_t sleep)
aces covered

twitch and twitter. i could be dead and drunk and you'd never know. i'm reading stephen king, peeking over the person in front's shoulder. i'm really just really tired, flamboyantly so, resplendent.

i'm back from the gold coast today. wow, is my extended family ever worthy of phrenetic slaughter. stonewalled, take a swipe, watching the sun arc wildly over my head, waste it, take aim, if it was coming up from behind golden-lined-you I wouldn't say, if I was undercovered. oh, boy, that's the question, each time i come i'll ask again.

better me than you.

i've risen

Feb. 4th, 2004 07:47 pm
overocea: (Default)
two middle-of-the-citie boys crossing the street-busy, carrying a computer between them, approximately half way dropped it. it happened in slow motion, the graceful slip from one of their clumsy grasps, then the fumbling other, and the shattering on the asphalt like a giant mechanic drop of rain. the cars half-screeching to a halt all around them, the pedestrians faltering mid-step, and the look of shock/horror on their faces exactly to any funniest-home-video script. I would have taken a photo, but 1) it happened far too quickly, despite its slow-motion, 2) my digital camera's picture-perfect memory was already full, and 3) they made it safely to the other side without dropping it. ah, well.

so here's a different one.
overocea: (I feel mightie)
The stairwell of this apartment building opens directly onto the sidewalk. There is no door to the building, just a forever-gaping doorway. Anyone, if they liked, could go up the stairs and slip poison-laced envelopes under my door. They never do, though; I check every day. I think that if there were any interesting people in this city, they would pick my name at random out of the phone book, thinking, "that sounds like the name of a person whose life needs a poison-laced envelope under the door." I'd wake up to my usual 7am alarm, heartbeat, and on my way to the bathroom, see it lying there. A blank, pale grey envelope. I'd pick it up, heedless of the poisoned lace, and tear off the end. "I have your phone number," the note inside would read. "I could easily utterly disrupt your life. You should really be worried." Signed, an interesting person.

( Read more )

hey wait

Jun. 22nd, 2003 11:03 pm
overocea: (Default)
she was drunk & burst into tears, "I don't want to go back to my life!"
"oh wow, that's so sad," said my mother.


invalid. I used to love the word, it would conjure a wan (also a loved word), white-faced, frail & breakable girl with dark, dark eyes and dark hair, lying against the hugest, softest pillow in the hugest, grandest bed, surrounded by solemn loved ones. the pillow & bedclothes are white, turning her skin deathly grey, hair spread out like a dishevelled darkness spilling into her head, & the air made heavy & almost visible by all the flowers.
overocea: (Default)
The other week (at least two weeks ago), I was walking to the bus stop. I walk to the bus stop often. I shut the front door, checked that it was locked, cut across the garden to cross the road, and nearly stepped on this:

it's a dead cat

Trust me, it was a lot huger, heavier, bloodier and smellier than it looked. Actually it wasn't smellie yet, but my mind thought it must've been, cause it was dead, so perceived the smell anyway, despite there being none.

I went inside and got some garbage bags. I couldn't just leave it on my lawn. It was somebody's great white pet. So after taking its picture, I struggled for half an hour to get it into a garbage bag without touching it. It was covered in bugs. People drove past every 5 seconds and made a point of scowling at me. I didn't kill it, I don't even have a CAR, I'm missing my bus so I can remove its ROTTING PRESENCE FROM YOUR SIGHT, so FUCK OFF.

I went and woke up my neighbour so he could drive the dead cat & me to the tip. He got all mad & told me to throw it in the garbage can. I said, "I can't sleep at night knowing there's a dead Buddha in my garbage can!"

So, we got to the tip, & waited for ten minutes for someone to come to the window at the drive-in spot. She acted all sympathetic when he told her we had a dead cat, & then told us we had to drive to the tip on the OTHER side of town so they could bury it. My brain screamed, "It's not even my fucking dead cat!" but my mouth smiled & thanked her, the traitorous thing.

Feeling quite guilty at this point, I said to my neighbour "Let's go to YAPS (something beginning with Y Animal Protection Society) instead and see if they'll take it, 'cause YAPS must have dead cats every day." Well, it being 7am or something, fucking YAPS was closed, of course. For my 50th bright idea of the day, I said, "park in that there carpark, cowboy, & pop the trunk." or something along those lines, minus the cowboy part, & I probably said "open the boot" rather than "pop the trunk," but anyway.

I was dragging the dead cat bag out of the boot/trunk, when a big fat lady pulled up out the front and started wandering around, staring at me. Then I noticed we were in the STAFF car park. I rather hurriedly shut the trunk/boot and hauled the dead cat bag over to a nearby dumpster. At this point the big fat lady started marching purposefully over, so I dropped it in and ran back to the car.

That's all.

Just so you know: my cat's name is Buddha. I never say "fuck," I just think it a lot. and when I speak to my neighbour, I stutter & drool 5 times a second, because I never say Anything.

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