basement quashed

wow so LJ is really different now. that's cool though. I don't mind.
I have been reading my friends page on and off but haven't really considered actually posting.
not once. the idea makes me feel quite anxious. as in, I feel a bit anxious.
I think it's because at some point over the years I started adding people I actually know, in real life, to my friends list.
[all those years I'd barely even met any of these friends in real life.
which meant I could post whatever I wanted. and I did. o man, did I.]
and now I'm uncomfortable posting all my weird secrets. like I can't have any of you actually knowing me. gosh no.
not that anyone ventures over here anymore, I know.

but just in case anyone does
my blog is at unpuppet.com
where I can pretend no one bothers to go.

I'm hanging out with darkentropy and cluckfuster on my loungeroom floor with fuzzy blankets & big cushions, warm lighting, atmospheric muse sicks and super sweet white wine. Oh, and lots of chocolate. Guppy is curled up between us, and has a preference for deep touch. I agree with her that deep touch is satisfying, but there is something orgasmic about light touch as well. I go both ways.

We've talked about communal parenting, communal relationshipping. Sharing resources, time, and love :)
We've talked about journalling, and LiveJournal, and read each other's journals, and other people's journal entries about me. haha.
We're wondering if it's sex if there are no mouths, no fingers/hands, no undressing.. but grinding and orgasms. My vote is yes, that counts. I don't think that orgasming alone can be counted as sex though; there needs be another person involved. Storm disagrees.

Soon we'll start some editing.. after we go to the bottleshop for moar wines, which we're about to do right now. It's just really cold out there, although.. I can smoke. k I'll deal.

A three day week doesn't mean I HAVE to drink every other night, you know.

Also, I'm moving out. I looked at a place last night and it was pretty swish, although the room was small. It did have a private balcony though. And the apartment had a huge rooftop area in which I could have some pretty awesome parties. I'm just not sure I could live with two professional late-twenties women who go to the gym twice a week. I'll keep looking.

I'd really rather live by myself, but would have to live too far out of town to afford it. I think I would much prefer to live central and deal with housemates. Perhaps. I guess I'm lucky in that I don't have to rush.. although I kind of want to...

"Okay I'm done. How can I end this journal entry on a high note?"
"Um, Marie is here?"
"Okay say something funny Marie."
"Bitches be crazy."

I am so afraid of doing so wrong that I falter and start, mumble and fart
about, do nothing and nothing more, until I have no choice anymore,
and am saved! no more decisions for me, hurray.
I'll live to while away
a few more hapless, harried days.

so much life spent being
sad and uncertain and sorry and scared. how silly, how silly, how silly.
but, well, as long as everyone hurts but me
(sighing, staring longingly
while I spit my prettie words like coins,
hugely blinking shining, guileless eyeshadows
at all the girls &boys),
yes, maybe. maybe, perhaps, we'll see..
as long as, till then, you keep feeding me.
I need, I need, I need.

eh, dishonesty.
look, here I go,
I snarl and tear my only flesh,
already purple and red and grey,
eaten away.
eating for the rotten part
but there's so much in the way.

I start to think there never was
any quite so rotten
as that I've chewed to bleeding death.
but, well...
even my own miserable flaws are more enthralling by far than anyone elses's enchantingly shining traits
any day. :)

"Whenever she felt lost in the endless deserts of insomnia she would take up the labyrinthian thread of her life again from the beginning to see if she could find at what moment the paths had become confused."

I just watched Brene Browne's TED talk on vulnerability. It was okay; she was very engaging and amusing, but it could have been half the length with the same weighted message. Anyway, she was talking about "whole-hearted" people: people who have a sense of worthiness, of love and belonging (compared to people who struggle for it and wonder if they're good enough). As I was listening I was thinking, well, I would most certainly be hearted wholly. I do believe I am worthy of love and belonging (and thus am loved and do have a sense of belonging).

As she began to list those qualities that the whole-hearted have which may contribute to this, I was ready to hear a list of my own admirable traits:

Courage: the courage to be imperfect
Compassion: to be kind to themselves and others
Connection: the ability to let go of who they think they should be, and just be who they are.. and thus enable connection with others

Yes, yes, yes, I thought. Absolutely she is describing me. I knew it.

Vulnerability: having the willingness to risk uncomfortable thoughts and feelings when there are no guarantees.

Oh. Well, sure, I do believe that what makes us vulnerable makes us beautiful, that vulnerability is absolutely necessary... sure, yes.

For others, I mean. Maybe it would be true for me, too, maybe maybe. But maybe it would just hurt. Maybe it would be catastrophically awful.

I will not say "I love you" first. I will not ask for help when I can muddle through by my own insufficient ability in thrice the time. I will not put my hand up in case I am not chosen.

I will not risk shame.

Gosh, I was so sure I was whole-hearted.

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.

I am reading of Paracelsus, Renaissance physician, rejecter of magic, namer of zinc, creator of laudanum..

arrogant, bombastic believer that the universe was "one coherent organism pervaded by a uniting lifegiving spirit, and this in its entirety, Man included, was 'God'.."

contradictor of the traditional Galenic medical belief in the four humours of the body..

whose motto was "atterius non set qui suus esse potest," or "let no man that can belong to himself be of another" (men, because women were only ever of another)..

who also wrote "Alle Ding' sind Gift, und nichts ohn' Gift; allein die Dosis macht, daß ein Ding kein Gift ist," or "All things are poison and nothing is without poison, only the dose permits something not to be poisonous.."

and who provided the first scientific mention of the unconscious!

but this is by far my favourite quote:

Let me tell you this: every little hair on my neck knows more than you and all your scribes, and my shoe buckles are more learned than your Galen and Avicenna, and my beard has more experience than all your high colleges.

I wanted to remember this, so have typed it up at work. Having nowhere to keep it, have posted it here. I've no daily anymore, besides my paper journals, of which I've none with me today. I so rarely write long entries in them, though, them being generally small and unweieldy... and typing being so easier to express, to reflect and modify. Perhaps I should restart dazelie, I do so love that I have it to look back on.

This weekend just past I finally managed to get to Byron Bay. I'd wanted to go for weeks, months! but events continually impeded; Shadowrun, hangovers, essential shopping sprees, etc. Mostly it was that I wanted to take my friends, rather than go alone, but they so very often had other plans, damn them!

Jason decided not to come along, having just received a letter from the department of psychology berating him for being such a slack bastard, so wanted to catch up on some work instead. Chelle originally wanted to go motorcycle shopping, being about to be granted a license. I thus threatened to go on my own, in the face of their blatant defiance of my wishes (and would have, reluctantly, for just a day trip), as I'd learned the markets are only on once per month, rather than every weekend... this weekend, and I am going to Cairns next.

Chelle found her cycle during the week, however, so agreed to come. Hurrah! Then I received messages from Rohan, asking for company Saturday night, so I invited him, thinking he probably wouldn't come, yet he did as well. So the three of us went.

The drive took only two hours, when I'd thought it to be three. We arrived at around 3pm and had delicimous sushi (tempura salmon rolls with two sauces, split crumbed prawns filled with rice, tuna and avocado, soft shelled crab) followed by gelati. We checked into our "studio" the next beach down – one bedroom with a queen + single bed, as well as a separate lounge room and kitchenette. After lounging around a bit we decided to go shopping for supplies (liquor and breakfastfoods) before heading back into Byron for dinner.

I love Byron Bay so very. Not so much the intensely touristy aspect of it; more the creative, casual lifestyle, with organic goodness, beach and wilderness. Chelle and I devised plans for moving there once Jason and I are registered – a private practice, miscellaneous (I just can't recall the specifics) IT and computery jobs for Rohan and Jeremy, a host of eclectic pursuits for Chelle, including a stall at the markets where Chelle and I can sell our paintings; gardens, hammocks, surfing, drum circles (we briefly spied a huge one of such energy!), festivals, drug use, etc. I wish so!

Anyway, dinner! Hog's Breath Café, where Chelle and I shared nachos and steak. Rohan raved about the steak for a bit – slow cooked for 18 hours! A conspiracy was theorised as to how they knew how many to have ready for when we arrived. We then headed back to the hotel to get slightly trashed and wander up to the beach. Except the way to the beach was through some pitch black beachside woods – an interesting and hilarious drunken trek. The beach was chaotic: black, roaring, windy and stormy, lightning over the waves, freezing cold. We headed back to shower and pass out on the couch (o wait, that was just me).

I woke up to Chelle cooking breakfast – grilled haloumi, pesto toast, avocado and smoked salmon. I skipped the salmon, the rest was sublime (although I'm sure for people who do not detest slimy fish flesh the salmon was also sublime). We headed to the beach for some swimming and roasting. The morning beach was perfect – a light breeze, sand crinkled by last night's rain, water chill and blue, mountains on the horizon, copious hole-crabs and cheery, racing puppydogs greeting us gleefully from all angles. I received a slight tan (thank you sun), but melanoma and a friend's insistence I get my back looked at worried continuously at my mind (thank you sun), though apparently not enough for me to actually get looked at, mind.

After another shower, some cigarettes and morning vodka, we checked out at around 10am (QLD time) and headed to Byron for the markets. We went straight to the gushy fudz section and Rohan wandered off lost as quickly as he could. Chelle and I partook of delicious samosas and satay chicken, then began to aimlessly wander the stalls. I bought scented oil burner chips, a tantric colouring book and some pants for Jason. Chelle bought a pretty dress and a hugely floppy hat – it was so very sunny and abominably hot. We then received a call from lost Rohan and met up with him, and the search for toeboots began – my main reason for wanted to revisit the markets. I couldn't find them, and didn't, which was quite sad, but gives me reason to go back and try again.

So very hot and heatstruck we went back into the town for air-conditioned shakes (vanilla as a flavour is so underrated) for which the waitress undercharged. Rohan kicked up a minor fuss re. morals and insisting on paying the correct amount, to which Chelle and I shrugged; well, how else will they learn not to make such atrocious errors?

I set the agenda for the rest of the day: swimsuit shopping (for me), followed by doof shopping (for me), followed by stopping once again at the markets for a burrito (for me). I felt a tad awfully selfish but, well, no one else had any preferences! Chelle made out fine, liking the shops I chose and also buying a swimsuit, but poor Rohan lagged about in complete disinterest, yet with wonderful patience.

We left as the market stalls were closing up (no burrito for me, afterall) and stopped for a happy meal on the way home instead. ALL in all (is all we are), an immensely successful trip, one I hope to repeat again soon.

Just now I was sitting on the front steps looking at my feet, and how weird they are.

I think I have abnormal feet. All the toes are pretty long, but the fourth toe is relatively absurd, like the foots own limb. It has never fit into properly dainty shaped shoes, so has learnt over my lifetime to tuck itself under so that it is now impossible to straighten. Further, because this has caused constant friction between the toeknuckle and the roof of shoes, it has developed a benign corn, a permanent callusy growth that is quite pronounced.



I like my feet and my wayward fourth toe, but... I guess it is rather annoying that it prevents me buying 85% of the shoes I try on. And I hate open-toed shoes with the fiery passion of 1.25 hells.

Also, last night I dreamt I was looking at my face in the mirror, closer and closer, till I was examining the pores, and realised I could see into them, like they were wormholes for parasites. It was pretty gross in there.

Yes, I'm still in my pajamas. <3