Something like a crossroads song
05 March 2011 @ 10:15 pm
there are thieves, who rob us blind  
This is my time of great unrest, the time of of the Great White Western Privilege Troubles. South America seems so long ago, like a fairytale out of a book I read a long time ago, when I was a child and still believed places could be uncharted, a colonialist's wet-dream.

Well I'm homeless now, sleeping on couches and rolling into law school with unbrushed hair and an intellectual swagger. I'm not exactly a humble person, and practically living in a building that was built specifically for the law kids, which includes the most amazing University library you will ever see and secret nooks and crannies filled with couches and floor-to-ceiling windows, well, that doesn't help my enduring sense of entitlement.

Scenery matters to me, and while I'm kind of lost at the moment, stumbling around the city in a house-hunting-induced delirium, with no footing but that found in half-cocked classified ads, leaping puddles and trying to remember those long ago times when I landed back in Melbourne and found out China Town had turned into a river.

The weather's bleak now, nothing dramatic and nothing sunny, just grey, sometimes a little greyer, never comfortable. I can never be happy in my own skin when the sky is sky and not roiling clouds or blinding blue. There's something indecent about whether in which you can neither curl up in front of a laptop nor go outside and read in the sun.

...I think this is where Wes Anderson steps in and force feeds a deranged literate parrot, a half-blind limousine driver and a long-lost celebrity brother into my life.


Books I've read over summer if anyone wants to talk about them:

Tender Is The Night - F. Scott Fitzgerald (every single song in the world now reminds me of this book)
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath (I stayed up all night because I couldn't face finishing it in the morning, it was so bleak and so lovely)
Love in the Time of Cholera - Gabriel García Márquez (swimming in tears and light, because I can't not get purple-prosey about my love for this man's genius)
Franny and Zooey - JD Salinger (haters gonna hate, I'm a convert)
Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters & Seymour: An Introduction - JD Salinger (he is so much wittier and lighter in spirit and heavier in soul than I ever imagined)
The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro (a kind of simple perfection)
Jack Maggs - Peter Carey (dark, amusing literary hat tricks)
The Aleph - Jorge Luis Borges (he breaks my mind)
Something like a crossroads song
15 August 2010 @ 01:46 pm
I'm having one of those days where I hate everything and everyone, and anyone who talks to me is either getting infected by this monster mutation of a cold I've contracted, or getting bitchslapped. It doesn't help that it's Open Day at my university - where I live on campus in college - so to get anywhere I have to walk through hordes of grating, unspeakably eager kids who appear - to my fevered brain - to be nothing more than bags of flesh full of dreams swilled from advertisements and coke, and projected personas built on nothing but air, pretension, and the bitter illusion of emancipation. Also, crackwhores.

So what I've learned from this is that it takes me becoming hallucinogenically ill and having to walk through a crowd of sloppily dressed tourists (I mean really people, you're about to go to university, home of the hopelessly indie and the never-say-die-punk. There is no excuse for dirty highschool tracksuits) for me to lose control of my tightly buried font of misanthropic rage.

This has been a PSA coming straight at you from the black oilslick soul of a girl who hasn't eaten solid foods in five days.

In other news, I may become a pornstar.

Inception meta and rec. )
Something like a crossroads song
17 April 2009 @ 11:20 pm
Dreamwidth, Leverage and Change, oh my!  
Guys, you guys! I signed up for open ID over at Dreamwidth, and actually got an account in the lucky draw. I THOUGHT THAT WAS JUST AN URBAN CYBER MYTH.

I don't usually make self-referential posts, as most on my flist would know. My journal is almost entirely fannish, but for what it's worth;

Some thoughts on change, Dreamwidth, and believe it or not, the galactic politics of fandom. (+ Music + 2 x Leverage set pics for the win.) )
theme song: Slow Down Ghandi - Sage Francis
Something like a crossroads song
22 December 2008 @ 07:27 pm
Buccaneering a careening melee of a summer  
This icon right here? This is me. I have, in this day, consumed three long macchiatos, one short mac and a shot of espresso. This is a good day. In hell.

But actually, I am in a fine (if slightly hyper) mood, having spent at least the last two hours going through all the brilliant mail from all you folks and fools in my inbox and loving every minute. Island paradise was insanely heavenly, and I am now super-tanned and ready to rock.

I just started working on my Pepper Potts/Rachel Maddow/Amy (Rahm Emauel's second-best aide) OT3 fic for [ profile] everysecondtues. Started out as a drabble, but has positively epic potential.

On that note, [ profile] rahmbamarama people! Catch me up in your tidal wave once more! What has occurred? What devilish conceptions have you concocted? Do motherfucking tell, thanks, bye.

Here, have an eyeful of Carla Bruni and her Sarkozy.

theme song: Seven Nation Army - Audioslave (cover)
Something like a crossroads song
05 July 2008 @ 03:59 pm
God Damn! We just had a near life experience, fellas.  
So I must be some kind of special LJ weird, because I think that this must be my first actual entry on anything close to the bug-eyed real-life monster.

General updates?

1. Am in the special moving hell. Had to break my lease, sending a kind of rollback equilibrium of rage through my realtor, her agency, Elder Sister and her boyfriend (visiting to aid and enable my frantic packing) and my parents, which finally culminated in me frantically creating a semi-teleconference, half-meeting, quasi-strategy plan type of event in the lobby of the real estate agency while my taxi was happily burbling up exorbitant fees right outside, with my plane ready to take off in less than an hour.

Was less than amused. Then may have suffered psychotic break, as, once safely ensconced on the airplane, found the entire episode hilarious. Proceeded to spend the rest of the flight sardonically (yes, sardonically) fighting like toddlers with Elder Sister.

2. Hate that I always seem to be an entire season behind on all my favourite shows. Could be due to my location in the lower of pop-culturally current hemispheres. As yet, have still not seen any Doctor Who S4, Torchwood S2, BSG S4, SGA S4, or Supernatural S3. Yes, I know. I fail at fandom. But I did just get Absolute Sandman Vol. 2, which I am ridiculously excited about.

3. I have, however, only just finished watching Supernatural season 2, and love, love, loved every fracking moment of it. Except for the hints of zombie!sex though. That was just plain freaky. Watching Folsom Prison Blues gave me a huge, rabid plot-bunny that lurks inside the deep dark corner of the un-patrolled Utilities folder inside my hardrive, spinning its cocoons.

See, I really, really want to write a Prisonbreak/SN crossover wherein Dean, post-All Hell Breaks Loose, is on a self-destructive spiral, and allows himself to get captured by the FBI. They send him to max. security for holding while the states battle over extradition so as to ensure that he does not escape again. He gets sent to Fox River State Penitentiary. Already being slightly crazy, he becomes even more so.

4. Little Sister (not Elder Sister, the ravenous toddler with a weak bladder from flight 101) has gone on a school trip to Tanzania, a follow-up to the one that I pioneered so bravely about four years ago. Tanzania, where an Australian man was just shot. I'm not worried. Well, I'm fucking sad about the guy. He was doing brilliant aid work. But it seems like a random tragedy, not a politically-motivated death. On another note, Little Sister wants to buy a child. Not literally, (I think. You never know with that one.) but to sponsor them. I feel strangely proud. Just like the first time she (being a gorgeous, tomboy blonde with short hair) told me she wanted to be a fighter pilot. My thoughts at the time? *I'magonnnahavemeveryownleetleStarbuckYAYAYAAYAY*.Ahem. But that's neither here nor there.

5. Being back in my home from across the continent is odd. I only moved out a few months ago, but already I feel like coming home is like moving into a dream-state. I walk around my house, hear the ocean crashing at night again (and god, how I missed that) and feel like I'm on a holiday that is totally out of wack with time and space. Like I said, odd.
triangulation: half-balcony-half-roof
emotional evaluation: sleepy
theme song: Red Right Hand - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds