Comfort/Poor Circulation

Cold hands = warm heart

3

Bedsheets, smile lips, many hands, thighs thighs thighs, arm hair, curved mouths, I like touching the small of your back.
"Welcome to my room."

"What are you thinking about?" "Nothing."

Heavy Water

Lying on the carpet, oh no. Seeing that I need to vacuum doesn't make me feel better.

When I was a child I had a small grey tin filled with things that were for some unknown reason treasures in my mind. A red heart shaped key chain and about a dozen holographic Simpsons cards lay in it. The other thing I kept in the tin was a miniature plastic snow orb. My boyfriend Martin gave it to me when I was four. At my fifth birthday party I told him No Boys Allowed on the trampoline. He was so upset that he went home and even though my mother drove me to his house the next day with a piece of conciliatory birthday cake and I said sorry, I never saw him again. Relationships, huh.

Lessons

I made a serious error of judgement in Year 13, when I arbitrarily strayed from the arts path and picked up Geography. I sat by myself in the front row of seats (the back row was taken and I wanted to be as isolated as possible, to enhance my feelings of self-pity). The teacher was extremely chirpy and listed 'exercise' as one of her interests. Enough said, really.
Mid year we had to go on Geography Camp to study glaciers in the Franz Josef Valley.

When we arrived at the backpacker's we had to get into bunkroom groups, at which point something happened which made me feel like a five year old child. The teacher had to assign me to a room along with three other loser girls because I had no one to bunk with. What! There was nothing wrong with them (although one was actually horrifically racist) but I couldn't help feeling awful, embarrassed and mostly furious. Angry that I was on this fucking camp with thirty girls I didn't like for a subject that I decided to take for no logical reason. I sulked for three days, humiliated that in that setting I didn't feel like myself and became this awkward girl, trying to edge into other people's conversations and going to bed early to avoid group activities. In hindsight I have no idea why I cared. They had a fucking sing-a-long, for Christ's sake. In that moment however, I wanted to jump off the Highway 6 bridge.

The beauty of the landscape subdued that urge. Eleven kilometres of ice and rock spilling out onto a plain of shingle stretched to the coast. I hiked over the valley and climbed up a waterfall. A helicopter flew us to the top basin of the glacier, the neveé, where the snow formed a perfect, deep lake and all I could see was white. The air particles felt vibrant but everything was still so high up. Maybe I was in Antarctica, I thought. It was incredibly beautiful.

Too bad we had to stop in Hokitika on the way back.

Sometimes

Rising in my ribs, curling through my stomach, drifting up my throat, pressing on my chest, panicking my lungs I feel sick. I miss everything. It's almost May, I'm scared! The thought of always existing in my life often annoys me. Why am I not a young American boy? Why am I not a middle-aged German? My days are passing far too rapidly, sometimes I get terrified.

Baby

I'd take you to the Pacific Northwest.

Temuka/Small town

I passed through Temuka five or six times last year while making the bus journey from Christchurch to Dunedin and back. Temuka, settled in 1853 by William Hornbrook, consists of a dairy and adjoining tearooms, a Jehovah's Witness church and very little else. I don't want to be too critical of Temuka however. It has that strange, eerie vibe typical of quaint small towns that I, as an "urban type" enjoy. In small doses, from an observational point of view.

There's something very agreable about entering a dingy tearoom and having to order a cup of hot water, because you don't want to eat the yellowing savouries in the warming cabinet. Temuka probably looks the same now as it did in 1970. I find trips like this inspiring.

Tremors

Dreams

Driving through a suburban street, empty residential Northern roads in a strange light to a large house. A boy is with me, my girl and another. There is a skinny girl showering in the abandoned house but I don't think I can see her. A service car pulls up (electrical?) and the woman inside goes to the door to give drugs to her daughter. Through the gap I can see the girl's dark jeans and small waist and I thought it was my friend, but it wasn't.

I woke up at 5:30 this morning in my clothes with Butler still open on the pillow and the light on. Stumbled to the kitchen, drank some water because my throat was dry and I wrote this on a notepad: abandoned house girl showering inside Els, me, J ho, someone person in service car-drugs to daughter i thought it was todd in papanui (illegible word) driving thru chch's deserted street

I took off my clothes and went back to bed.

I used to sometimes get this feeling in my body. It felt like my ribcage was filled with liquid amber or like I had light poured in me. It made me want to scream or cry or explode into thousands of shards, maybe like a star dying. I couldn't tell if it was a feeling of extreme sadness or extreme happiness, maybe both. It was visceral and unbearable and made me feel as though if only I could harness it in some purposeful way I would achieve something great in my life, be spectacular. No one else ever explained having this feeling to me, until my friend David. http://thecolourofmyloveforyou.blogspot.com/2010/04/walk.html
Being outside at night and seeing the moon or walking around alone, feeling the world breathe around me used to trigger this feeling. But now I never feel like this anymore. When I walk I feel like me; heavy in my body, out of conversation with the consciousness of the world.

Aspirations

I plan on one day becoming a stamp collector, to make up for my lack of actual overseas experience.

Rapture

Putting your hands under the hot tap when they are cold

Technicalities

Tendencies

Impulse to throw myself, inexplicably, from high places

Thought-provoking blog question #1:

Is two boys kissing for the titillation of an audience of girls less unacceptable than two girls doing the same for boys because it turns them on? Does the inversion of the historical scenario: girl-on-girl gets guys hard make the act subversive? Does the sexuality of the kissers change anything? If the gaze is no longer held by the dominant group, can we say it isn't an objectifying one?How does one distinguish between objectification and pleasurable looking? Can I politically justify doing to them what I would not allow to be done to me?

So many questions, so much white noise in my brain. Hours spent looking at screens, approximately 6.5

Just wanna see hot boys pash, y'know?

Girls/boys kissing boys/girls kissing girls/boys

Daylight savings

shift to the cold feel of April and time spent in front of screens. 5 months of blurry eyes here I come