Influential

I should write more posts about Things That Suck (see below).

http://adweek.blogs.com/adfreak/2011/02/new-zealand-polices-cougar-ads-are-pulled.html

Into the water

Feel like I'm fifteen again and want to cry. Rather be running down city streets than sitting here; my eyes hurt too much. That kind of desperate feeling when you want to tell weird people and strangers too much about your personal life. Fifteen year old me would probably write a diary entry - I was always scared of forgetting my life. Sit and watch TV until my brain goes fuzzy. Lucky I'm here alone, the havoc I would wreak if I were drinking doesn't bear thinking about. Too old to embarrass myself anymore. My lungs are filled with sludge.

Was going to mention that I've listened to 'Running like a Man' by Wet Wings about 10 times in the past half hour, then thought, omg what if Wet Wings reads this and that would be soo embarrassing, so decided against it, then decided against better judgement and am mentioning it anyway. I just read this line on the blog 'People are just people': "I have scars on my left arm because I am right-handed" and I thought it was funny and true. Although some people can be ambidextrous. I am only when it comes to scars, my writing with my left hand is way more illegible than my normal writing, but I've been practising in case I ever have a stroke.

Things that Suck

This police recruitment ad sucks. I see shit like this and can't help but think, who the hell sat in their office and thought this would be a good idea? Ha, look at the funny, rapey, paedophilic undertones of this ad! People are gonna think the police force is such a lolz, fun, hip and 'relaxed' place to work! We're not 'PC', we're cool! Fuck you, NZ Police. You suck. Because this comment is just so nuanced and well articulated, I'll link to the post that inspired it, in case anyone wants a slightly lengthier response: http://ideologicallyimpure.wordpress.com/2011/01/24/james-whitaker-challenges-greg-oconnor-for-worst-police-spokesman-role/

While I'm on the subject of things that I've read and become aggrieved over, this: http://thestandard.org.nz/guest-post-why-the-left-needs-feminism-ii/

It's now 2am, 5 hours since I started this post. And unfortunately, I've somewhat lost my train of thought. Something about when I used to hang out with all these anarchists/anarcho-communists/activists back when I was seventeen and still had dreams (sob). Looking back on it now, that environment wasn't always women-friendly, and feminism certainly wasn't at the forefront of the group's consciousness, although there were definitely feminists there. For example, a man who had been accused of sexual assault was a frequent visitor to the social centre where all this left-radicalism was supposedly based, and while he may not have been guilty, it didn't exactly result in a safe and positive space for everyone. Also, only about 3 women really hung out there, in contrast to the 10+ men who did so on a regular basis. Nothing inherently problematic in that alone, but my experience of left-wing activism then wasn't one that fully embraced feminist ideals.

Blah, blah, blah. I should have titled this 'I Was A Teenaged Anarchist'. I have to get up and fly to Wellington tomorrow, so l8r babezz. Wondering whether I should pop some quetiapine for the ride, I hate take-off. My parents never should have let me watch Alive when I was five.

Close Encounters

I am going to go to sleep and dream of alien invasions. I am sleeping on the floor of my brother's room because I don't have a bedroom, and my computer is casting eerie artificial light on the walls, illuminating the fake chicken which is hanging off the lightshade in a fashion reminiscent of a scene from an abattoir. It reminds me of the upside-down chicken carcass sculpture in the Ron Mueck exhibition, which I saw yesterday. It was pouring with rain when I went and it took us a long time to find a car park. Maybe even longer than we spent inside the art gallery. That chicken sculpture with its neck-gash repulsed me, and made me pleased to be a vegetarian. My favourite piece was Pregnant Woman, because I saw a lot of strength in it. I even thought I saw her move, but I do often have visual impairments.
Back to the aliens. It is very windy outside, and I think wind is the creepiest kind of weather, so it is easy to imagine a spaceship sweeping down from the sky and hovering above my house. I love 1970s science-fiction films. Maybe I want to dream of aliens because I had a disappointing evening, engaging in several behaviours which I have vowed to stop but constantly repeat. To escape my frustration, I drift into daydreams and night ones.

Flashy Images

Prolific

If only I didn't spend all my time:
a) Engaged in frenzied (but not always) parties
b) Alone at home, lamenting my lack of success as an inhabitant of this earth/waiting for the next party to happen,
perhaps I would get more culture-jamming done. All you really need is a permanent marker and sense of fearlessness. I, unfortunately, have neither.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Culture_jamming

Thanks, Wikipedia.

P.S. I realise that my blogging style has become incredibly lazy; substituting thought, consideration and insight for flashy images. I had hoped none of my five readers (approx.) would realise this also, but I see now that that may be wishful thinking. I'm counting on my return to tertiary education to inspire me to better myself and thus this blog, which it surely will, as angst and procrastination are inherent in the lives of university students. Currently all I have to worry about is nothing, and so my hypochondria is in serious overdrive. And nobody wants to hear about that.