Toys

GIVE ME MY WORDS BACK.
I GOT MY WORDS BACK.
I KEEP FALLING IN-AND-OUT-AND-IN LOVE WITH THE SAME PERSON.
I SWING WITH HAPPY ANGRY CONTENT GUILTY HOPEFUL REGRETFUL
BUT OF COURSE I AM STILL HERE.
WE ARE ALWAYS WHERE WE WANT TO BE.
LIFE IS NEVER AS GOOD AS IT LOOKS IN PHOTOS.
AND SOMETIMES IT'S BETTER.
YOU ARE NEVER AS GREAT AS YOU WANT PEOPLE TO THINK YOU ARE.
BUT I AM.
BECAUSE I'M OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER.

Lost in Space

Often I wake up in the night and have no idea where I am.
No idea when I am, what age I am, who I’m with. Sometimes I think I’m in other countries, in any of the hundreds of places I’ve slept in the world.
I actually have to think really hard in the quiet black about the narrative of my life and work out where and who I am at this exact non-descript point in time. It sounds terrible to say but I’m almost always disappointed.
Anxieties and various worries wash in, I guess, just the usual stuff that goes with being a grown-up, responsible adult with multiple things and people to look after and wondering how the hell you’re going to. I guess, I guess…
I think the disorientation is a result of the dreams. Lately I keep dreaming of a man I once loved and I think it has less to do with him and more about what he meant to me. He wraps around me and pumps blood into my veins. I ache for this feeling of desire, happiness and lust for life.
I don’t know if my subconscious is self-destructive and does this to torment me, to build an illusion and break it down with waking (because it's always beautiful and enjoyable). Or whether its self-preservative and they’re tiny vacations to another time and place, emotional downtime.
Last night I thought I worked it out though, post-realisation, in the absolute silence- in spite of the stark contrast and disappointment that was waking and working out where I was- how I was going to make that feeling go away. How I was going to get up today.
I had to stop being a brat. Stop lamenting what I didn’t have and what I couldn’t do and just do what little I could and try to do it well. Do it with some pride and enthusiasm and hopefully over time, what happens and what I can do will be fed by that and grow.
So maybe the next night when I wake up, I freak out slightly less, want to be where I am little more and stop trying to live in bullshit dreams that confuse me.

How-To For Homies (Without a Hint of Sarcasm)

Now I'm going to write a post for all who care out there, homies, blog-lovers, curious internet audience members, accidental by-standers and aspiring models, whereby I run through a a detailed and thorough list of my beauty and exercise routine and my diet aka. every seemingly insignificant morsel of food I do (or don't) put in my mouth. Because obviously, if we all just follow the same mathematically specific set of rules we'll all get the exact same outcome right?! Yay!
And then, if I have time, I'm going to post photos of myself wearing clothes that my income has allowed me to purchase and/or been given to me for free by various fashion people or in exchange for work. That way, I'll show you how to wear them, and then you buy them, and you 'get the look' as they say, get it? 'Get it'? Woot!
Okay, so i'm starting this entry right now...
Wait, no i'm not. Sorry.
I'm going to go do something rad instead.*

*(Did you find the real answer in there?)

Diet Tiah

I gave in and started a twitter account. Which is good I guess, apparently I'm easier to handle in tiny bite-size pieces.
Diet Tiah, fewer-calories-but-still-all-the-same-flavour Tiah, Tiah in moderation. Go on follow... you know you want to.

55

I don’t want to be 16, 18 or 21 years old EVER AGAIN
I don’t want to be a SIZE SIX
I don’t want to hear that I ‘can’t wear’ anything that doesn’t require a bra
(Btw, I REALLY like bras)

I don’t want to be a FUCKING BLONDE!!!

I don’t want to pretend to be vegan/gluten-free/wheat-intolerant/‘only organic’
I don’t want CIGARETTES for BREAKFAST
I don’t want to only be as good as whom I’m photographed with at stupid parties
where everyone’s just killing themselves slowly anyway, and pretending they weren’t picked on at school
or even worse: pretending that they were
“Everyone was just so JEALOUS of me because I was so TALL and so THIN and it was just REALLY, REALLY HARD, y’know?”

I don’t want my career to suffer because I refuse to use my VAGINA as CURRENCY
I don’t want to bite my tongue when someone says something personally offensive TO MY FACE (or ABOUT my face)
I don't want it to sound like I'm suffering delayed teenage angst just because I think what is expected of me, my friends, my job, is fucked. up.

I WANT TO BE A WOMAN!!!
(Just like I always wanted to be when I grew up)
and I want you to be okay with that.

And if you say “So go get a different job”
I say “Why should I have to change, when I’m not the one fucking up half the population with the idea that being a hungry, poisoned, perpetual girl-child is only way to be attractive?”
or hell, just look nice in some expensive clothes

Oh, and did I mention

I DON’T WANT TO BE A FUCKING BLONDE!!!!!!!!!!?!

Such n' Such

Still amazed that such a perfect, angelic, incredible creature could be the product of such a fun activity with such an awesome person. Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!!!!

*sighs for days*

invasionofthebodysnatchers

Sometimes it's better to chemically lobotimise than be a big, pulsating, tangled mess of hope, rage, lust and social discomfort.

And If You Complain Once More...

Mad Girl's Lovesong

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

- Sylvia Plath

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Fashion is not art. Fashion is advertising and advertising is money. And for every dollar you earn, someone has to pay.