Duty of Care

From the moment we are born we inherit a swelling sack of losses and failures, they ride on our backs and push us face down into the earth. Then limitlessly, unconditionally, we will feel hands of strength, pushing harder on us, pushing until there is dirt in our lungs and our skin, tortured with bruises, and then there is release. The same hands begin to uproot us, pulling us upwards towards the sky, towards light. What is parenthood? Why should any individual be responsible for another's entire being; their health, their minds, their everything. Torches drop from nowhere into the hands of mothers and fathers, and they super glue these torches to themselves and carefully, so slowly, guide their children through tunnel after tunnel. Children run. They stumble, they are lost at any time but the torch never fails to give light. This is what it means to me. There comes a time when the world is crashing down and we cannot blame ourselves so we blame this light, we hurt the light, thrash our limbs and roll boulders its way. But the world will not crash, we will grow taller, stronger, and we will stop fighting. So that when we are old, when we are learning to finally able to walk confidently, steadily, like a turtle that has been walking for a long time, we can finally, finally every once in a while, turn around and simply smile a little and say 'thank you'. We have a duty of care, we have a responsibility to love the people who have sacrificed decades towards the children they bled tears for. Our love will not compare, but we can make the hurt stop, we can be at peace with each other, tell each other things not because we have to but because we know it matters, because sometimes light switches fumble. Coming to terms with one's adulthood is perhaps a challenge, a rocky stepping stone but summoning the decision to enter parenthood is beyond an unexperienced person's imagination. We learn to love through the way in which we are loved, and for every morsel and every crumb of our lives, we should be grateful and we should care because love may be overrated in so many ways, but in this way it will never be underrated enough.

Skis in Vancouver.

"For what gives value to travel is fear. It breaks down a kind of inner structure we have. One can no longer cheat—hide behind the hours spent at the office or at the plant (those hours we protest so loudly, which protect us so well from the pain of being alone). I have always wanted to write novels in which my heroes would say: “What would I do without the office?” or again: “My wife has died, but fortunately I have all these orders to fill for tomorrow.” Travel robs us of such refuge. Far from our own people, our own language, stripped of all our props (one doesn’t know the fare on the streetcars, or anything else), we are completely on the surface of ourselves. But also, soul-sick, we restore to every being and every object its miraculous value. A woman dancing without a thought in her head, a bottle on a table, glimpsed behind a curtain: each image becomes a symbol. The whole of life seems reflected in it, insofar as it summarizes our own life at the moment. When we are aware of every gift, the contradictory intoxications we can enjoy (including that of lucidity) are indescribable."
‘Love of Life’ from ’Lyrical and Critical Essays’ by Albert Camus
Translated by Ellen Conroy Kennedy

 

Wear it ironically.

A few quick snaps from outpost at cockatoo island last week which was fun. I like ferry rides, playing "spot the sluttiest cut-offs" game, trying to "get" the arbitrary piles of materials being presented in frames, and laughing at hippies with their ridiculous moustaches and unnecessary smells. I also like being in the company of banksy's mind. So simple, so effective.

  

Contributing to the pathway of chalk art. "IF NOTHING MATTERS, THERE'S NOTHING TO SAVE" (Foer, duh.) Chalk mess, heat and nail breaking aside, sense of accomplishment went BOOM! Biggest drawing on the path, booyah!

 Powerful apples

 I like robots, and bins recycled to become speakers, and "weapon face"

Shirt Strings

   

 

Entering PASTEMODERNISM Land. 

 

Sunday Funday is fantastical.

Show me a garden

I enjoy people most when they are filled, bursting, outpouring with energy. It doesn't matter whether the nature of this energy is positive or negative. It's the presence of any kind of energy and its relative animation; the buzz of hatred or love. The stimulant to all kinds of things that excites me. I enjoy watching people being energetic, and watching that energy twist and pierce the skin of those around that person. I like the taste of an atmosphere filled with a lot of people with a lot of unheard noise, and the kinds of expressions that they carry on their bodies and faces. Energy never seems grey. It doesn't have to be loud nor vibrant, it just needs to feel akin to hope but more abrupt, more fresh and with a soul that ripens and bursts. Hope dies too slowly. I enjoy observing the fierceness to an angry person with an enormous pit of negative energy, and watching them plot to push down buildings and slap baby animals. I enjoy watching a happy person paint themselves rainbow, dance to their own poorly-composed songs and embrace the world with fingers that wiggle gaily because they can't help themselves. I feed off these people, absorb every little morsel of what they have to offer and breathe a little of their air. I suppose this energy is the rush we feel when we are connected to a moment in our lives; our way of communicating our own raw experiences. I don't believe that all experiences are meaningful, I'm not even sure I believe in the kind of meaning I crave so inherently but I'm still waiting for a kind of enlightement, and patience is a thing I am becoming acquainted with frequently so maybe a few calendars down the track, I will know a little more with certainty. I came home and had too many spoonfuls of glorious baileys with icecream, and I'm just tired of feeling like a body with no bones and too much skin. 

From da hoodz

It was a fateful sunday involving me, some fun kids, a load of clever graffiti, and one life changing ferry ride. I was floating on a ferry named 'Charlotte', and making my company proud by singing remix versions of 'Incy Wincy Spider' (incorporated some rapping which made it all cool & stuff), and then I notice there's this girl two rows in front of me with what must be the most amusing sunnies I've ever come across. While shit like flower petal framed sunnies gets my adrenalin goin', this was a different kind of love. I released my inner creep and hunted this girl down. Bam! 'Henry Holland for Le Specs HOODIES'. You belong to me. Imagine a mash up of your obsession with the metal, gold, round shapes and BIG EYELIDS. Imagine that during a mindless hunt for your summer sunnies you found these. YOU ARE NOW IN MY STATE OF MIND.

Also, when you wear these on top of your head, you look like you have guinea pig ears, which is one reason enough to persuade me.

Give my thanks to the deceased.

My new pastime is to raid the virtual markets for quirky little gems. My meat being gold toned jewellery, my plate being estate sales, and my fork and knife; etsy and eBay. Considering one of the reasons that turned me off thrifting was mahzah's kind reminder - "You're wearing dead peoples' stuff!", I'm surprised that the thought of wearing a little, dead, old lady's necklace around my neck, is completely fine with me. I'm getting worried though, too many bulk bought shipments of old enamel, onyx beads, coloured glass, agate chunks and I don't even know what, has me questioning the practicality of what I'm doing. Yeah, rationality's a bit slow. I need more limbs. (Apparently the easier solution as opposed to y'know, buying less.)

I know, I know, I really need a real hobby. I'm becoming the kind of people I work with, I think it's cause their conversations consist of nothing but shopping lists so in finding some kind of conversable language, I've fallen wallet first into their world of exchange, exchange, exchange. Anyway, I WOULD KILL FOR SACHIN & BABI, and winter weather to wear my 

new boots and angora blend sweaters and bubbles of warmth.

 

 

 In an attempt to unshallow myself from countless, hollow nights of filling virtual shopping baskets, I tried to read a bit of the classic stuff to no avail. It's a shame cause I was all for 1Q84 (in a very murakami mood), but guessing it wouldn't be the same without reading 1984 first, and I don't know how I'd manage. Not fun enough, that's what I think. It's harder to be fun and serious at the same time, your mind plays the game rather than watching a game being played. So much difference, don't you think? If I ever wrote anything, it'd be like Murakami, only looser, with no connection between one sentence and the next, and basically, shit. Textual dynamics: 1 million. Me: 0/completely seduced.

Anyways, if you'll excuse me. I have some more pointless browsing to attend to.

P.S

"Remember it's just food, not love." To that I say Psch, what do you know?! Have you even tried Connoisseur's caramel honey macadamia ice cream? My body disagrees because I'm still dairy intolerant. In rejection, I sucked up a whole original sized Boost yesterday, and ate a massive bowl of aforementioned creamy heaven. I sure showed...myself. Despite these boar-like behaviours, I'm actually losing weight. Woo-boo-hoo for me.

Listening to florence + the machine has gotten me feeling all "floopy"

Sphere of (H)ours.

It's been a while since I've wasted time here, owing to reason a) my main online activity heavily concentrates on eBay, b) nothing new/no real excitement except lame things like new purchases due to reason a) and c) my digestive system no longer knows a system but is more like "Screw it! REJECT REJECT DIE REJECT!". I'm trying oh so hard to feed my past vitamin C addictions to feed my immune system, but what's over is over, I don't love anymore.

I like these pikchurs. Clever, clever.

 

Also I realised I have become the spiteful person who knowing I can no longer purchase an item (cause the stupid bidders have made the stupid price too high), will purposefully nudge these prices up more. i.e if I see something with a current price of $91, I will fake bid '$94' knowing 1000% that the bid was $95..so that those stupid bidders have to pay more as a result of their stupid unneccessary bidding a week before the auction ends. Also, maybe not so much 1000% cause I accidentally ended up buying a couple of items..yeah, real brainy. As a result I've resorted to selling this crap so that I can continue this vicious, vicious cycle. I don't know. Tell me something better to do. Also, I bought dirt cheap body glitter and am using it to draw circles on my arm RIGHT NOW which is fun fun fun, oh it was funn ~ (noah and his love for one animal with a blowhole). Also trying to formulate a formula that will cushion my roots with speedy love and the stuff that makes babies go 'bam!' overnight, so that this horrid, uneven blanket of hair on my forehead will grow, and become all curvy and voluptuous. Puberty for hair. pubair? or beer breath? or shut me up and let me eat? please? Okay, I'm going to lie down now, and spoon with my luscious, lambskin lover. Mhmm.