the tear stealer

There are 2 ways of looking at things and I often wonder why it is the negative one that draws you in and steals your tears. I want my tears to be used on the times I'm so happy I just don't know what else to do.

12486

It rhymes and swears.
It gets you high and gets you low.
It brings out the alter ego.
It makes you reminisce.
It beats like a heart.
It gets in your head regardless of whether you want it there.
It makes damaged ear drums worth it.
It makes you whistle down the street, like the moronically happy person everyone can be.

I'm just,

happy!

One must always appreciate life's little gifts.

(im)perfection

I can feel the chip on my left tooth.
I can see the bruise on my thigh, the freckles across my nose, the wild mane that always manages to get itself out of the ponytail,
and the cuts on my feet from getting too excited about the rock pools at Collin's Bay.
I don't want any of these to be different. Then how would I remember the stories that got them here?

Imperfection is memories.

It's the night you got your corona bottle knocked at a year 12 party.
The afternoon you ventured rock jumping from a loony height.
The day you forgot the spf 30.
The time you cared more about looking at limpets than the state of your feet.
And the decision to cut off all your locks without thinking about the repercussions of a grown-out mullet 6 months later.

I wonder how many bobby pins I have gone through in my life?

Lilliputian · [lil-i-pyoo-shuhn]

This is the cutest thing I have seen in yonks.

It's all little, and furry, and fluffy, with its squinted- closed eyes, and miniature whiskers and miniscule ears.

How can such a pewny thing have me gushing so much over it?
I need to get a grip. But fuck, this is just a kitten, and boy is it adorable much.

1.42

It starts. The music pulls my body with it, not caring for limits, not caring for pain, not caring for anything but the love of it.
The beat tunes with my body's.
My head is thrown with my arms like everything's detached.
The heaving breaths are lost in the muggy air, my dripping hair stuck to my face.

I'm alive.

This is when my smile and tears come at the same time.
This is when I don't think.
This is when I just do.
This is the minute forty two.

Wanting

Sometimes the anticipation is better than the moment. And the desire is better than the result. And the number that isn't called is more painful than the bruised knees. The replaying is easier than the acceptance. And the questions have more possibilities than the answers.

This is when you don't get what you want.

My rules for the new season? There are no rules.

Numbered sentences as to why womens' magazines are nonsensical:

1.) Why are we told what not to wear? Not to accessorize the accessory. What if I want to fucking accessories the shit out of the accessory? What if I don't want to accessorize at all?

2.) HARPERS BAZAAR: get back to me when you come up with something that's a little less sheer than Wolford sheers because YOUR RULES FOR THE NEW SEASON just aren't cutting it. I don't want rules.

3.) I could go on but then I'd be wasting my time writing about something that really grinds my gears.

Buy NAT GEO.

Eskimo Joe

An Eskimo has no permanent possessions to be stolen, no towns to be invaded, no class system to be slotted into. And while they might not have the labels, they wear real fur. While they might not have an iPod they make their own music. And while this may never be read while an Eskimo, I think sometimes, I would like to be one.

The flavour to savour

When you eat your favourtite food it always seems a little unfortunate that the last taste is tainted with a goodbye. Maybe the frist taste is better, and then it goes on to get less and less satisfying the more you eat. This usually happens with everything-bar toasted foccacia and kalamata marinated mixed stuffed olives-. (specific)

I am embarassed to admit that whilst writing this I had in mind eating eating a bag of cheeseballs. Delicious at first, but the more you eat the more your fingers become stained orange.
OLD HABITS DIE HARD.

The heart of life

Sometimes life can be as simple and complicated as the heart of it all. No matter how many labels, words, and explanations, there some things we will never quite grasp. It can be as intricate and scientific as it looks, or it can be as simple as staying alive.

Jiminy Cricket

I've cashed in on too many advantages.
I've listened to Jiminy Cricket when it suits.
I've wasted $80 to get somewhere 5 minutes faster.
I've procrastinated too much.
I've tried to change those who shant.
I've yelled at my parents when it is them who are there night after night.
I've made excuses to justify the inexcusable.
I've wasted my money on too much shit (but tantalising) American food.
I've become too good at being impulsive.
I've said too much hastily.
I've been too stubborn.
I've preached what I haven't always practised.
I've been vexed inasmuch of not being a better person.
So this is the last time will have to write of this because I wont do it no more.

Errr, money on the shit (but tantalising) American food might slip. But I think I can deal.