Seems you're becoming my new, best company

celebratory with the ettyblob

Still using this idea, unfortunately

I've just realised how youthful and lazy, and shallow the writing in my blog posts have sequently seem to end up.

I'm having recollective ideas these days so I can further myself.
Yes, I've only just realised that I'm back at the start of the linguistic enrichment I remember I acquired way back when I first started writing; trying to sound cool, and poetic with some big fuckin' words and philosophical "wonders".
But hey, it worked, it really did open my mind to whatever is bigger or better, and it extensively gave me the idea that I have to find those places.

Hello Blogspot, we've met again I see.
I'm not sure what to right but I have been advised by my big brain of mine to just ramble on about anything; and disregard any informal or incorrect punctuation or grammar.
Haha

So,
I went to the AFL grand final [look at me using caps already], to see my bloody team play against Sydney Swans.
This is going to start sounding like a year eight 'back from holidays, what the fuck did you do?' essay.. So my apologies in advance.
It was a good game although I kind of wish it was a closer match so I could get nerve rack and start sweating and screaming at anyone who goes for goal. But it didn't really turn out like that; Hawthorn had the game 15 minutes in. Boring, I know but we relied on chance they hadn't had a certain win as of just before third quarter.
Haha it is like a year eight reflective task,
I need to grow up or read a thesaurus or something because my own writing is beginning to really bore me.
I surprised myself at the comments I pulled to the players but I couldn't resist since the seats dad bought for us were fucking impressive.
And honestly, I haven't seen or felt a more uplifting space in a very long time. Going from three to five people and the same four walls to a hundred thousand and an innumerable amount of concrete walls making a circular auditorium with a sunroof as big as the floor. So much good noise, that was really fucking loud but this time didn't even shock any tears. And the vibesssss, my god, that was something I took with me home. Well I hoped to anyway, it so god damn, bloody refreshing.

So I'm up to day one; 'introduce yourself'. I've been dreading writing this and I'm already debating whether to exit and leave this as a draft.
I'm a broad character and I'm not sure what exactly I should pride myself on these days because I'm not sure what's cool, or what is trendy. I spend most of my days solo, probably because I'm satisfied with my own company, and if I'm not; I'm not on my own - or I'm really bored.
I sit down and close my legs, and I almost always end up leaning forward with excitement or because I'm lazy.
And I'm guessing people don't know how to take either.
I regret the hole I was living in. Only to crawl out with my arms up; people greeted me by asking me why my arms are up and if it's a first.
I've progressed exceedingly through the past couple of years, I've grown and I've moulded into something I can carry lightly since the last time I've done one of these things.
I think about how people see me too often, and I fear they live on what they remember - and I know people only remember the worst. Until recently, I leaned forward flirtatiously and I smiled at jokes that weren't funny - which I ended up regretting because it really wasn't that funny when I recognised a personality disorder. And suffering a multiple personality disorder really wasn't worth a fake laugh - or my boyfriend leaving me for someone else [but unfortunately I thank my personality issues weren't only to blame for this].
I was in love, yes, indeed I was; so incredibly in love. I'm still in love but I refuse to write too much to encourage unwanted heightened emotions, and I don't want to be sitting here trying to dissect the meaning of our relationship. It was large, and pretty fucking rare. So I'm just working on the patience to get to the stage when all I can say is I'm glad it happened; he taught it all to me. I still think of the cliche poetic ways I can describe the times we shared, but I suspect my words won't spill because my heart's still holding on.
I'm not good at relationships, I've realised how difficult it was to build or uphold a friendship. So after that grand one I shared with Sam, I'm learning what it means to hold onto more than one person.

.----------------p;

I still know the religion of your mouth and your words. I remember trying to decrypt what you meant to squint, or what it took to weigh down your lips. Wondering how heavy light was for you, and if I could adapt to the lifting.
Months of study, I acquired the idea of your still and your steadiness.
Typically, 
I questioned your morality. Typically,  I gave up the work for the inevitable answer to join you.
I'm sorry but I was infatuated with my focus-focusing on our safety, eliminating any dangerous opportunity.
I ran a structural line of an over confident idea of a relationship, with the idea we'll be okay, and everything will turn out fine once we get into the swing of things. 
I regret that swing and how far it swung; from the rhythm of what we started on.
I still think about you.
And I still regrettably speak your name without a peripheral of your fists or your grinding teeth.
I reminisce the relationship cowardice. I reminisce as a coward.
I impose any conclusion of how we actually laid in bed. And I'll deny what inevitably destroyed us, so I can get to sleep. 
Unfortunately,

I write occasionally about this. Mostly to acknowledge it happened and deflect any realist explanation of being alone and how I got there.
Unfortunately, I can still imagine the detail to comfort me, but the repetitive contextual tick I hear ticks loud when I lean back into those places we made, sadly and shamefully it tells me you've left. 

I write so many Shitty bullshit words about you and my bloody, fucking regrets. My shallow words embarrass the embarrassment I write and sit here planning to read a thesaurus and shaking my head.
I don't want to be writing about you still.
I fathom how many times I can use the same words, or how much I'll have to write to truly portray it all.
I think, remember, memorise and try to learn but hanging my head toward my chest seems an inevitable shame.
I can't win.

My sister's already sitting down in a taxi on her way home from a date with that very fucking stylish, not-too-bad-to-look-at wanker from behind the bar at Revs. He's alright - pretentious - but all right; perfect for my sister.

angry sist

You forgot to stop giving a fuck about not giving a fuck.

Remember that one, though.
You patient.

Remember that spikey ball they sent you? The downstairs loungeroom flashed in front of you and there was you. You recall the confidence and you experienced that fuzzy ball moving clear into the spaces you forgot you had.

You're better than them because you had that fuzziness as the clarity of your social respect.

I feel like I've forced myself back here.

I've taken my time, like they all advise, 'you don't want to rush into things'.
You can worry about

Warm spring mornings, conventionally and ultimately cooking me. The sun stings with a refreshing coolness although my eyes will proceed to sit a volume swelling to be held in place.
Which reminds me of this unknown urge of a little something I've met before but never revealed. Only shoved beside me as the minority to my good mood.
I suspect its communication from the cusp of the black hole where all unwanted feelings go. Yes, it speaks. It quietly roars. A roar I'll probably never be able to dissect to understand entirely but I can surely hear it.
I'll adapt to its language soon, and I'll learn the silent letters just so I don't have to deal with the realty I've apparently missed out on.
Sober or sober. 
Surpressing it all was never a reasonable excuse to turn around to a different
Turning around to another direction was hardly close to a guarantee, to any natural emotional therapy that I could recover entirely from.
A bad habit to press it downwards especially with the firmness of your palm. As you begin to trust yourself and your power, you'll soon be fooled and these god damn shivers will just rise back up. So you've discovered your power, you thought you were bigger than what you felt. So you walk and wait to sit where its safe but you're startled with the flood that has dunked you to show you that you can't run to escape.
Now you gotta scoop up with buckets amd you knoq you're hands are only toys now, and youre looking down, asking if I can do it again, if I can surpress this mess until it calls again.
You question time and you standardize what becomes normal or a ritual, or does learning to protect yourself from all your past trauma could ever become inevitable?

Strengthened you are and proved by the light executing as the present  definition to reiterate the subsequence.
A split second cherished and now a memory and an entity of truly existing.
You're only the witness to what you see.
As the shadows only cast as a contradiction, light reveals a form thus producing shapes identified by contrast. 
We understand the ignition that introduces the movement we seize to forget is only defined by the darkness of its shadow.
So how light can light upper raise to enhance and sit as the reason to existence and a distraction to it's treason.
Should the gratitude focus on what bribgs up most forth as the leader to experience. Or am I supposed to walk amongst the streets looking at all things pretty only to thank it's darkness to promote its rarity therefore defining what truly is beauty? 
Do I begin at the first hand to walk amidst the oblivion or do I deny the distance of the plank to walk on forwards?
Knowing what I witness as admiration maybe begin as shallow to later be corrected. 

I ask if all we see is evidence to our existence?
Is the beauty we see as the appeal to the evidence?
Shall all beauty we experience be excusable of its focus, and therefore a given reason to doubt.
Shall we flatten the brightness and forget how far the energy has traveled to walk on believing this world is as beautiful as whats been captured as photography.
Do I live on in denial and ignorance to see it more pretty?
Should I stop looking to find whats the weight of lightness

Weed aspirations

So I'm back here again blogging on the blog I've realised I only come to visit in the early hours of the night, or morning. It's 420 hours into Saturday; a time more than ideal to roll up some green and toke to open your eyes to the stars beyond the haze.
Instead I'm back here again blogging, under the same roof, looking at the same damn purple carpet, thinking about my room and the love it's been missing. 
This environment was love, it was all I knew at one point - or remembered. So I cannot deny how warm it feels to be here once again. But to feel this warmth, I know the conditions it takes to get here.
A cheeky smile I smile whilst I hold my knees in, looking down at the same god damn purple fucking carpet. Yes, I'm waiting for the pipe to be passed to me, again.
I wonder now how I could look back to reminisce and differentiate which time was which or what day was what.
The conditions I'll abide to pull that cheeky smile I will only consider you as that week night before my birthday that was so senile it seems to have taken two years.

As of Tuesday I can finally call myself an artist.
I've spent hours in my room, straining my eyes in the dark and throughout the days to come to a day like this and say yes. Yes, I did. Yes I did in fact draw a older man with an admirable physique in the nude and yes, if in case you were wondering;  his private parts were commendable.

And I'm pretty sure he was from the South East and was gay but kudos to his pretentious life because no one else could lay there for so long without making eye contact with the person that was staring at his balls for so long.
And yes, that might have been me.

I still regret giving it all to you,

I thought I was reciprocating.