I beg you to clean up and spick as the seams as neat and compulsive.
Sickening its beginning to sound as the offense and contradiction to how beautiful I am proved to be.

I wrote a post not too long ago about questioning yourself as you age or find a place for yourself.
Ive learnt it comes when you know who you are. And then typically, as you think you've found peace, you're back in an old place elsewhere and constantly reminded of misfortune and flaws.
Where did I go wrong?
I am close to the most respectful person I know so why am so very fucking often trampled by people and their centered behaviour?
I look back to the fluctuation in teenagehood. I understood and learnt my burdens and lived by the morals as the aid to a happy and peaceful life.
I had to be fair, and stay fair as I would have to deal with something painful, uncomfortable or annoying otherwise.
I thought life was a smooth roll from here on in, because I deserved it. Because I've had a lot of hardship compared to any average Melbourne teenage girl, and because I'm a fucking quality person. And I finally believe that.
I will not live on in naivety but ill believe we get what we deserve and it will all be okay and I'll be happy and living somewhere nice soon.

I don't want you on my blog.
I don't want to type in my url and scroll down to find words describing the weight of my knees or the whine of my thoughts searching to feel lighter.
I don't want to read vein literature and remember I wrote and published it to admit to why I once ended up here.

There's very few photos I still have that can take me back to places or particular times and be taken by surprise, happy, grateful and a shameful feeling because it may have been forgotten, all at the same time.

I can't seem to remember who ended up taking that very warm group cuddle in my bed that very cheek Saturday morning. Regardless of whoever it was, they were there and I'm almost positive they snuck in the middle of us four right after the flash-or the slow sniff in my hands. I can recall recalling the absence of complaining, suffocation or claustrophobia. Somehow, each of us and each of our joints and limbs, bums, boobs and heads found somewhere to be outlined only by cotton of my sheets and acknowledgement of our company. 

Most of the time I'm not really inclined to reflect how the story I can see, and that's usually because I can't prioritise the best or most important parts. 

The least important part is reciting the drugs we were on, (I usually try my hardest to avoid mentioning any  drug habits of mine or someone else's but this time it feels necessary] I was on LSD. I'm pretty sure I was riding solo that night. I'm not entirely sure as Darcie would sometimes accompany the tripping at the night club. 

She's in bed with me and Josh, as is the hiding UFO who I have no idea is, and I can't figure out. 

It was warm and their was so much blanketing us as comfort in our dressed clothes- and the bloody sunglasses that didn' t shadow my visuals I remember clouding above our knee caps, and somewhat a surrogacy to informing me of what it means. I still remember the colours, shape, form, movement; Where I was looking, how heavy my clothes felt, and how they reminded me I was alive and human as I was baring my palms to the ceiling as a complete welcoming. And a gentle greeting to my aunty walking in to collect her daughter. I suspect there were thick vibes and at that time, Aunty Julie could feel it and I could feel her acceptance, and then I quietly heard the her loudest ongoing trouble that she's been carrying everywhere.  Easy -

"JULZ GET IN! COME OOON, ['YES''YAY'] - GROUP HUGGGG, aaaawwwwwwwww"

She crawled in like she couldn't resist a group hug in that massive bed of mine, and with those vibes going on I'd be worried if somebody could deny it. I am still impressed with the synergy, and now practicality of the bed's size; I ended up in an understanding of potentiality- believing any fault amongst us don't, or never did exist and I am taken away to an utter state of blissful satisfaction with absolute no bullshit.\ It only after dawned on me to reflect where I was, And that was it. 

I've found myself in the neverending Like A Version loop of Youtube again.

A few photos from one developed film.
Disposable cameras 8 pack from KMart, unsure how much they are because of my sister's somewhat beneficial clepthmania. 

I cannot disguise you anymore. Ill start admitting with my eyes closed.
And talking alongside a blank stare into space.
Hoping I am distracted early enough,
From questioning the stance that stands beneath the staring

Most people commonly find themselves reading about other people or other people and their things.
There is always a third person boast about someone more important, more sad or more inspiring.

I'm fucking writing an emotional diary entry over Facebook chat.
And now I'm shaking it off onto my wit, and understanding that I lack the poetic poise in my words she'd prefer.
I'll commend her though. I'm impressed with her skill to manipulate. 

I've always  asked myself, and them; whether they know they do it.
Usually I'm ironically denied and redirected with a flying ball of 'how dare you? I am completely reasonable with howmuchmoreimportantwhatisayisregardless'. Then I have to think twice as hard to stay disciplined and remember back to what the issue is- all in the time she gives me to claw their words.
And show them my understanding.
I'm stood corrected and advised by the reoccurring morality of their heist to stand back, and detach myself. To let the explanation be heard of once again how it hurts.. which I've eventually counted to factorise and now regrettably conclude.

You eventually find yourself hesitant with a wide lense and opportunity to lamp. The opportunity to put your foot forward is dismissed as a hopeful-dampener to soften it all and to probably get them to shut the fuck up.

I'm fascinated by the crevice some just unfathomably seem to miss to acknowledge every time. But my fascination in an episode of their emotive attitude has finally begun to lose its interest.

Action shots of my yellow dog

Morning routine on the couch

I have finally successfully smoked weed again earlier tonight.
I don't know exactly what to write about it but I came here to post a post of gratitude to my excitement.

Welcome home.

I'm glad you've got good company all the time. So, you appreciate it.

But when you point your fingers at me and lean back with a smile, waiting for my reaction towards your shit as, lame joke I'm not sure whether to laugh, cry or tell you to sit down.

There's articles everywhere about how much time is ideal to spend with your loved ones or partner and I'm telling you; as soon as you start pulling someone else's leg with their joke; you gotta remove yourself and ride solo- just for a little bit.
I've never really seen the potential to this issue we have with relationships until now. Maybe it's because of my age and I never really cared. Or it could be a case of "you used to be cool". Which is unfortunately classic- we've all been there.
I've accepted any reasons come to the same conclusion:
You're spending too much time together,  you're not the same anymore

I find if we're involved at all in something like this, we either; refuse to do something about it, or deny any admittance to it.
I can't answer why but we all have the tendancy to make sense for the benefit and come up with some reason somebody has changed.
So this time, I'll try find the guts to tell you all this or I'll just remind you of your age and tell you that sleeping alone feels okay, and he's not going anywhere.
 

Tracking back to the numbered list of personal writing ideas, I consider acting upon my commitment.
"Day 02 - Your first love"
God damn it, just as I felt like doing something productively positive for myself I am guaranteed to be shunned by the idea of engaging in any memory of you.

I'm here to reiterate my title as an artist. Again- yes I did draw another naked body sitting in front of me.
She was loud, obnoxious and overly friendly, and I mean overly friendly by how comfortable she was to look me in the eyes and open her gown at me.
Focus on the heater, she's just warming up, it must be cold in here naked, just look at the heater, laugh and look away, she looks hungry for you.
One moment, one vagina and a set of tits. And me. So vulnerable and clothed. And shardy. She was shardy. And naked. I was shardy and fuckin startled, I'll tell ya that. 

Yoooou and you words, their concept and conjunction
Your concept and conjunction
Your words
Grade to impress the fuck out of me and the understanding out of you.
You despired me; to act upon my despising skills to write.
A competition between your comprehension and mine-maybe; but a mistaken race you just certainly won.
I'll seize my creative writing to read yours and save myself from embarrassing concealment.

[When thinking of the quality of that particular passage, and poetry you write is an entanglement in my own brain from the clarity of yours.
Which optomically translate into a maze of water pipes running through the idea of your fuzzy purple hair tie.
Or one of those untangle puzzle things you buy from a National Geo store, but yours I can see the sense!]

Yoooou have made me ramble about my envy and commendations, given from the passage your wrote about a man with a long grey beard, a colourful something, five legs and something good to say.
Resembles a dream time story.
Fucking good work, Stephanie, an A plus plus to you most definitely. You deep, metaphorical bitch.

I'm a bit disappointed.
My blog seems to me as an uninteresting,  stiff centered tumble of short words about my big fuckin' feelings.

Ive just found an old progress report

...

She keeps telling me she wants to do it how she always does it; how she's used to.
She's shitty, always shitty but there's no fall to a little musical manipulation with this one. She's already comfortably writing to my choice of musical companionship.
Her words won't shy from her fathom, and I won't avoid listening to them. And finally, I hear an expression of wholesome exclusion; she has finally said goodbye.
She's still shitty but she'll be happy and she knows why, and she knows how. And she won't need a high volume of anything to pat her on the back.
Good on you, Steph.
I'm proud of you.
         You keep your green head up and keep looking where you're looking.

Extra broad

Before she goes to detox.
It's a shame she hasn't had sheets on her bed for over a month.
Maybe she wants to feel closer to home.

Good luck for tomorrow Stephy.

Why do they end up all singing about the same fucking thing?

Gardens 

Cradles my clouds and it sits me down.

I wanna know why my blog is written with so much fucking sentiment? I read over it and realise the embarrassment I may experience when registering as a third person.

Emotions you have shot up and exploded as the silver lining against my retina and the provocative to my tear ducts.
I welcome you home to reiterate the outdated intuition I recognise to figure out where I am, or where I stand, or where others stand around me.
You speak as a sentimental explanation of the importance to what I experience; but I struggle to decipher the mumbling that tries to suffocate any sensibility and clarity as the candid light rehearses by rebellion and freedom.

"

John was a smoker. He got cancer of the

larynx (voice box. His voice box was 

removed. He has to learn to talk again.

Now he can only breathe through the hole in 

his neck.

Want help with quitting?

Call Quitline 13 7848, talk to your doctor 

or pharmacist, or visit www.quitlinenow.gov.au

'AUSTRALIAN FIRE RISK STANDARD COMPLIANT. 

USE CAR IN DISPOSAL.'

"

I'll admit to wanting to call you one of my best friends; only due to the evidence of my admiration for you. I find you entertaining and uplifting. 

You gotta realise that your choice of words actually soften some moments and you just fuckin' walk off like you're already expecting a thanks to it. 

Ya fucking brilliant little blondie, I'll keep you as one of those people I'll remember as the reminder that the majority of humanity are not that shallow and do have something good or stylish to say.

Fuck, the words I've just successfully executed.. Now I can stop dramatising the emphasis of how cool you are to the people I know.

Awesome girly, please don't run too far from me.

Yeah, 

These music recordings exceedingly apply to the appeal of my heart and how my eyes judge the strain of the shine.

This sun is too good to waste. So you walk out your bedroom door, and commit to doing something you don't even know!

Bathroom cigies ...

None of their spoken words seem to be detected as worthy or interesting enough to quote and forward onto my blog.

What has my life come to

I have a slight feeling it maybe something good and worthwhile keeping. I've strayed away from soundcloud and deep house and onto a shallow knowledge of real music.
I've definitely lost my knack to execute energy and good spirits as the nights preparation.
I settle on believing I'm just fucking boring and no longer funny to be around. A disappointment indeed because the old time company  found myself amusing, just as much as I did.
Now I've taught myself and regret to admit my jokes sound funnier in my head and witnessing me slouch and laugh to myself doesn't and won't suffice.

I say this and click my heels three times hoping I teleport straight and instantly, back to theatrical.
Embedded words reveal yourself.
I've got nothing to say.