Yeah, about the followers thing...

My followers gadget hasn't been working for a litte while now. Soz, lol.

I think it was something to do with the fact that I unsuccessfully tried to change the URL of this thing, but it didn't work and now I'm stuck with a follower's gadget that's as stuffed as Libya. And I'm pretty shit at technology - as in, it took me about seven years how to turn a computer on or use the DVD player. So that thing may stay broken for a while.

Soz, lol.

And sorry my English is degenerating - after all the essays I've had to write lately the only thing coming to my head is soz, lol. Soz, lol.

I should go now. KaPow.

The Beauty Infants.

I've always been opposed to pageants of all sorts. There are many reasons for this. One, I am fat and ugly and proud of it - it's called being normal. Two, I only believe in competitions that are based on talent and merit - and beauty is not a talent, it's just luck. Three, I love Miss Congeniality.

I'm also opposed to the exploitation of children, for obvious reasons.

And so they've combined my two pet hates into one truly horrendous cult: child beauty pageants.

You see little kids forced into diets, botox, and the glory gory of waxing. Did anyone ask them 'hey, do you want to be a premature painful barbie doll that everyone will criticize and call plastic?' or 'do you want to die a wrinkly old hag that nobody loves?'. No. People just assume that children like being aliens doing alien things.

When I was little I wore tucked in cartoon shirts and harry high pants, just like all the other kids. We were dirty and messy and roly-poly, because we were kids. I loved dressing up, but only for ballet - my makeup obsession came later, when it was slightly more acceptable. I had a love hate relationship with my barbie dolls - I would make them stay in splits with their arms up for days, so they could FEEL MY PAIN. My favourite toy was a fat purple bunny rabbit which, with time and age, became as luminous and incandescent and breathtakingly beautiful as I grew up to be.

Child beauty pageants force children into things that they don't fully understand. Parents claim that their children like it, but it's because they don't know any better. When I was little I remember being traumatized by needles, and those injections and blood samples were to save my life - not to look pretty. Even now I can't bring myself to pluck my eyebrows, even though I'm getting too old to socially get away with it. After my heart operations I swore I would never go under the knife for something as superficial as beauty, which fades anyway if you manage to be born with some.

Kids are kids, not bits of plastic you can doll up and inject random crap into for cash and fame. I see all these dolled up girls wearing tiaras that are bigger than them and I just want to cry. All we're telling them is that all we're ever going to judge them by is how skinny they are, how pretty they are, and how much makeup they wear. What kind of message are we giving to people so young and impressionable?

Pageant moms should be ashamed of themselves. They deserve to be thrown into prison and never let out, for the good of society. Go fuck yourselves, but leave the kids alone.

This is What a Real Woman Looks Like.

What disgusts me is that people photoshop women into pretty aliens, and then sell them to men as 'real women'. Of course we have spots. Of course we don't walk around with a hairdryer placed strategically to fan out our hair. We don't wake up with shimmery eyeshadow or mascara on. The average woman is just as ugly as the average man, but that seems to be news to a lot of them.

Sad.

Missing Heath.

Perth is a rather small, boring concrete jungle. As such, we have very little internationally-recognised artistic talent to boast of.

Until about three years ago, we had one thing we could boast of: Heath Ledger, our Heath, was born and raised here, on boring Perth soil. It was truly a case of a single spark lighting a bushfire. Heath Ledger's legacy has trancended death - he remains one of the most gifted actors to ever call Australia home.

Life goes on, despite death. But whenever I see a picture of him, or a clip of one of his movies, you can't help but feel that his untimely death as a young man (and father) at the age of twenty-eight is such a waste. Who knows what he might have become - not that what he did achieve is not worth boasting of.

We all miss Heath, our golden Perth boy. Other celebrities come and go, wasted by fame, but for one reason or another, it's Heath we miss the most.

Japan Earthquake, Tsunami and Nuclear Disaster.

My heart goes out to those affected by the Japanese Earthquakes recently. I pray that they will find the strength to weather the storms ahead of them and I urge you all to donate to the Red Cross Appeal.

Trust in humanity is all we have.

Lady S.

You'll be the melody, I'll be the harmony,
I'll be the rhythm and you'll be the beat.
You'll be the neutron, I'll be the proton,
I'll be the bitter and you'll be the sweet.

I'll be the 'love', you'll be the 'always',
You'll be the umbrella on our rainy days,
You'll be the fire and I'll be the matches,
I'll be the red that appears on your cheek in patches.

You'll be the song, I'll be the dance,
I'll be the spark of this crazy romance,
I'll be the dimple, you'll be the smile,
You'll be my Romeo of this Shakespeare gone wild.

I'll be your Lizzy, you'll be my Darcy,
You'll be the cake and I'll be the party.
I'll be the reflection, you'll be the mirror,
And we'll both be anything to make this poem cheesier.

Inspired by the amazing movie 'Griff the Invisible'.

Ophelia

Ophelia lies in her watery grace,
The beautiful flower of this wretched place,
In a poisoned castle mopes a poisoned prince,
Wedding and funeral,
Haven't seen him since,
Ophelia waits out her
Lover's pain,
But there is all to lose,
And nothing to gain.

Ophelia lies in her watery place,
Contaminated by madness,
Beauty gone to waste.
In a miserable tower our miserable lord is trapped
On a suicidal road his infected mind has mapped,
Ophelia waits out her
Lover's pain,
But there is all to lose,
And nothing to gain.

Ophelia lies in her watery bed,
All sense gone,
Insanity left in its stead.
In a bitter palace our bitter prince plots
Our sick twisted story of paradise lost,
Ophelia waits out her
Lover's pain,
But there is all to lose,
And nothing to gain

Ophelia lies in her watery grave,
In Hamlet's bittersweet gamble,
Ophelia's life was staked.
In a poisoned place our poisoned prince will die,
But Ophelia cannot weep as the dead do not cry.
Ophelia waited out her
Lover's pain,
But now there is nothing to lose,
And nothing to gain.

Chums.

I ventured bravely to the other side of the river a few days back, to the part of town where I used to live. And, because Perth is pathetically small and decent malls are hard to come by, I naturally saw quite a few schoolmates from primary school.

This is a very loose interpretation of the word 'mate', here. Actually, it's a loose interpretation on the word 'school', too - such a word normally implies a place where you actually learn something.

But it's odd, how people grow in your absence. Voices become deeper and deeper, until all of your childhood sweethearts speak like Darth Vader. The fat ones become skinny, the skinny ones becme fat. Hair and spots erupt in places you'd never imagine the hot guy to succumb to. The pious ones take vulgar pictures for their IM display pictures, and the free spirits become grounded and tied down by reality. It's truly fascinating.

I can't believe some of the stories I hear about the people I grew up with. Some of them are so bizarre I cannot put face to scandal, but, what happens happens.

Out of the ninety or so people who graduated in the class of '08, I am one of only three who eventually made it to Perth Modern. It wasn't because I was any better, it was because I dared to be better. There were so many, some far greater than I could ever dream to be, who chose not to take the fantastic opportunity, because it wasn't where the herd was going. It's sad.

Of course, sometimes my teenageness gets the better of me and I feel like they've made the wiser decisions. They've got cliques, friends, boyfriends, things I can only dream of - and I'm not ashamed to say I dream of them. I have given up everything, it seems, to battle to where I have gotten now. Every day stares and glares are shot in my direction, and sometimes I am brushed aside and ignored altogether. I hardly feel like the champion at the moment, but there are better things to come. Rochester and Darcy weren't sixteen year old schoolboys, and the dearest of friends are rarely made in the schoolyard. But still, I never expected to be so lonely.

But then I think about what they've given up - and what they'll have to give up if they want to stay like this, just one of the many. I have so much ahead of me, just by being who I am. And what I aim for are things that are dependable, reliable - grades, scholarships, universities. And what I want is the hard stuff, to say I've done this - certificates, trophies. I've always found it easier, in this world where there is nothing to rely on but what I can do. Because in other things, where you have to rely on people...well, people are less than reliable. If I fall, I at least want the satisfaction of saying it was all me, whether I win or lose. People are the weak link in my armour.

I am a naked soul. I've put myself out there, for all to see. And nudity of all sorts is a taboo in society. My chums probably understand this better than I do.

Butterfly

The sad truth is
You judge my butterfly
By my chrysalis.

The whole truth is
I'm a butterfly
I'll spread my wings
And you'll see how beautiful I was inside
My chrysalis.

The real truth is
I'm a caterpillar now,
And I'm an ugly little wild child now,
But I will be a butterfly,
And I'll fly away.

The pure truth is
You're a dirty little moth and I'm a
Butterfly,
Butterfly,
One day I'll find my
Dragonfly,
Firefly,
And butterfly;
To fly,
Fly,
Fly,
Fly,
Fly with me,
And you'll see that what you judge is
Just my chrysalis.

I'm a butterfly,
Butterfly,
Locked in a chrysalis
But someday
I'm going to
Fly,
Fly,
Fly,
Fly,
And you can't fly with me.

My Happy Ending.

There was a time when
Men were poets,
When men gave roses,
And sang of love.

This is a time that
I feel I've been cheated of,
I want to wear the velvet gown,
I want to wear a golden crown.

I want to be in a time where
Love isn't so cheap.
I want my balcony scene,
I want my bonny prince,
I want...

My happy ending.

David Attenborough

I have been watching David Attenborough nature documentaries for as long as I can remember.

And David Attenborough is a legend.

I constantly stipulate that I do not 'hate' sciences, and I do have some interest in them - it's just that I prefer to others to do the research and to tell me about them, wherelse in humanities and the social sciences I prefer it the other way around. Although I must admit that there is one particular science that I really don't care for, either as a teacher or a student - mathematics. I'm fascinated by biology and, ignorant as I am of the complexities of them, of natural phenomena. But numbers are just numbers to me, pretty little squiggles. Only in double math classes, they're not so pretty.

Anyway, so much of what I know of animals and the intricacies of nature come largely from David Attenborough's cult-status docos. There's something really wonderful about him - his passion and drive to pursue what he finds 'interesting' and 'fascinating', but also a distinct air that his talents and contributions are rather unappreciated - and this is the only time I will criticise an artist's recognition in comparison to that of a scientist. David Attenborough's brother, The Lord Attenborough, is an actor. Granted, a very good one, but he has received so many awards and honours and styles it is as if he saved the world with his thumbnail and a shoebox, or something. I mean, the *Lord* Attenborough. What was wrong with good ol' *Sir*?

But the greatest thing about David Attenborough is that he simply doesn't care. He simly doesn't care that half the world believes he's loony and that's half-true. He doesn't care for state-of-the-art technology, and he doesn't understand the point of theatre (ironic, considering his brother is (The Lord) Richard Attenborough).

I wish I had the courage to be so different. The world will remember David Attenborough - not just because of what he can do, but he had the courage to dare to do it. If I don't pluck a similar sort of courage, not a soul will remember me. And that is what I am most afraid of.

The Lazy Girl's Iced Coffee

Something I make when it's too hot for a hot coffee, you can't be stuffed getting the proper stuff from a cafe and you're more inclined to induldge your tastebuds than save your waistline.

The Lazy Girl's Iced Coffee:

1 Glass, moderately large, capable of containing small amounts of boiling water without cracking.
A generous splash of boiling water
Instant coffee powder, to taste
Sugar, to taste
Ice cubes
Vanilla ice cream
Milk

Place coffee powder and sugar into glass (iced coffee must have a 1:1 ration of coffee:sugar, as sugar is less potent in cold drinks) and add enough hot water to dissolve both. Add one ice cube and stir until fully dissolved, and repeat until the ice cube takes a considerable length of time to dissolve and the glass is cool to the touch. Add desired amount of ice cream and top up with milk and/or water. Stir.

Flat white: half water/half milk
Latte: milk only
Macchiato: water with a dash of milk
Affogato: ice cream only
Americano: water only
Cappuccino: make a latte or a flat white, then take a straw and blow bubbles.
Bad-arse: Replace either water or milk with liqueur.

Normal iced coffee: One teaspoon coffee/one teaspoon sugar
Strong coffee: Two teaspoons coffee/ two teaspoons sugar
Good girl's coffee: Two teaspoons coffee/one teaspoon sugar
Bad girl's coffee: One teaspoon coffee/two teaspon sugar
All-nighter: Three teaspoons coffee/three teaspoons sugar
Mocha: One teaspoon coffee/one teaspoon sugar/one teaspoon hot chocolate powder
Need an excuse to chuck a sicky tomorrow, and the year after that: four teaspoons coffee/four teaspoons sugar

Come in, Join the Queue

Five foot six inches,
Come in,
Join the queue.
Eighteen and a bit,
Come in,
Join the queue.
Fit and tall,
Young and strong,
Come in,
Join the queue. 

A boy unmarried,
Still in school,
Come in,
Join the queue.
A mother's only son,
The father's in the grave,
Come in,
Join the queue.
A boy of luxury,
Still at home,
Come in,
Join the queue.

Five foot six inches,
Is that all?
What about brains and heart and brawn?
Did anyone notice that
Boys are just boys,
And soldiers should be nothing to them but nursery toys.
Did anyone notice that
Children are not men,
And neither man nor child 
Deserves a blood-stained end.

If there should be another war,
Just know that
A war is a war between flags and guns,
Not between lives who have barely begun,
Don't tell them it's exciting,
Or trick them into thinking it's right,
Don't rob a nursery of a filled bed tonight.
These are our boys,
Country born and bred,
Don't send them away
To the dark abyss of death.


Against child soldiers and propoganda for underaged conscription.

Shopping Black.

There's this term in America called 'shopping black'. It basically refers to the (sad) phenomenon that black people are sometimes subject to blatant rascism in upmarket stores. This can include rascism, rascist remarks, ignoring the black customer in favour of white customers, and asking them to leave or be searched based on their appearance. Statistics show that casually-dressed black women on their own are more likely to be targeted.

This is just disgusting. It happens here, too - I call it 'shopping Asian'. You walk into an upmarket store, even an upmarket restaurant, and they treat you with this condescension. I've seen people - all kinds of people who don't conform to the blonde/blue norm - people who are black, Asian, wearing ethnic or unusual clothing, who have big boobs or physical deformities - stared at and treated differently. Even in school - Asian girls are usually passed over for girlfriends in favour of white girls, even if the general consensus is that the Asian girl is prettier/nicer/smarter than the white girl.

We are all human beings. I was born a girl - don't judge me for it. I was born Asian - don't judge me for it. I was born a bit different to you - don't juge me for it.

Don't judge me, or anyone else.

Woman vs. Man.

I like to play fight sometimes.

There's no real harm to it, but there's this one girl who puts me in a headlock every time she sees me playfully shove someone. I've never made anybody bleed, and I've never made anyone cry because of it. Okay, one time I did, but that was to get me in trouble after I yelled at him for making one of my friends cry. So that doesn't really count.

But people don't understand that women can be the perpertrators of violence too, which is sad.

I blame mass media. We see girls hitting guys all the time, in movies, in TV shows, whatever. Which is probably where my play-fighting habit comes from, but some people take it waay too seriously. It's never okay for anyone to hit anyone with the intention to cause harm.

Some men take umbrage at this double standard. If women are all on about women's rights, why are they still picking on men? This is nitpicking, of course - only a small percentage of women are man-bashers, just like only a small percentage of men hit women - but it is true. We simply don't care about aggressive women the way we care about aggressive men.

If women want to be on par with men, then they have to be held to the same standards. If men want to be on par with women, then they have to be held to the same standards too. Bashing is okay in women, bashing is not okay in men, that's got to go. And the more trivial has to go, too - 'of course she has to shave her legs! She's a woman!' That's outta line, too.

Men and women aren't equal, not yet. We have to start working on the problems and stop pretending like they don't exist.

Crying Blood.

Premature years of fertility
Are wasted on years of 'not meant to be',
A belly swollen but bereft of a child.

Premature years of adversity
Are wasted on years of absent comraderie,
Each wasted curve of each wasted breast.

The clock has started before the shot of the starting gun,
My time's up before I've run,
My life will end before it has truly begun.

It's like keeping pace with a small child
Who has so many years of running wild,
And as I wait I am an old woman dying
In a body of a young woman crying
Blood.

nostalgia.

Never thought about it before, but now I'm
On my own
Sometimes I wonder about a nonexistant
Time when you and I are youandI. I think
About what
Life could be like with you.
Green grass,
In love...
Anyway, it was never meant to be.