You knew it!!!

"You're in love. Don't deny it. You've been sighing all day."

I'm a "Citizens for Boysenberry Jam" fan

Soundtrack to exams? SIMON & GARFUNKEL!!!!!!!

These songs have practically been played on repeat from the week before mocks to now and without a doubt till my last exam (the date of which I do not know<----- my mum finds this a reason to rage at me)

1)Punky's Dilemma
Why? Because I'd without a doubt prefer to be a Kellogg's cornflake or an english muffin instead of a WACE student. Oh to be just floating in my bowl, talking movies, relaxing, living in style, talking to a raisin, casually glancing at his toupee...


2) At The Zoo
Why? because you know what, I do believe it's true that's it's all happening at the zoo. I bet it's all happening anywhere other than my bloody desk!

3) El Condor Pasa
Why? because during exams I feel like a nail being hammered and I really would rather be a hammer than a nail and I'd rather sail away from it all like a swan and I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet instead of the thousands of sheet of loose notes.

4) The Only Living Boy In New York
Why? because I wish that everything I needed to know I could get from the weather report. I wish I had nothing to do today but smile. Da-n-da-da-n-da-da-n-da-da

5)Blessed
Why? "blessed are the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on... blessed are the meth drinkers, pot sellers, illusion dwellers... blessed are the penny rookers, cheap hookers, groovy lookers"... year twelves...

6) I Am A Rock
Why? because the lyrics are creepily fitting: "I am alone, Gazing from my window to the streets below. I have my books to protect me; hiding in my room. I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock, I am an island."

Seriously, what gets me through exams is wishing I was an english muffin about to make the most out of a toaster. I'd ease myself down, come up brown. It makes me feel so happy. Like a smiling Axolotl. :)

My island home

The first time I gripped the sheets. It was morning, the dawn of, not a new day, but an old day, those days. It wasn't two steps forwards, one step back. Nor one step forward, two steps back. It was twice around the world, to the core, to the moon, through a black hole and back. just back. to here. to where I am now. To where I am right now writing this. The first time I gripped the sheets and held on so tight. My heavy sheets, my heavy mattress, my empty but heavy self. between the sheets rested two weeks, the downpour of the night before. I couldn't leave my bed that morning. I covered it all. stretched out. rolled. hugged. I wrapped a chain around me and it. even though I was back here that night That Night and I shared it all, we pulled each other into the spiral of pain and life. Of what was and is. So even though I was here I couldn't leave my bed, I did. Somehow I broke my back and that's why I am still here now. Why I am
where I am
right now
writing
this
.

The first time I got the tiredness I got it bad. It lasted so long and it took so much of my time away from me. I remember this woman who I love so much and who I call my Second Mother when I really mean Other Mother, like she's a horrible secret of mine who I must hide from the real world, from society, from my family. Someone who I should feel guilty for knowing and having and for knowing and having these feelings towards. Other Mother knew something was wrong, said I couldn't hide it from her.

Other Mother most likely won't be here for me anymore. Not now at least. Not today. Not when Mother says, "why do you look so sad... why won't you answer me?" "I don't know what to say" "what? ARE you sad?" She is intrusive and cruel and a stone cold statue. She isn't living because she doesn't breath. Instead she huphs, in and out, no way like fluid, not like air, not like a person should. And she doesn't talk. She knows not of language. She half gasps. Once, twice then will launch into a pre prepared attack, however strategical, however not masterminded.

This is the second time. I am tired and sad. I feel like I was simply encouraged off but different things, different people, different like mother came and changed it, made it that I'd been spat out of a mouth when she meant to strategically encourage me. I don't want to be awake. I want to be in bed. Because I got out of bed prematurely will I forever be tired. Tired. every morning, everynight. Today I wonder if that's it now. The opposite of homeward bound. I can't even say outward bound because that lies too close to home.

Like Islands in an ocean. I find one, deserted soul and desert island. A comfortable crook in the corner. In one large large so very large home. As big as the ocean. with such capacity. I am an island. I am a castle with a moat. I am barricaded. There's a wall around me. walls. walls in the ocean? walls in the ocean. The lost city of Atlantis. The city that sank into the ocean in a single day and night of missfortune. sinking, missfortune. However someone told of the legend, someone made it a legend. This is my city. I am the walls'. I am theirs. but saddly today, I am tired.

Save the life of my childhood

Ever since... well you know I can't really say when. The obvious point was year six but then I think of year five, year four, man year three especially I only fucked around. That seems stupid to say; an eight year old fucked around in school, but that's how it was for me.
My parents should have named me trouble because that's what I am to them, that's how they see me. Or have set a sign on my bedroom door declaring the inside land Trouble then they could answer when someone asked where I was most of the time, "she's in trouble". However most often I am in school. The same school in fact. This is my thirteenth year. Now, I don't remeber much about life before school- I have a few memories of kindy and other earlier ones which I must suspect only to be implanted from photographs, dreams, imagination and home videos rather than actually being my own. So School, in particular this one school, has been so far, my entire life; all that I have ever known. It is where I mostly am. Therefore I think it'd be in the best interest of my parents' humor to have enrolled me into Trouble rather than this other institution. I am in the institution, I am in trouble. That's my life. So since this is how my parents see me, I can only say to you and hope you understand that from my upbringing, from how my parents impressioned me, that in year three I really did fuck around.
Year two I just remeber comeing late from lunch one day and having to sit a fractions test that I hadn't studied for. I remember it so well, trying to wing and cheat my way through it. Year one I remember it was the spelling tests, searching the room for a poster with that certain word on it.
You see I cannot quite find the point in my life when I began slacking off in school. All I can see is that I am me through and through. Just then, I thought of all my school years and cannot help seeing me in it all. No shit. but I mean seeing the things I do now. It's like seeing my hands in photographs; I know they're my hands but why do they have to looks so fucking much like my hands!

Famguy1

Family Guy is one of those shows I watched the fuck out of a couple years back and then got sick of about two years later. It's sort of like the same way I treat whatever I put on my toast, I have favourites that are on high rotation Vegemite, Nutella and Peanut Butter. I always pick them up again though, so perhaps I will pick up Family Guy again. Other runner ups in choices of what to put on toast: pb and j, sugar and butter, honey and butter. Although sadly the days of jam and butter have just never quite had a strong enough come back. My oh my was it a good run though.

I'm hoping to open up my heart again... (I didn't intend to write about my eating habits)

"And it's not so much I want to "kill" her. It's just I want her not to be alive anymore."

Get back to me

I can't shake the feeling,
that you're still on my back.

All of you.
Fuckers.
Coming into my dreams

The first of many buts

She said to me with her eye brows lifted and glasses tipped low on her nose, "Boy, have I got a lesson to teach you." Both of her hands spread on the table - such stubby fingers for a beautiful girl.

I sat there butting into every second word. "But...", "... yeah but", "I'm sorry but". I didn't realise I was being rude. I could hardly help it, I don't think she even heard me speak. I didn't even have to be there. She was speaking for herself, a one man show, and no one had to be there but herself. These words they flowed as if she was coming to her own self-realisation in those very moments. But (I apologise that I have begun this sentence with a but, connecting nothing to this) her words, holy mother of god, holy mother of all things sacred and, and fuck, those words they had be going, they had be tearing, they had me. What I'm trying to say, I mean what I've been meaning to say is that what she said was too honest to have just sprung out of her mouth and arrived at my ears just then and there. I realised that she had known this for a while now, I could tell after that hour that each word had a weight.

She kept speaking as if I had no last name; untraceable in a world of Smiths.

Hairy situation

Alright guys check this out... WHO IS GOING TO BUY THIS? Come back here when you're finished having a look.

http://www.etsy.com/listing/57643101/a-lock-of-dark-brown-human-hair

Hopefully you had a look at that before you cheated by reading this you loser! I bet you bought it... just like when people buy full body...

Hold up 'em up

How sick are these electricity towers?

Hopeless romantic

The most annoying thing about Transperth is that I actually love it. Similar to how the second most annoying thing about it is that you have to pay and yet I can't bring myself to use the cheaper alternative to coins, the smart rider, just because I've grown to love buying myself tickets. "Hi may I please have a sixty cent ticket"
[fuck you now it's seventy cents. my life will never be the same. truthfully.]
But Transperth drivers and guards can sometimes be such big cunts, like today.

I won't go into it because everyone knows what they can be like.

But as I mentioned, what's annoying is that I love Transperth. I can't help it, I'm so dependant on it.

And I also can't help but think of those super cool drivers or the ones who let you on when you're chasing after it or the classic Australia Day experience.

January 26 2010 I was on my bus to the city and everyone was drinking beer. Not even secretly. Some guy even did somersaults around the hand rails and the driver just laughed. I mean it, he laughed!

ahh Transperth, what am I going to do with you or more importantly my ridiculous obsession with loving you or less importantly those fines you love to treat me with.

shall i ignore the irrationality of my emotions and devotions like I ignore your threats?

It's true, I call your bluff but you'll always make me blush (L)

Re: sluts, the results are in

Ever dropped you phone in the toilet? I never have but yet all I ever hear is about people doing it, they're so open about it, like it's no longer all the cool kids' dirty little secret. No more are there rows of cars up on the hillside with their windows steamy but rather cubicle after cubicle after cubicle letting slip a slurping sound. I guess I gotta get with the times and not be so frigid.

The thing about dropping an iPhone in the toilet, however, is that for some reason it results in you drinking your own piss.

I don't quite understand how it works myself but this girl I know dropped her iPhone in the toilet. When she took it out she noticed a little hole which her piss must have gotten into and was probably fucking up her phone's insides. She then decided the only way to get the piss out was to suck it out with her mouth. mmmmm

The phone never ever worked again. soooo wooorth it...

SPRING CLEANING

I've just caught onto BlogBear's actions and am too endeavouring to expose all our little secrets which we thought we could hide in the closet, supress and hopefull never ever have to confront again. Here, let's expose those drafts which never got to see the light of day. They're not all dirty so don't worry, or do...

Less than < Sweeter than

Originally written on the 14th of April.

17 is arguably sweeter than 16. I like the solid sound that the word 17 makes when you say it.

I’m seventeen. Se-ven-teen. Young and sweet, only 17. Sixteen standing next to seventeen seems so young in comparison. I don't care what they say, 17 trumps.

I like where I’ve come from a year ago. I like what I thought I'd be like at this age when I was a kid. Sometimes we catch ourselves being exactly who we used to look up to, who we intended to be.

I wonder if we’re not living out our wild youth like we should.

Secretly sticking a strip of material on your shoes so you could strike your match to light your cigarette. Planting a doll face down in your bed before you sneak out. Draining alcohol into weird assortment of bottles.. of baby oil. That makes me laugh, who does that? I may.. or may not have.

Lost property

Originally written on 17/2/10.

Hey, my name is, and I am hot.

I lost the girl I'm fucking on the weekend.

I didn't emotionally lose her, I physically lost her.

You may see her in the gutter, and if found please return her to me.

She has the following:

- blonde hair

- a skinny body (but the kind of skinny fat that shakes when I slap her on the ass)

- a wardrobe that consists of non-generically skanky clothes (but must still be appealing enough for my friends to also find her attractive)

- a love for animal print

- a lack of spelling or grammar in her writing

- the right amount of cellulite on her knees

- lots of photography of herself

- long blonde hair (wait, shit, did I already say that?)

- a face that only looks good from one angle

- that angle must be birds eye view (cos i'm tall too)

- a deceiving personality

- a strong taste for tackiness

- previous experiences in parks

- a knack for photoshopping facebook photos

- a good lip pout or purse in photos

- a liking for excessive smiley faces and exclamation marks on the wide webular networkia

- nothing else

Actually, this is quite important as I was at a music festival on the weekend

and well I lost her amongst all the other girls that fill the descriptions above.

It's been two days and I'm quite horny by now, I mean I'm quite worried by now.

Be a lad and send her right back at me, or on me.

To all the deluded females out there:

Hello ladies and very gentlemen. I wrote this whilst in Vietnam. I wrote it on the 13th of January this year. I don't know if it's finished... I can't be bothered reading it but enjoy.

Yo gabba gabba,

This is a little perspective for those out there that think that they've got problems in their teenage relationships. My cousin who's a 16 year old girl happened to reveal to my cousin that she was being beaten up by her boyfriend of 21 years.

P.S. hi dirtbag this seems to be the only way to communicate with you. hope you're sick as a dick because i'm a vomitting vagina ;)

Foreword:

Some say that there is nothing like being in love and some others say that theres nothing else like being held by a noose in a relationship. See the thing with women is they take abuse like no other. Think about it, how many men do you know that come home to an angry toothless wife who meets his kiss with a wooden rolling pin? A law student once told me all about this, it's called Battered Womens Syndrome (BWS), and it's basically when a woman can not leave an abusive relationship. I kid you not, that is what it's called. It's meant to be because of two main reasons: numero uno is economic reliance and numero duo is threats made to the woman, the womans family, or friends. Remember on The O.C. when Theresa got hit by Eddie and she was all, "It's simple, your boyfriend hits you, you leave him." then Sandy is all, "It's never that simple". That really, really, really sucks. Why does it have to suck like literal cock for women so much?

Introduction:

Here in Vietnam I have a 16 year old cousin who gets reguarly beaten by her 21 year old boyfriend. She revealed this to us one night, we asked her why and she said common things such as not being friendly with his 21 year old nether regions or forgetting to hug him when saying goodbye (and women are meant to be needy?).

Prologue:

So one night her boyfriend is confronted by a relation to me who was drunk, he asked the boyfriend simply: Do you beat The Battered Woman? He answered simply: Yes. Funny thing is The Battered Woman was there as this conversation started but her boyfriend told her to leave and go back into the house as it was "a man's conversation". After she left things got riled up because the Woman Beater thought he and this guy were all buddy-buddy friends. Later enter stage left my uncle who, true story, once took on a group of men who were trying to steal his wallet but he was later beaten to a pulp and somehow managed to keep his wallet (I would just give the wallet).

Act 1:

Alright so this Woman Beater was being a "cheeky cunt" and throws a punch at my uncle who is now very angry and very riled up being held back by a group of men. The Woman Beater runs away as he realises he is out numbered.

Act 2:

Give it about 15 minutes of women running around being gatherers and men being hunters then enter the Woman Beater again except this time on a motorcycle. Now... what did he want to achieve by this I do not know, "eat my dust suckerrrrrrrrrrrsssssss" ?, anyway he gets sidekicked by the relation of mine as he zip zip zips by on his vehicle.

Act 3:

Now give it another 15 minutes of conspiracy of whether he will return and then he returns except this time with a friend and a long metal pole. I who at the the time was pretty chilled wondered downstairs for a drink of water when I hear all this screaming, I see these two guys with this pole and all that comes to my mind is the exact words, "What the fuck are you doing you fucking cunts?!". My heart was beating like a bazillion miles an hour, they'd sucessfully beaten up this poor old man who tries to convince us that he is okay whilst he bleeds prefusely from his head. Now... people are very angry.

Act 4:

The parents of the Woman Beater is called in but they really have no control over their son whatsoever, they aren't very apologetic at all to be honest. Enter two cops from the main alleyway, here to supposably "defend". Now Enter the Woman Beater holding a motherlickin' machete on the back of a motorcycle accompanied by a friend. He attempts to slice a cop but then zips away.

Act 5:

The morning after. The cops have stayed the whole night. Things must be dealt with at the police station. The funny thing is the Battered Woman pleas on the side of her abusive boyfriend going as far as telling the cops that it was her own uncle that threw the first punch not her boyfriend. The Woman Beater is in the shit and to be thrown into jail (you really shouldn't slice up the police because if you "fuck the po-lice" then you'll be singing "popo shut us dowwwwwwwwwn"). He now realises anal rape is not his thing and offers to apologize -"it's toooooooooo laaaaaaaaaaaate to apologize". Enter my uncle into the scene to straighten things out. Now the only thing left is for his parents to plea, and by plea I mean by giving the cops some dough, this is by no means a bail or a fine this is a bribe and this is how you escape jail in any system with a corrupt police force.

Act 6:

The Battered Woman stays with the Woman Beater. Happily never after.

Elude:

Oh my god she's an idiot... during this whole ordeal she was actually enjoying the attention. To me this is fucked, and if I were her I would be beyond embarrassed. My abusive boyfriend comes to my house, threatens my family, beats up a family friend, punches my uncle, attempts to machete a cop and all in all creates a fiasco all in the space of midnight to about three or four in the morning. It started off as a simple seek of condolence and attention which ended with her looking very dim. Fact: as Lulu, her and I were standing on the roof top admiring the situation below she asked me if I had any pills that could kill her. Yes... whilst I was packing my bag to Vietnam I thought, "Hang on, I'll pack some of my back up suicidal pills just in case communism really is as bad as they say."

I personally think that she should NOT be a sufferer of BWS because she's only 16 and really does have the choice to leave. She's not Allie and he's not Noah. She should think about what she wants, not what he wants, not what her parents wnt. What. Does. She. Want. As Allie said, it's not that easy. It's not just the physically damaging relationships that are like this, it's the emotionally painful wars that go along unheard. The thing is not only women but teenage girls are often trapped in the vicious cycle of a relationship thats gone to shit. When the ratio of happiness to sadness is overtaken by all the little things that frustrate you, that make you cry, that makes your blood boil. This is when you need to make a choice, I think, to either put your heart into working things out or exit before things get uglier, or choose C (popular with naive girls) stay in the relationship with the mindless hope that you can change him and that you are happy.

I guess when you love someone then the choice to break up is difficult because you've made that person a part of you and it feels like it'll leave this gaping hole in who you are as a person and your life in general which it probably will but you will realise you can still breathe and isn't that just amazing? "Desperate Women that will Believe Anything"- a possible headline written by Carrie Bradshaw, it's quite right though I think sometimes it can be desperation that leads women to stay in physically or emotionally abusive relationships. I have friends like this, you probably do too and if not there are many films made about people just like this. They say that love makes you blind but heartbreak does as well. People stay in relationships with the very people that do not understand the meaning of fidelity. People who make bad decisons or who hurt others are not bad people; that's a common misconception.

Now ladies, put your feet in the shoes of the Battered Woman and gentlemen put your feet in the shoes of the Woman Beater. Who are you and who do you want to be? All's well that ends well -do you want to be the tradgey or the comedy?

Sodomy is Between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Dirtbag

This one has been here since 11/11 in two thousand and the shining OoOoOOo. It was meant to be after this post: http://nictamere.blogspot.com/2009/11/sodomy-is-between-god-and-me.html that dirtbag posted. We have 70 drafts now... and 69 after I post this one ;) I was meaning to finish this... but that's what I say to just about everything I touch for the past seventeen years of my existence. So here's an unfinished post.

HOW DIRTBAG RUINS ALMOST IF NOT ALL 10 CUMANDMENTS WRITTEN BY BLOGBEAR

1) Thou shalt have no other Gods before me

Dirtbag has two different key chains on her keys, the first one is the World Trade Center key chain that someone left at her party, the second is a golden man wearing a cloak. At first I saw him from behind and figured it was a statue of Jesus and found it fucking weird considering she didn't believe in God and at her communion she only said every second word and also refused to confess any sins. Later I confronted her about this in which she answered, "It's Obi-Wan Kenobi". This shit is blasphemy, it looks exactly like a statue of a God except it's a ficitional character, only a figment of George Lucas' imagination.

2) Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven imagine

3) Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain

Yeah as she's trolling down the corridor do you hear that? Yeah that's Dirtbag calling for God.

4) Keep the Sabbath day holy.

Sunday is not for holiness. Sunday in Dirtbag's books can be for rowing, suffering a hangover, suffering stomach aches but it is not a day for prayer.

5) Honour thy father and thy mother.

If you knew Dirtbag, you'd snigger right now. You know how people say, "I was abused as a child?". Yeah well, Dirtbag's mum could say, "I was abused as an adult."

6) Thou shalt not kill.

Blogbear, "But at three months a baby has a heart beat!"

Dirtbag, "Yeah so what? You'd kill a person. Why can't you have an abortion?"

Blogbear, "I wouldn't kill a person..."

Dirtbag, "What?! Since when?"

7) Thou shalt not steal.

There might be more than one example I can use here but simply: She has more than one copy of every lit book. May I ask how you got these, Dirtbag?

8) Do not lie

9) Thou shalt not commit adultery

10) Fuck... looks like I didn't even find the 10th cummandment, but I have a bigger worry in my mind which is: WHERE IN THE WORLD IS CARMEN SAN DIEGO?

Yeah Dirtbag you are disgusting, you're bound to "GOOOES TO HADES" and you know what? I've loved you so long.

Library Follow-up

Blogbear note: In an effort to clear up our drafts, here's something that's been lying around since 9/8/09. Dirtbag doesn't know I'm posting this but uh, she probably won't mind... would be awkward if she does. This post is in relation to this post: http://nictamere.blogspot.com/2009/08/vibe-at-libe.html

We were at the library and decided to checkout "The Place". Seemed pretty cool you know, it had it's own five year old spokesperson who i found really relatable to, speaking as a library frequenter. She seemed happy and so her personal message of "i found my place at The Place" enticed me to go see what called for this rave review.

It's pretty sick and we had the whole mazzanene level for ourselves; un solied by those with the soiled pants. There's all these cool kinds of chairs there and a mass stack of books, like double my height, it made BlogBear feel really paranoid- insecure prick.

We also picked out all the best places to have sex, a thought process which is often opted as a form of distraction to work. That's the beauty of The Place, best form of procrastionation in the best place for it. Anyways so there's a small cubby house which would be perfect and this ledge which runs across the whole outside wall so you could be beant over and be able to look out the window to ;). The best place would be this small room which is like an interogation room. It's got a display set up of paper houses which kids have made and invites you to contribute to this city. Yeh you bet we will.
Coming soon: Dirtbag and BlogBear's own installments to their current Shitville. We're gonna daunt them so good with our motherfucking towers!!! yeh okay so we'll get onto that.

After playing dressups we hit up the old colouring in table. That was when Mrs Grown-up approached, asked us where our "little ones" were. i told her we didn't have any. Aarrrrghh and so we met her red lazer eye beams of pedophile suspicion. "oh, you've gotta have kids to be here" she says. "we are kids" i tell her, "we're only like thirteen anyway". she kinda then backed off hell wierdly cause i don't think she wanted to start anything. I then continued with my colouring in.
BlogBear started to kick up a fuss being all like "leeeet's stuuuuudyyyy. i wanna strain my brain. i wanna learn shit. come on. Dirtbaaaaag, knowledge caaaaalllss me. I wanna conform to my motherland's stereotype. cooooomeeee oooon" and shit like that. Some whiny bitch isn't gonna pull me away from my distractions and so i continued to keep within the lines.

check it out

[I'm assuming Dirtbag intended to post something here]

The chick is hell cool with her blue hair. There's a really good story behind my artwork. The girl is clearly a girl but the monster behind her actually represents a sexual predator and the fire depicted on his flesh is the fire of his sexual desires. His nose thing resembles a penis and he's chasing her with it but she's smiling, ya know, and blushing, so although she's running from him, she secrettly wants his warmth. and that's that.