Cheers for the 'agapanthus', Rosily.

One follow. Cool. Of course it's Jason, no one else knows I have a blog. Still, not disappointed. Okay fine, Rosily. You know I have a blog, but only because you're sitting next to me. Hi, Rosily.
Hello Ollie!!!!!! wow awesome cool smart real
Rosily, meet Blogspot. Blogspot, meet Rosily. Good, now we're all acquainted, let's get on with it. I really should not be blogging in the library: "I'm going to put my thoughts on the internet, no one will read them then. Yeah!" Epiphany! Someone may actually, at some point in space and time, by chance or not, read some of this. Fuck. Will I start thinking more about what I put here? Nah, fuck that, I'm too busy to organise some kind of filtering process; places to avoid, people to not see. That element of, well, not anonymity, but writing without purpose, that was nice. Purpose is the last thing I want, I don't want to start posting essays here, purpose implies structure, purpose gives meaning. A pure aestheticism is what I'm going for, writing for the sake of writing like the horrible wanker that I am. So, no, nothing will change the content save myself. A blog can't be invaded because it's just my thoughts, which can be invaded even less so. Blogspot feels too much like home to start worrying about it.
Bye, bye.

-

Agapanthus,
Flowers, antlers!
A purity of form,
Removed from man-made norms,
And all the while weathering
The ghastly human storm,
Neat rows, chaos throws
A punch or two at the orderly show,
Dig, dig, dig!
Plant the twigs!
Let the colour flourish,
But never allow it
To escape,
Never let the order cease,
Just a wild fake.

-

Do other people know about this? Do they read it? Comments?

I was an angsty (if not eloquent) 15 year old.

Breathe, breathe, breathe...

I don't want it,
But I need it,
To feel this satisfaction,
I'm a bit sick,
Call the medic,
I can't handle this interaction,
Cagey answers,
No romancers,
I've given up to my inaction,
For another,
Day to pass,
Give me my God-damned sanction,

You don't feel this anymore,
Sinking through this second skin,

I don't want it,
But I need it,
To feel alive again,

No movement,
We've been fooled in,
How can we solve this dillemna?
If I can find it,
If we can sight it,
We'll be happy forever,
Cataclysmic,
This intrinsic,
Fluctuating demeanor,
Go on, bite it,
I can't fight it,
You couldn't do much better

Look! There I am,

On that pedestal to be,

You reach high,

Stretch your limbs,

That pedestal is all you see,

Pillar of worth,

Above an Earth,

Condemnèd by the masses,

An unearthly figure, all the bigger

High above the Earthly gases,

Better for the taunting,

Push him up, drag him down,

Give him fame and mortal wealth,

It's the pressure that will drown,

A pedestal's a useful thing,

To point, to laugh, to stare,

But that figure you condemn to a life

Of expectation and of strife?

Well, you put him there.

Unfold,

Recoil,

Unfold,

The time resets,

Tick,

March,

One!

March,

Two!

March,

Three!

Halt!

The time resets,

Tick,

Stop, start,

Beat, heart,

Create! Art,

Throw the darts,

The time resets,

Tick,

Stop, start,

March, halt,

Unfold, recoil,

Stop.

-

-

Not entirely sure what I'm going for here.

Smashing pumpkins and smiling politely.

Nothing left in here,

Nothing left in here,

A hollowed empty place of fear,

Nothing left in here,

And once again,

We'll jump right off the edge,

And once again,

I'll ignore what you have said,

To me,

And once again,

You'll pretend to care at all,

And once again,

You'll be ready for me,

To fall,

Nothing left in here,

Nothing left in here,

A hollowed empty place of fear,

Nothing left in here,

A deepening hole,

A pair of eyes which I cannot,

Recall,

Swallow me whole,

Prepare me for the final end,

Of all,

Nothing left in here,

Nothing left in here,

There's nothing left to see my dear,

Nothing left to fear.

What even...

YESTERDAY WAS THURSDAY,

TODAY IS FRIDAY,

TOMORROW IS SATURDAY,

AND SUNDAY COMES AFTERWARDS.

Art. Pure, unrestricted art right there. I don't think I can even begin to fathom the densely layered symbolism of that, there's too much subtext. What is Friday? Is it a complex, harsh metaphor for impulsivity and teenage abandon? Rebecca Black bared more of her timid, yet powerfully controversial soul in these prodigious gems of songwriting perfection. We see the '-day' theme carried throughout the entire stanza, it foreshadows the untimely demise of the weekend as a being and the futility of our well meaning efforts to provide a safe space for exploration of the self, and at the same time reveals a startling insight into the fast-paced 'she'll be right' culture saturating todays youth.

Pure art.

My good hand is called evil.

For kicks I sprint a mile or two,

For laughs I go for three,

I can cycle up to four, five, six,

But seven gets the best of me,

I could only drive for fourteen miles,

Before I turned around,

But the miles I can gently jog?

Well, hundreds, I have found.

--

WHAT DID THAT MEAN? IT DIDN'T EVEN MEAN ANYTHING. WHAT OF IT? HUH?!

A lie for a lie, a truth for a truth.

And the Mercy Seat is calling,

And to think how I have fallen,

So unjustly, like a martyr on the cross, Christ

Was crucified for want of sin,

And anyway I'm still suffering,

At least he got to leave,

I hear the Mercy Seat a-screaming,

And the bodies dragged still steaming,

A lie for a lie, a truth for a truth,

And eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,

So can you offer any proof,

Or is condemnation fixed?

Through the corridor I shuffle weeping,

But even now I can't stop believing,

That my gods will not forsake me,

Oh! Please won't you just fucking take me

Down to hell, don't let them take my freedom,

It's still God's, and he's never far away.

A most delightful scene

But rather frightful, it would seem,

Another day gone past,

They sure don't last,

Mocking me, as if a dream,

For surely time is certain

And before the final curtain,

All acts must pass in time,

One, two, three! The ordered line

Of time, it seems to me,

Is not quite so orderly,

Where and wherefore the hours run,

It must surely be sublime.

-

Where does the time go? If we take the above as a point of reference, it goes on holiday. Never quite got that: the fact that real time, that is the processes of the world proceeding at the rate at which they always do, and psychological time are never quite, well, in time.

I'm sure atoms have something to do with it. Fucking atoms. The atoms made me do it, sir, those nasty atom twins.

-

So here's the deal. You understand English. Yes, no arguing, keep your trap shut, men are talking. You understand English, your mental grammars and your personal lexicon are more than sufficient for you to communicate in English. You also know enough to have the ability to create an infinite number of sentences, meanings, phrases, new words even. Infinite, without limit. And yet, are there infinite words in English? No. You only know on average 20'000-ish. Measurably finite. As is your knowledge of grammar, finite. There is not an infinite number of rules under which to classify and construct English sentences; you have a set number of elements with which to create meaning. You might not even know that you know these rules of grammar and formation: for example, you can say unhappy, but not unsad. You might not be able to explain why you can't say 'unsad' beyond a simple "you just can't," you can understand what 'unsad' means even though it's not part of English. So there, finite elements, unconscious knowledge of grammar, and yet you have the power to create infinite meanings and sentences. You have the power to create a sentence that has never been created before. EVER.

Ornithology is far inferior to the study of tautology in my opinion.

There, I'll bet no one has ever constructed that sentence before. In thousands and thousands of years of organised and studied language, never ever ever.

ISN'T THAT AMAZING?!

Building steam, cap'n!

First lecture at Melbourne Uni today, pretty quickly managed to lose any chance of respect by identifying myself as an extension student, felt sick the whole time. But it was so much fun.

Despite the obvious fact that it was really just an introductory lecture full of 'you will be expected to's and 'in the event that's, the possibility it represents is maddeningly exciting. I'm behind already, having not received a booklist, and the student portal is down, cool, but OH MY GOD SUNSHINE HAPPINESS THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT.

I don't believe anything will be a problem, I already understand most of the jargon we have to force into our brains from language 1+2. Aren't I just amazing? Go on, it's okay, say that I'm amazing.

On a completely unrelated note:

-

We set sail tonight for distant shores,

Pick your scabs,

Rub your sores,

Pick a partner for the trip,

Don't dare give the captain any lip,

Heave away to distant ports,

The crew is mutinous,

Made of all sorts of gypsies, thieves, liars, cheats,

Bleed the captain in his dreams, asleep no more,

To Davy Jones he'll drift onward to distant shores.