A sense of place.

There's a ventriloquist dummy rotting in a trash can, the glass eyes have been worn away but they still have feeling, a soul echoing out their steely grey into the neon industrial valley. A harsh pink shines on a door but accidentally lights up the whole damn place. A raven, a rook, a blackbird, a crow, whatever, is trapped, reveling in the cold luminance. It caws, one, twice, and again, grating against the walls. Walls, smeared with ink of a thousand colours all faded to a darkened grey, refuse the bird further audience, no echo. Echoes of the ones who slept there, carried by the inertia of their only known lives, and the loved one not quite there at all, still willing to give no audience to the neon pink. Just a hitchhiker on the wheels of time, spinning to life, spinning to death, grinding against the steely grey eyes of the ventriloquist doll.

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We did that 'creating place' exercise two years ago, except I kind of didn't, arrogant shit that I was. Revisiting, I rather enjoyed that.

Quick log entry? Quick log entry.

A quarter of the holidays over, about that, probably, what have I done? What haven't I done?! Infinite things compared to what I have done, frankly. City on Saturday to see Jason, which was eventful, but simultaneously nerve-gratingly banal. That tends to be a rather distinct pattern.

Sunday and Monday, did fuck all socially speaking. Got all my French work done, played a shit-tonne of Pokemon. A veritable shit-tonne.

Tuesday. Out by 7:45 to beat the delays created by the floods. That awkward moment when Melbourne weather patterns develop acute schizophrenia, yeah, that happened Monday night. Anyway, meeting at MSHC (Melbourne Sexual Health Centre) to discuss the Hyper Study. Went well. Went really well in fact. Onward to Minus at 12 for pre-event crew stuff which went rather swimmingly. Headed off to Parkville at 2:45 for my lecture. Lecture was nice, lots of noise making as expected from a phonology lecture. Right, back to Minus, which had already started, did my rounds, heckled James, more rounds, danced like a total whore (to Rebecca Black I might add), more rounds, drop-off. Got home, promptly collapsed.

Wednesday. MOAR POKEMON. Pokemon will be the sole blame if I fail year 12. Got my eyes tested; my left eye is slowly deteriorating, apparently it's not perfectly round. Well, shit. Got some new frames picked out, new specs should be ready for pick up in about 4 days. Off to my tute at Parkville, easy as bru. Got home, WC3, and here I am mindlessly recounting the events of the past few days.

Brilliant.