The first - part two!

Wow you really must be starved of entertainment - there's nothing good here - just a warning. Only more of the self indulgent babble you saw in part one, you must like that kinda stuff hey? Also like being slapped around a little don't you?


Alrighty - so I'm perusing the same journal that I found the brilliance written in part one and i flick past a page where I appear to be writing a script to the play thumbelina, and then writing lists about the things I'm excited about on camp (orienteering and rifle shooting are top of my list) My actual memories of said camp though involve a lot of wandering around the countryside covered in cow shit and a humerous skit where I played a slut named Skitty and had socks down my top as fake boobs. Won that competition - boo yah! I then for some reason use these tiny little pages to write the biography of Hans Christen Anderson - born in 1805 if you care (it's ok - I know you don't :) but I'm going to continue anyway!) His father was a shoemaker, he wrote 168 fairy tales - the first published in 1835, he never married but apparently 'the admiration of his fans eased his lonliness,' I don't know about you but my gaydar just started a whirring like crazy!

Enough about Hans, the journal then continues with a few pages of trying to improve my handwriting - the cat sat on the mat - the quick brown fox - blah blah blah, didn't work - my scribble is still illegible. I then try to teach myself morse code (failed) and the family code (success, still remember it to this day - nothing too sneaky, just auctioneers trying to not let bidders know the real value of stuff) After all this spy crap I then write down the lyrics to the whole of Peaches by the Presidents of the United States of America, briefly try to map my family history and then get all poetic again with this little ditty:

Untitled, Undated - guessing sometime in 1996

I have my food, the council takes care of that
I have my bench and my coat, and my pigeons who always come back
Some people come to see what the old man's like
They give me money, but I don't need it
I have my food and my bench, I have my coat and I have my pigeons who always come back
People stare, they fear me
Mother guard their children from me
People cross the road because of me
But i don't care
I have my food, my bench and my coat
and I have my pigeons who always come back
Poor old man they say, needs someone to care
But I don't
I have my food, my bench, my coat and my pigeons.
My pigeons who always come back

(now I'm guessing the dude that inspired this, I was a little bit fascinated by him, but pigeons? Seriously? seagulls yes, pigeons? no. Guess pigeons were just more romantic - more Poppins)

and on the next page - but with slightly more haphazard handwriting - guessing I'd hit highschool now - probably about 1997-8

Ode To A Coffee Cup

A ceramic mug washed up on the shores of my mothers kitchen
a brown stain is the evidence of past use
pastel colours and a faded birthday message
a chipped rim and lipstick marks
tell the life story of my caffeine basin

Once shiny and new this listless chunk of vacant crock
was displayed in prime position on one of the many hooks above the sink
Now the humble discard is the home of old matches, broken incense,
candle wax and the musty smell that often surrounds forgotten things
The smell is a memory of hot coffee, aromatic teas, cookie crumbs
and the much loved soggy timtam

A memory of life where all was warm and apetising
When the comforting arms of ones loved ones were wrapped around your rim
and when the gentle swaying to and from their lips rocks you into a trance
A memory of the quiet hum of contented drinkers
The sweet flavour of left over sugar crystals bathing in the last few drops of Luke warm coffee

A hot splash of scented wax awakes the dreamy coffee cup from it's slumber
An old match is thrown over the side, scattering black ash on the floor of my crud filled ceramic basin.

Only a coffee cup.


and that's it for tonight.


Actually, rewriting those, I think one could say i may have been struggling to to adjust from childhood to adolescense. That the change in intimacy in relationships left me lonely. Shit - if only it had been that clear at the time :)