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I very rarely journal these days. `ATrue pointed that fact out to me during one of my weekly polls; it stands to reason that I journal on a personal level even less.


So now, I'm opening Pandora's Box


PERSONAL STUFF


So what exactly are you saying?


I'm two days away from packing my life into boxes again, although, this time, I'm by myself and the boxes seem heavier. This weight has a marginal representation in the new book department and a globalised monopoly on my emotions and the tenuous strings of relationships that might break. I'm scattered, my thoughts strewn across a retrospective that is hard to track and keep a hold of, it shouldn't hurt but it does; I find myself wondering how I got here.

I'm moving to a place that I hate. But it's beautiful ­ geographically - serene and lovely, a country township caught between mountain ranges and the shelf of a long extinct super volcano. I wonder if there is a metaphor in there somewhere. But again, the psychological geography of that place isn't shiny or brilliant ­ it carries dark moments around on its back and the streets are littered tangles of memories. Shadows linger here and are never far away.


I don't know what books to take, if I'm taking furniture, if I'm coming back, if he wants me to. I don't know.


Crawl up inside for protection...


It's funny, when things are taking a U-turn and you're left without a clue or instance to the direction your mind has taken off in, one always seems to end up "home."
By this I mean the family home of your childhood; your old room, your old bed, staring at the same walls you melted into when you thought about kissing/touching/ possibly even fucking the first guy that you ever crushed over. Your door has been spectator to your anger; every passionate slam, every awkward knock and the welcome ones too, an apology or three and the last time you ever saw him. It supported your back as you barricaded yourself away from the world, served as a punching bag and a shield. It muffled words and obscured actions that would have hurt and still did, as you
pressed your ear against its paint and wished for silence. And then, there is the mirror.
Almost full length and wide, wide enough to capture a moment's vulnerability or your obsession with your body. Every night, the carpet would prickle your back as you sat up over and over again, as if it was telling you, you're being stupid. Stupidity and warnings aside, sweat prickling your shoulder blades, you'd stand in front of that mirror then and turn side to side, left to right, pose and measure just how fat you were. Or if your breasts had grown any and if you butt was bigger than your chest (good chance it was). If the results weren't agreeable, you'd do another one hundred or so reps, just because a bunch of insecure teenagers told you, you're fat or, you don't fit in, or you can't sit with us if you don't. The mirror was never cruel. You were just cruel to yourself and shouldered the words of others.

A room is a sanctuary that can pay testament to every moment of your life. It witnesses and records everything you'd rather forget, everything you can't leave behind and everything that makes you feel like you're home again.


Soon, I won't have that foundation. My parents are selling the house and going their separate ways ­ this isn't a bad thing in itself, but I will mourn my room, the backbone of my childhood and the transitions that took place within those walls.


I slept there on Tuesday night. Maybe for the last time with exception to Sunday and Monday night. As I turn twenty three, I will look around my room and say goodbye to an innocence that was lost a long time ago to a man who abused it.


It's time to let go. Letting go is one of the hardest things in this world to do. Tell me that I can have it all...

It's my birthday this weekend; I'm twenty three on the twenty first, the winter solstice. Or the summer solstice, depending on what hemisphere you live in. I've already explained to:

devpoisonedrose: at length how much the solstice means to me as a person and a spiritualist. The shortest day of the year promises much and the days that follow will hopefully be so full and rich, I won't forget them. Even when he's half way around the world, living his own dreams. At least, he better be, I won't forgive him if he doesn't follow through.




I'm looking at you through the glass...


Or at least I might when I arrive in Sydney, if you happen to be :devdemonicboar: on the other side of the domestic terminal. I leave the Gold Coast on Tuesday morning to spend the week with the boarish one and check out the town/University sites etc. Can't say I'm not excited, I am. I really am. I haven't felt this giddy in years.


We don't need no education...


Unless you're me. Then you like education. Semester has ended and I have another three days before the next one starts. Before you do a double take, yes I only get one week between semesters

this year. It is very punishing. I haven't got all my assessment tasks yet, but I will list them anyway, as I found it a good motivator last time:


Online Media Design


Weblogs of Modules 1-6 (Topics 0 to 17).
Website Analysis and Evaluation
Design Proposal
Basic Structural Site Chart
Major Website Design
Construction Project
Short Answer Questions
Unit Summaries


Media Production


Online Media Research Folio
Microdoc Proposal and Script
Microdoc
Marketing Proposal
Oral Presentation
Short Answer Questions.


I do not have the assignment lists for Feature Journalism or Subjects and Citizens yet, but hopefully next week.


It's my life, it's now or never, I ain't going to live forever…


These are the things I've figured that I want for myself:
I don't want to get married.
I don't want to have children.
I want a Masters Degree in Editing, Publishing and Writing, through Melbourne University.
I want to become a Doctor of Philosophy, so I can teach at the University level.
I want to live in three different countries in my life, at least.
I don't want to be a white, middle class surburban housewife/teacher/nurse etc There's already enough of them and I think I'd go absolutely nuts.

dA ISSUES ­ STRAP YOURSELVES IN, BECAUSE THIS MIGHT NOT MAKE ME VERY POPULAR


Let's make the best of this test known as life…


On August 24 2004, I joined dA as a feisty avatar of poetics named :devEroala. Coming onto a five year term, it's been interesting to see the changes and transitions of this website and literature on dA. People often bitch about GMs and DD's for the purpose of having an opinion. Which is fine, but these same people do nothing constructive to the betterment of the community or the development of the GM question.


The first instance I experienced directly was the appointment of ^StJoan as GM. I remember the harsh deprecating words that were spewed at her expense, the journals of an ex Lit GM that spurned her existence and the absolute butt fuckery that surrounded a circus of diatribes and opinions. It's been years and ^StJoan is one of the best Lit GM's we've ever had. Not that her critics will admit it of course, because their irrationality isn't justified by logical common sense. They only see and hear what they want to, despite their own imperfections


Fast forward to present day and the current lynching of ^LadyLincoln. When it comes to Jenene, everybody has a damn opinion; she should step down, people don't read lit now because of her, it's her fault poetry is failing, it's her fault lit is failing. Get a fucking grip.


No, her DD's do not appeal to me. I do not like her choices and I have made it clear to her that this is so, but I will not sit around and call her out on it when I don't offer anything of constructive criticism, let alone my own DD suggestions. Jenene is probably one of the most receptive people to constructive discourse I've ever met ­ if you want her to get better, be a part of the solution and not the problem.


Four people have four different tastes, criteria and preferences when selecting DD's. If you don't like Jenene's choices, there are other Lit GM's that will probably choose something right up your alley.


There are those out there who would argue that a Lit GM shouldn't need help, they should know these things already and espouse them to ensure a cohesive and informative community.


While I don't necessarily disagree with that and would love a little prose centralism (which will never happen), but dA is not a utopia of your opinions. There are four fantastic GM's that try to serve our community the best they can, using the talents they are imbued with. Each one is responsible for a different avenue, get on their pages and educate yourself.


If you want things to change, better DD's, developed GM's ­ Get off your arse, get over your arrogant indulgent whinging and DO something about it.


Suggestions? Okay, I can do suggestions:


You know of better lit? Awesome! Scour the galleries and link them in a note to any one of four GM's or all of the GM's. Give reasoning, show that your opinion is worthwhile opposed to OMG I LIKE THIS. Qualify it because it might not qualify itself, at first.


Discuss lit with Jenene (and the other three), explore what you like and why you like it. Introduce her to new poets and writers that you think are good, explain why, engage in a literary based discussion.


(I know this is not possible for some, they would pretty much take a straw to their arses and drink their own shit, before they'd consider being constructive).


…to be continued when I’m not drowning in Scotch and birthday candles.