| |
|
|
| 09:44am 30/12/2004 |
| |
|
music: Blonde Redhead: Misery is a Butterfly.
|
Three names I go by:
1. Rachel;
2. Weichu or any derivative of, eg. Raychu, Weich;
3. Raichy Mc-Raich-Raich.
Three things I like about myself:
1. I have a collection of clothing which gives the (false) impression that I am caught in a timewarp from the 70s;
2. The Animecut.
3. Chinese Zodiac description: "You are eccentric and your life complex. You have a very passionate nature and abundant health."
Three things I dislike about myself:
1. Complete and debilitating inability for mental math, counting change at work has become a stumbling block.
2. People tell me I'm a paranoid loudmouth who has no idea how to act in social situations.
3. I just spent approximately $100 on CDs and now I have no money.
Three parts of heritage:
Ahaha~!!
1. Hakka
2. Hokkien, as in "At Safeway you can purchase instant Hokkien noodles for 68 cents."
3. Normal Chinese people who didn't wander around in the wilderness for forty years (were those the Israelites? I tend to mix up these things).
Three things that scare me:
1. Year 12,
2. Michael Jackson,
3. The possibility that Daria may never return to Australian free to air TV.
Three everyday essentials:
1. Music,
2. Creative release,
3. Time out of the house and away from the family. I have saved time by combining all three.
Three things I am wearing right now:
1. An orange scarf; Mother's patients get bored.
2. A white shirt and
3. Red nail polish.
Three of my favourite bands:
1. Blonde Redhead,
2. Joy Division,
3. The Spazzys.
Three of my favourite songs at present:
1. The Zatopeks, The Spazzys;
2. Dismantle Me, The Distillers;
3. Sound of Silence, Simon and Garfunkel.
Three new things I would like to try in the next 12 months:
1. Not skip any school;
2. Save enough money for an iPod (you pod, we all pod together);
3. Take up photography or film making.
Three things I want in a relationship (love being a given):
1. I want respect,
2. Mutual love of art,
3. and he needs a huge... music collection.
Two truths and a lie:
1.I missed work yesterday;
2. I have no money;
3. Our pantry is full of delectable edibles because my parents are such good providers.
Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal:
1. Broad shoulders,
2. Wrists and
3. Collarbone.
Three things I just can't do:
1. Mental math,
2. Control my spending,
3. Go to Apollo Bay with my family, and spend a week in the same bedroom as my 13-y/o twin siblings.
Three of my favourite hobbies:
1. Reading,
2. Writing,
3. and hiding my inability to use arithmetic.
Three careers I am considering:
1. Starving artist,
2. Journalist,
3. Lipsticked, pantihosed, Gucci-sunglassed corporate whore.
Three places I want to visit:
1. New York,
2. London,
3. Paris.
Three things to do before I die:
1. Write a novel,
2. Fall in love,
3. Paint more.
See, I'm a simple woman. |
|
| |
|
Read 2 - Post |
| |
| Bogans, many Asians and Sparkle Motion. |
|
|
| 03:58pm 20/12/2004 |
| |
|
mood: lonely music: Air: Sex Born Poison
|
We went to the local carols by candlelight last night, because... well, it's the Australian thing to do, and who am I to question tradition? I bumped into Tim from work. I think I may have a thing for him. But I also think that to pursue it would be kind of illegal. Oh, to be of age. He also suffered through Caulfield Grammar (albeit two or three years ago, maybe). Oh, I feel teh lonely. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| Christian poetry makes me sick. |
|
|
| 12:53pm 19/12/2004 |
| |
|
mood: blah music: Air: Electronic Performers.
|
We have bible verses on the insides of toilet doors and in the kitchen, in the bedrooms, framed on walls. When you exit the bathroom, the first thing you see is someone's attempt at cross-stitching the all too ubiquitous footprints in the sand poem:
One night a man had a dream.
He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
He noticed two sets of footprints in the sand, one belonging to him, the other to the Lord.
When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path there was only one set of footprints.
He recalled that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life. He questioned, "Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. Then, why during the most troublesome times in my life, the times when I needed you the most, would you leave me?"
The Lord replied, "My precious, precious child, I love you and would never, never leave you. During your times of trials and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."
But for some reason this doesn't quite go for me. And I thought:
one night:
i had a dream.
you held my hand
in your larger one,
and together we walked
along the beach, where
the water and the sand
exchange embraces
(as salty as our own).
on the insides of my
eyelids bled still photographs
of a defunct love;
lost words left on our lips
as dead as leaves, and
a phantom embace like
lukewarm bathwater.
i stopped and looked
behind us and saw two sets
of footprints cast in the sand:
one were smaller, more tentative, then
swerving and doubling back to form
inexplicable caprices in the un-
mistakable shape of a girl;
the other linear but somehow
laconic, dividing the
sand into the powdery white
and the foam sprayed grit
that sticks between toes
and other crevices, that somehow
looks so lovely when plastered to
one of your cheeks that i
almost want to lick it off.
when the last scene had flashed,
clicked and vanished my red-
rimmed viewfinder, i looked back
at the footprints in the and
and noticed that
often only my own were visible,
sometimes blood flecked or pooled
in the cleft left by my small heel,
soemtimes meandering wildly
as if i ran from demons,
and i wondered where you were.
i turned to you
and questioned: "you said
you loved me; and i remember
in the crepuscular, creeping lust
of a suburban gloaming
under euphonic eucalypts
that roar like my clandestine,
cordate box like the
ocean that we walk beside
now, how you
confessed secrets, told
futures, made love
to me, and swore
you'd walk beside me.
then, why
during the most troublesome times
in my life, the times
when i needed you
most, would you leave me?"
and you replied,
"my god, you're
fucking weird." |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| Girl anachronism. |
|
|
| 12:13pm 11/12/2004 |
| |
|
mood: blah music: Coldplay, The Scientist.
|
I'm developed a little bit of an obsession with Brechtian post-punk gothic cabaret of The Dresden Dolls. In the complex, sinister world of Boston's Dresden Dolls, Brechtian punk, show tunes and decadent pop conflate to capture the confusion of mental illness. Singer and pianist Amanda Palmer sings frantic songs, teetering between intimate confession and disturbing disconnect, while Brian Viglione's drumming slams underneath. Occasionally guitars, bass and other strings join in, but mostly this duo handily creates waves of sound that match the toil in Palmer's husky alto. For as she wails about emotional instability, sexual confusion and self-mutilation, the music swarms and dissolves around her, mimicking the violent, sudden mood swings of depression. It's not exactly easy listening. Still, this self-titled debut is indeed wickedly ironic. On the addictive, circus-y "Coin Operated Boy," Palmer muses, "Made of plastic and elastic, he is rugged and long lasting/Who could ever ask for more? Love without complications galore." The song, though, like the rest of the record, is ultimately tragic: fearless music with the potential to dismantle. Sadly, I've even begun to dress somewhat like Amanda Palmer, with the stripy stockings (but fortunately not with the white mask of makeup.
|
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| The year's almost over. Time to take stock and resolve to make amends. |
|
|
| 09:50am 10/12/2004 |
| |
|
mood: complacent music: The Dresden Dolls, The Jeep Song.
|
I still work in a library for exactly the same wage I began with, despite being told that I'd receive a raise on every birthday. Maybe the fact that I wasn't actually sixteen yet meddles with that. In spite of the one infant who decided to take a dump on the carpet, and almost blinding myself in my left eye this week, it's a decent job. If only I were given more hours per week (Holiday season, ie. now, is good though).
I finally got over that lost love, and surprisingly enough, I don't really feel lost or lonely yet. Kind of hopeful and complacent. On the down side, I've lost all inspiration for art and writing. I can't do anything. It's as if I'm unable to create unless I'm miserable and have some sort of fundamental fuck-up going on in my personal life.
School-wise, a pretty shitty year. I know teachers are talking about me, and I don't like it. Mr MacCallum thinks it's acceptable for him to tell parents of other students that I'm a "negative influence"; random teachers I don't know have started saying things like "Oh, so you're Rachel Ang." By contrast, art teachers have started to stop me in corridors and tell me how much they love my work, and "can't wait until next year to see what I do." Strange, strange. I don't want school to be a perfectly clinical experience, but I don't like the idea that I'm being spoken about behind my back so much by teachers. I'm used to other people gossiping about me (God knows why, I lead a boring existence).
I think my family might be moving, if we can actually sell this house first. It's kind of decrepit. Some guy is coming in to take photos of the house for advertisements; I wonder if they'll use photos of my bedroom? "On the right, you'll see more communist propoganda, on the lift, you'll see evidence of Rachel's on-going Thom Yorke infatuation; on the ceiling you'll see where Rachel accidentally peeled the paint off with blue-tack and attempted to cover it with white-out." |
|
| |
|
Read 2 - Post |
| |
| i hope you choke. |
|
|
| 07:16pm 05/11/2004 |
| |
|
mood: aggravated music: Radiohead: Knives out.
|
sitting and waiting to be sick, vomit threatens to invade my phranyx like an alien force. ill, and exam season is upon me. like burping after oral sex, it's a reminder of the act, in this case, caffeine over-dose, debilitating lack of sleep and over-eating spaghetti because it's so damn good.
*sigh* an awful analogy, which i should probably be shot for. my problem is that i am an over-sentimental backwards-looking fuck. speaking of which, this morning i had an art exam, which i fucked up. i cannot write everything i know about post-modernism in twenty minutes. it's not a possibility. i don't want to get my mark back, because anything below 100% will be a disappointment. i spent an entire afternoon playing jenga and uno with david, which is a good thing. i now need to cram for biology1&2, literature1&2, liberty&authority1&2 and chinese over the next two days. >=O
i must have this. i need to work out the exchange rate with US-AUS dollars. speaking of dollars, i've gotten a request to buy one of my pieces from jacqui, which means money. i just need to set a price. i think it may be this or this that she was talking about. if you want, give me price suggestions. they're just on watercolour paper, so it's not that expensive.
must go and cram like sardines in a crushd tin box. |
|
| |
|
Read 3 - Post |
| |
| |
|
|
| 06:56pm 05/11/2004 |
| |
|
mood: sick music: Peaches: Fuck the pain away,
|
Lucid night, so hot rooms move and
Walls swelter, I stumbled through
The doors of a laboratory wrapped in sleep
And I found you,
Wrapped in figures halfway
Between sin and cos, not quite at
Pi, clandestine workings behind
Test tube racks, petri dishes,
Microscopes and your blackrimmed glasses
Like sterile window frames.
I was invisible to you, like a
Moth against the yellow light
Of a single bare globe and
Just as naked, my hairs prickled
In the heat, glazed
With sweat I cut you
A personal specimen
And placed it on a slide,
Careful to replace the scalpel just
As you left it.
And I watched you (because
You were my experiment)
From behind your tiers
Of cigarette packets and reference books –
Both empty – but you
Didn’t notice me or my
Bodily fluids, hemorrhaging red blood cells,
Haemoglobin, leukocytes,
Deoxyribonucleuic acid and an
XX waiting,
In the yellowed, mottled light
Of a fly-filled lab of a night
Of silence that absorbs like industrial insulation,
For the left half of your precious,
Precious brain to fall in love with me. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| |
|
|
| 07:59pm 07/09/2004 |
| |
you're remarkably amicable, considering that i'm using you as an emotional panacea. |
|
| |
|
Read 1 - Post |
| |
| shick. |
|
|
| 07:53pm 07/09/2004 |
| |
|
mood: sick music: Bjork: Oceania.
|
well, i'm sick. i've got a throat that feels like it was soaked in a vat of vodka and exfoliated with sandpaper. i think it comes from running around in the cold on saturday night, drinking way too much and ending up on the pavement, laughing at the stars. my voice is a lot more girlish and higher when i'm drunk. threw up a lot.
what was supposed to happen was that duncan, chris and i would go out drinking, as you do; but duncan didn't come, and he was my sole reason for wanting to venture out of the house on a very cold saturday night. i was in a narky mood, but chris insisted; in the end i had to drag him back (vomiting and mumbling weird things)to the relative safety of my house, so that his mother could pick him up (at something like 2 or 3 in the ay em). when i woke up in the morning i was pleased to note that i was in my own bed, even though i was still in my clothes. hangover. |
|
| |
|
Read 1 - Post |
| |
| who do you think you am? |
|
|
| 09:31am 07/08/2004 |
| |
|
mood: angry music: The Spazzys.
|
Went to drama-clique gathering, as one does. A party without grog is really... disturbing. Weird. Awkward. Sobriety is way over-rated. I learnt how to play poker, so if I ever become a spy, and I need to run around casinos, I'll be okay. Saw guy I have crush on get with some blonde girl, decided to try and forget. Jess was naked in spa (we are private school kids, we have these things) with some Year 12 guy, and her mother came to pick her up at about 12.30. Scott did frantic "put your clothes on" sprint. >_> *snickerfits*
Those school fuckers have given me the History and Lit awards. Dammit, I don't want the History one, they can take it back and put it where the sun don't shine. (Homer: Oh? And where would that be? *spark of realization* Oh!) Mm. And I did want Art. But apparently it is better to work hard and acheive less than it is to be talented and acheive more.
who do you think you am
that you’ll say what you do and i’ll
come when you call? i’ll come
whenever i damnwellplease
you lying knave of a fatherfucker. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| |
|
|
| 01:00am 13/07/2004 |
| |
LiveJournal
Trading Cards
Free Account Edition
|
 |
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) residew
User Number: 1793217
Date Created:2004-01-05
Number of Posts: 15
|
| Rachel is a little girl who never wants to grow up. Likes art, strange music, boys, bright colours; is shamelessly mainstream. Often found daydreaming, doodling and planning; writes lists, and lists of lists. Requires the constant approval of others, yet constantly wallows in adolescent gaucherie. Hopeless romantic, known to pine for months and months over a single person. Collects vintage clothing, longs to be a 1950s rockerbilly. |
| Strengths: Creative and esotoric, attacks without consideration. Fearless whilst intoxiated. |
| Weaknesses: Anal-retentive, easily hurt, falls in love with the concept of being in love. Unable to think logically, which often poses a stumbling block. |
| Special Skills: Ability to relate almost anything to sex, draws and writes compulsively. |
| Weapons: Paintbrush, chopsticks, vodka. |
| Obsessed with:: Blood, femininity, painting, flowers, the colour red, poetry, Sylvia Plath, Thom >=D!, love, words, collar bones, green eyes, pearls, pain. |
|
|
|
Make your own LiveJournal Trading Card!
Brought to you by crossfire_
|
|
| |
|
Read 1 - Post |
| |
| first update in years. months. whatever. |
|
|
| 04:01pm 25/06/2004 |
| |
Yuh. Decided to update; Ryan insists on prodding me to do so.
Nothing much has happened, really. Tonight is my school formal - I believe that in most places this social event is referred to as the "prom". I got my dress for $120, you do the math, I don't know how much that is in currencies other than Australian dollars. I have the 1950s rockerbilly thing down pat, right down to the pearl necklace and bobcut. Merryn + Mel + I: all have matching garters. I don't really give a shit about the formal, I've been to the same reception place before and the food's not exactly appetizing, and furthermore, I can't dance.
What else is new? I'm infatuated with one of my best friends. I would draw a diagram but it probably wouldn't make any sense. John (my friend) fancied himself in love with Monica (also my friend, hot Asian girl in the year level below us), though he hadn't actually spoken to her. He told me, I got hurt because I liked him (this is terrible and sounds like a page out of Sweet Valley High Spring Break). Anyway, I introduced them, sort of, and Monica didn't like him. I told him that I did. *groan* Because I'm insane. He was like: "Oh..." and then (happily) "No matter what, I'll be your friend." I was touched but also madly angry at myself for a while for no real reason. Primarily because I wasn't, and just don't seem to be, the type of person who attracts anybody. But I suppose it's okay now. We're cool with it.
It sounds stupid but it seemed to "fit" so well that when he didn't like me, well... it defied... logic. My crazy logic, anyway. I'm rambling, and I have to go wash the ammonia out of my hair.
|
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| |
|
|
| 11:27am 09/05/2004 |
| |
Did I mention that I have been censored? My art teacher has decided that I can't do my intended piece because, even if it was not displayed, it would be in the room whilst I worked on it -- and thus could pollute the tender minds of seven and eighth graders throughout the school. Ah... hmm. I'm not very disappointed about it all.
Friday the seventh (May) was everybody's birthday -- Sarah, David, Carmen, Christophe, and someone else whom I can't remember. Sarah and David are my siblings (twins, twelve) and I've yet to give them anything. As I've had no time to go anywhere other than school and work. I painted little cartoons for Carmen and Christophe, but the one for Carmen wasn't very good. I tried to do one of those stories, where little images add up to = the person. So I had... some chick with blonde hair + a cat + a pencil + a strawberry... then I ran out of things to draw. I mean, it isn't really any fault of mine that she is lacking in the personality department. I would post one of them up here but can't yet work out out the whole "image URL" thing, and keep getting a little red cross.
(The Biology assignment I stayed up for forty hours doing... has been marked. Thirty out of thirty, one hundred percent, A+; somehow I don't give a shit.) |
|
| |
|
Read 4 - Post |
| |
| and it was just a short warm up. |
|
|
| 10:51am 01/05/2004 |
| |
Back from cross-country - four k run around the Botanical Gardens, and I would say that at least half of the damn thing was uphill. My frail little body really isn't adapted to exercise. Killed self struggling up the hill.
I want to say something: I think I like Chris. More on this at a later date. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| Starving artist? |
|
|
| 08:03pm 25/04/2004 |
| |
Life is funny.
This is what we're going to do. We are teenagers with nothing better to do with our time. We are able to do things like play the flute/other small portable instrument and draw portraits of people. We have little sense of shame. So we are going to get busking licenses. And we (three or four of us no-good-teenagers)will sit around the streets of Melbourne, whistling little ditties (that'd be Mel) and drawing portraits (that'd be me) for passersby. Not so much because we want the money, because there's not much to make, and besides, we both have jobs. But just because.
We'll even have band-aids. Man -- we'll be beatniks~! |
|
| |
|
Read 4 - Post |
| |
| Long time no sea! |
|
|
| 11:20pm 22/04/2004 |
| |
I had neglected this journal, and never thought of it until Ryan gave me a comment. Thanks. Weird. He'd been stalking me. Anyone stalking me would be bored shitless, and this is why: I bore myself shitless.
In school they would have us believe that unless we work desperately thoughout these two last years, we will never amount to anything. I've never been out in the big, wide world, so I don't know. Are they right? I want to be an illustrator, or something. Or a journalist. I suppose I'll work hard just because I'm damn proud. But I just wonder whether it's necessary.
Lots of quizzes now.
From The Hours
If I were a month I would be January.
If I were a day of the week I would be Friday morning.
If I were a time of day I would be dawn.
If I were a planet I would be Neptune.
If I were a sea animal I would be the smallest fish in the ocean.
If I were a direction I would be towards you.
If I were a piece of furniture I would be a magazine rack.
If I were a historical figure I would be Marie Antoinette.
If I were a liquid I would be blood.
If I were a tree I would be a sapling.
If I were a flower/plant I would be a red rose.
If I were a kind of weather I would be rain.
If I were a musical instrument I would be your voice.
If I were an animal I would be a black cat.
If I were a colour I would be carmine.
If I were a vegetable I would be asparagus.
If I were a sound I would be a moan.
If I were an element I would be fire.
If I were a car I would be something slow.
If I were a song I would be Playground Love, by Air.
If I were a book I would be written by James Joyce or Sylvia Plath.
If I were a food I would be chocolate.
If I were a place I would be a grey courtyard.
If I were a scent I would be my own smell. Sweat.
If I were a word I would be desire.
If I were an object I would be a canvas.
If I were a body part I would be a hand, or your wrists or collar bone.
If I were a facial expression I would be a wince.
If I were a cartoon character I would be Rachel or Lisa Simpson.
If I were a shape I would be a square. Geddit? |
|
| |
|
Read 3 - Post |
| |
| Quiz. |
|
|
| 10:28pm 22/04/2004 |
| |
|
mood: blah music: Air, Talkie Walkie.
|
spell your first name backwards: Lehcar.
the story behind your user name: I = Radiohead fan who is dead. There you go.
are you a gay?: "A gay"? Pfft.
where do you live?: At the bottom of Wheelers Hill.
describe yourself in four words: self-conscious, anxious, tired, scattered.
Describe your...
wallet: It's a purse from the 1920s. Very Great Gatsby.
hairbrush: I don't brush my hair, as a general rule.
jewelry worn daily: I don't wear jewellery unless it's been given to me as a gift.
pillow cover: It's striped. Blue and white. Very... nautical.
blanket: It's the same one I've had since I made the transition from crib to bed. White and frilly. Man, Mum has excellent taste.
coffee cup: It's covered in pictures of lavendar. >_> It was a gift from Carmen. I won't add anything else to that.
sunglasses: none.
underwear: Black or red and lace; only because they were cheap at the market, and how could Mother resist a bargain?
boots: None! Believe it or not. Usually wear clogs or work shoes.
handbag: Bought in China; it says "FAR FROM SOBER", except that the O has an umlaut. And, and... underneath is a little comic of a man slowly getting more and more drunk. He ends up with his head in the toilet...
favourite shirt: Vintagey, sailor girl flashing. A veritable bargain from Bridge Road.
cologne/perfume: My own sweat.
tattoos: None.
piercings: None.
what you are wearing now: Singlet top with newspaper print all over it, and pants from the mens section of the opshop.
makeup: Nothing. And I need it, let me tell you.
in my mouth: Japanese gum.
in my head: I have a Further3&4 SAC tomorrow.
wishing: Pimple on neck would disappear.
after this: Sleep, or more study. Sleep, I think.
talking to: Jo-Ann.
eating: I don't plan to eat for the next 24 hours or so.
if you could get away with it and murder anyone, who and for what reason?: I don't think I have any more right to life than anyone else, so I would never kill someone. Or I would, and then commit suicide.
what's next to you: Shelf of Dad's self-help books: 'Get Organised', 'Passionate People Produce', 'Leadership is An Art' and so forth.
some of your favourite movies: Clockwork Orange.
something you're looking forward to in the upcoming month: Radiohead concert, finding out results of Mark Your Mark Comp.
something that you are deathly afraid of: Masquerade Ball tomorrow night, VCE exams, the future, other people.
do you like candles?: Yes.
do you like incense?: Fucks with my sinuses.
do you like the taste of blood?: Yes, I do.
do you believe in love?: Absolutely.
do you believe in soul mates?: I believe that there's a certain type of person out there fo rme, but I don't believe that there's a certain one that God has ordained to be my partner or anything.
do you believe in love at first sight?: No. Well, that depends on what you think love is.
who is your worst enemy?: Self.
if you could have any animal for a pet, what would it be?: I can hardly take care of myself.
what are five cities you wouldn't mind relocating to?: Paris, London, New York, Nan Jing, Byron Bay. I actually love Melbourne. Culture city.
what are some of your favourite pig out foods?: Chocolate. Icecream. I have a sweet tooth.
what's something you wish you could understand better?: People, myself especially. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
|
|
|
