July 11, 2003
random prose i've writtten in the last hour or so. I'm not really this negative, it just comes out that way. You probably won't understand it, cuz I wrote it. And I'm not even sure I understand it.
Rechargable battery of emotion and tears. Just lie on a handsome strangers bed. Sleep. No matter how long I’ve known them, they will always be a stranger. But I’m a stranger to myself, so what does it matter if there’s one more in my life. I’d like to convince myself that this is the real thing. The real thing, the big four letter word at such a young age. Sixteen years, seven months and ten days of Australian suburbia in a middle class region, I thought I found it once before. Looking, forever searching. Its not under the decaying couch or at the hi-tech trendy mall. Where is it? I’d say I lost it, but I never had it in the first place. Will I ever?
Time won’t make things better. They say it’s the greatest healer. Who says? They say. The unknown people who seem to know everything. My faeces excremented on the walls of prejudice that seems to be narrowing in on the claustrophobic Russian spy from a bad james bond film. Obsession with brands, whats hip, whats not, advertising, aristocracy, fashion, fascism, media, mediocrity. A young teenage girl can be beautiful in her mind, but to others it only matters how fat she is, and what brands she wears. Why cant’ she see? Oh why can’t she see beyond this world, before its too late.