Edit 1

Edit 2

Everything in me must weel up before it explodes. Whatever i make (and I've talked about that) must come from an infinite reservwaoir of something higher than me, all the influences I've stored up, all the peices of my soul I have left over at the end of the day (every bitch sucks me dry). I cannot do anything until I'm ready, I cannot force life. I can't ever find it. XD edit: I am a simpleton, half a simpleton; just a thing. Just a goddamn thing that wants to be eaten and slurped and nuzzled; until I'm all simpleton. My emotional dam has only burst three times. Twice over girls, thats boring. Once over nothing I could place, just an ambeance. Some gift fucking with me: edit: (to be perfect, to have everything, to have a full stomach:) I just wish I lived in a movie, that I could roller skate (or ice skate) (or just skate) (and I would have a super cuuute whore/skater/avant-garde beside me (and she would understand me)). XD I cannot cry, my eyes can't do it, and it makes it so much harder. I must curl into a ball, block out my goddamn family. I don't fucking know. take a guess.

And when I'm done I'm done. And I wish I didn't deny myself when i finnally cared, and that i could loose forever; and always in time with my concious drum, rather than the unconcious heartbeat that spits, and not often enough.

1. I love shapes, colour, new, blonde hair, round faces, green eyes, old streets, breaking the rules of my peers, pretending, nostalga, the round of a thigh, pillows, myself, finding myself, loosing myself, slim yet unmuscly male torsos. rain, cold.  A cute girl's smile. edit: An American berserk, a Parisian Mr Fucking Wanker, an Austrailian calling this faggy bullshit. History. Audrey Hepburn. Things I've found (and by unconcious association, anything thats mine; so..) Dirty Rooms, Jesus. Paris, Europe, Kaliedica. Home. My mind (after cleaning up the mess others make in it) edit: Today I was in westfeild mall, wandering around, and some girl came up the escalator; her back turned to me and I thought it was someone special. And then I realised it wasn't a bit, but i still wanted it to be. I was phsyced myself up for ages as she came up that escalator, I told my self that she was ugly as shit and i souldn't even look at her. And the she turned around and she was fucking sick I'm gonna kill that bitch. She was so ugly.

I don't.. I t feels wrong to share my extasy with you because you... arent it. I know that i will not be this alive for at least another year; I am empty and eaten up. I am all right, and now my eyes are filmy. Not quite enough but I can imagine my first tears.

edit: all the chliche's are true, and innovation, my love, is worthless.

edit: This all seems predictable now, but please don't laugh at me for empathising, sympathising and comforting.

edit: I love Lolita. Lo-le-ta!

edit: An innovative, pullitzer prize winning writer read my expression and ridiculed it. He said it 'Rode on a sea of cliches so worthless they made an already dull work unbearable.' I was retarded and his critique drove me back into the cave Mrs Darcy has devoted so many years to geting me out of. A girl there (who had very sympatheticly had sex with me the night before) admired his harshness and beat my honest expression as well... Later that evening she met him at a coffe house.. They went to his apartment and after telling himeslf 'you are a beast' he told her to strip. 'Say nigger fuck me hard'... ... ... 'No'... 'Say nigger'... ... ... 'Nigger'... ... 'Say nigger fuck me hard'...

...

...

'Nigger fuck me hard'

-

A small selection of the first passages of my faveroute books:

Alice in wonderland:

'Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, `and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice `without pictures or conversation?'

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.

There was nothing so VERY remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so VERY much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, `Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of his waistcoat pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before see a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again. '

Lolita:

'Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palette to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.'

... that is pretty much the most enchanting opening in the enlish langauge, right there on my blog.

You've read a lot, so Thank you.

Diary Entry 2008-07-29 21:24:00

Ok, verbs.

I want verbs to be genius, not just a pretty decent student film, but amazing, spell bounding. A musical, it is split up into three parts, the beginning, which is a romance-love sickness thing, with a touch of fantasies and a macabre feel, the middle, which is a flamboyant social observation showing Jack's family, and what led up to him running away (but ultimately not why), and the end section, also flamboyant, but now over the top, yet underacted violence, full of fantasies, and people killing people.

That's about it, the plot is irrelevant

Diary Entry 2008-07-20 16:44:00

Ok, it has been a while since I have- no it has been ages since I have put anything on here, and I like to view that as a good thing, because going back on it is revealing to see what I was thinking last time. I will tell all what has happened since then. Not all, me. The Roseanna thing ended like a bitch, ha, like a bitch, I'm such a cunt. Anyhoo it did, and I think after a long while of thinking and just a long while I have come to the conclusion that she is right in many ways, particularly in that she is not ready for a boyfriend. I sound angry because I am, she deserves it. Anyhoo, today Dad, William and I went to the Da Vinci inventions thing at the museum, at it was really interesting apart from being a tad small. However after that we looked at the old Christchurch stuff, which I have seen before but it gave me an idea for my movie, Verbs, with an old dolls house. I was thinking maybe after Jack is pulled inside by Aya in their first meeting they could see a dolls house, Isabel being fascinated by it, Aya not caring and Jack pretending to be to get along with Isabel. It would be a good character study, because up until now the viewer doesn't see much of what Isabel and Jack are really like. And you could see how they all relate to each other. It will be an exiting project. Then I had a crepe. That was disjointed. After the museum we went to the arts centre market where mum had been looking round, and I bought a crepe from a french guy who used his eyebrows too much. Siobhan says she is lonely. She is a nice person, Siobhan, I can't think of many people like her.

-

That appears overwhelmingly petty now, but it didn't then. What would I write in a diary now? (I don't keep one any more) Do I have anything I care about all that much now? Nothing that comes to mind.

I think I am, emotionally, more adult than child or (fuck that shit) adolescent. More stable. I'm not saying i was the most deranged emotional manic before, but I'm more placid now.
And I'm not in love.

And I'm all alone like an old flappy lesbian. But, yeah. My mind is like a flat plane with a clean white fog. There is nice tufty cartoon grass globs here and there and I can only see a few metres. And to streach the metaphor similie, Winnie the pooh is standing all hazy beside me and he's got some rabbits in his pouch and a gun over his shoulder and we're going to a creek.

And look at the difference in my writing. It's like I'm boring now.

I am still just as enraptured in my own fantasy, and I sure haven't shrunk in bravado ambition. And thats all I need...?

Panel photos:

Some images:





Some comments:

"Blair has put minimal effort into his work in the third term so he has not achieved the internal standards of which he was capable. His lack of self discipline and motivation has been dissapointing. A concientious effort in the remaining weeks will help Blair to reach the standard required"

"Blair is a capable student with a good understanding of the topic. He usually does the minimum required to achieve the standard bu, in the school examinations, his results were pleasing. He should be sucscessful in the external examination."

"Blair is a delightful pupil who has made pleasing progress this year. He has been working at a merit level. In class Blair is quiet but often contributes thoughfully to class discussion. He is a deep thinker and this, at times, is reflected in his work."

"Blair's unique take on the world and his ability to explore paths not only less travelled, but also possibly untraveled, has made his contribution to this class invaluable. I have apreciated, and been challenged by his work, and am sure that his creativity will serve him well in the future."

"I am happy to have you in my class next year, but you need to cut with the downtime and start doing some work. This sort of thing will not help you next year. Blair."

My own mother kicks my Lilly Black Ass

My childhood:

Assassinate the reptile with your fungers!

Stay alive and die alive. Ass. And fly and die and read Pit and Pat then and execute but Roll on and Die
to leave it alone with a different mentalisic holollistic riptitilistic criptosis ring my ringer. You can also suck on it.

reptile assassination.

There was a reptile at the end of my Bones called nobody loves me and I'll never get a girlfriend. But now he's moved to your pond. He is going to die sooner or later, however you choose. He can be whoever you want, whatever you want. Choose him a feeling, make him a hatred? A friend? A loved one? Your favorite thing? What you want more than anything else? Kill him.

Who is he? and how will you kill him? When, where what and HOW?
How will you kill him?

Childhood Memorabilia

The roofs of Central Christchurch is my special place. There's a bottle at my bedside that I found there, down a hole in the building, one with lots of windows but no real way down. it's more than one hundred years old.

In the weekend I went down a new route, because an alarm has been installed down my usual one, And I found a trapdoor to an old attic that clearly hadn't been used for anything for a very long time. There was an inch of dust on all the floors. And a massive old generator. And an elevator shaft, that without my torch I would have fallen down. It almost killed me, so I pissed down it.

I was beginning to get scared of ghosts, so i was beginning to leave.

On a wooden beam there was a circular gap in the inch thick dust, a precise, fresh one. And in the middle of it was a hairpin.

I don't know if whoever left it there would approve of me taking it, but i did, and I put it on my blazer. Because that kind of thing is really beautiful.

Maybe one day I'll be down there, just leaving, and my light will shine on the hairpin's owner. And I sure hope they are as beautiful as their hairpin. And I sure hope that I am as well.

-

Dash Snow:

A A A A A B

Woul yo di fo m?

I lov yo mor tha tim itsel.

Ar thei cloud abov yo o angel? I loo u an se nobod bu mysel. S I loo aroun m. An i no peopl I se, it animal, horse, dog, deer, an las nigh i sa a se dol. Tha i wha I wan t b. A anima. Somethin tha doesn' questio o philosophis, somethin complet. Rea you ow blo. Rea you ow blo. I d, an I se somethin incomplet. Ou histor is insan, our live ar infeste wit Sata o whateve yo wan t cal i.

Anima don' giv a shi, the woul ea eac othe an no thin an wors o themselve. W excus the fo i t, becaus w se the a stupi, an unknowin.

O a si not, d anima g t hel? I the don' it make the muc mor fortunat tha us. W g t hel.

-

I love to live, and the fragments just make life more exciting! I will do anything and go anywhere and be anything and fuck you Mrs Vellupalai! I am sooo impenatrable. Ask me, I'll do it. I have no limits. That's not true, i want to save face, so if it's embarassing I won't do it. But i want to do it! So... Tell me it's ok and I will do it.

Some people proclaim themselves as unstable, but not me. I am soooo stable, I am a flat line, but a high one, my face stays still but i am a child in a candy store. I dream the most unimaginable things!

Some people call that arrogance. Can you fucking belive that? Arrogant?! I can kill myself, I can censor my thoughts with Jesus, I can shut the fuck up. But I can't say I'm good at anything, I can't like myself.

I like other people too. People are so cool lately, it's as if they are trying to prove my dismissal of them wrong with their layers. They have so many layers, more than a million onions. And they do things I can't, thats cool. Thats groovy. I'm having so much fun. I'm so god damn young.

I COULD BOUNCE OFF THE MMMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG walls.

So fuck you Vellupalai, I'm having life.

There is so much WRONG with me.

I'm bouncing off the walls

I'm bouncing off the walls

I'm bouncing off the walls

-

Sally Mann:

Creating Language.

I want to create things. Theatre. Photos. But all I have created in my life is thought.
I sit and I think, quite well, if that's even possible, but it doesn't make anything. And I want to do that.

I write my thoughts down in books, so far I have filled two with mostly theatre orientated ideas. They are all huge in scale and ambition, innovative, avant-garde. The kind of thing that would stay with you for the rest of your life. But they are all ideas in a book.

And I don't get too make plays often. Once a year at best. So how am I to bridge the gap between my thoughts and my world?

It's like a switchboard has been flicked off for the past year. I don't do crazy things, i don't lust after whatever girl is in my line of sight, I don't care about your opinion. The only thing that has exited me, really exited me, for a long long time, has been coming up with an idea, and writing it down in my book. I might be lying in bed, all these threads weaving in and out of my head, and then all of a sudden a few of them will come together. And I'll write it down. It's not much but It's been my drug for a while. And it feels so good when i go 'AH FUCKIN' HA! I'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE!'

I'm always an addict, it the only thing that changes is what I'm addicted to. It could be a drug, or some kind of sexual perversion, or it could be ideas, it could be learning the piano. It could be taking a photo, it could be getting a grade in maths, it could be a friend, it could be apple bobbing, it could be silence. I never stay addicted to something for very long, maybe a week or two at most, so when something gets me high for a while I start getting desperate for it to stay. But then i just get addicted to my desperation, which fades like the rest of them.

But this theatre thing, it's sticking round. And I am starting to trust it, but I don't want to sit and write things down forever, until I have to get a real job and my life is lost. I want to slick back my hair and wear a big long coat like they did in the 20's, or be a Gay Cowboy. Whoops.

-

People relate to each other in the same way. Largely. and they all feel the same thing. I can write something down and Everybody will understand what I'm talking about. And i don't think that's good (I do have an opinion). I think that language is a barrier to communication. And so is logic. They don't allow you to express what you truly feel. that's the problem. Language is shared logic, so that's all you can do with it, share logic.

Two people destroying something together, or three people fucking, or four people sitting in silence, means more to me than talking about how much you love someone, or screaming how good something feels. I would rather that we didn't talk at all, not unless we have to, leave talking for lawyers and accountants. I want to just feel things. New things. And it's not that I want to be alone, I want to feel them with as many people as possible. I want to feel happy with someone.

I want to feel happy with someone.

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Some photographs that ended up on my panel...


Yes.