what is love?
Love is the ability to utterly adore somebody, despite her horrendous sense of humour.
Love is the ability to utterly adore somebody, despite her horrendous sense of humour.
Perdita stirred, finally. As consciousness embraced her, she wished that it hadn’t.
She reached for the glass of water on her bedside table, instead mistakenly grasping the empty wine glass from the night before. Adding injury to the dull throb in her head.
There was a lump of hardness beside her. Hot flesh. She briefly recalled that his name was Adam. Casting her eyes over his sleeping form entwined in her expensive sheets, she could attest that he was indeed the christian god’s image of the first man.
His beauty moved her not.
She roused tired feet to the floor and tiptoed to the ensuite, inelegantly dipping her head to sip from the faucet when she reached it, grateful for no witnesses.
Bent over, gulping salvation from a crude water source… like an animal.
Yay! Welcome to you toooo! *hugs all ‘round*
Wait… which porny blog?
A storm of semi-tannin swirled inside the wine glass, just as a hurricane of doubt whirled within Perdita.
She took a long sip of the buttery-coloured liquid and swallowed. The gulp sounded nothing like absolution, no matter how much she wanted it to.
“We’re all just animals in decay,” Timothy used to say to her. “No different to the carcass on the side of the road. We are embedded in the same process of rot.”
He’d kiss her, a perverse expression in his eyes. “Everything falls to dust in the end.”
She saw now that he was right.
Azraelwrites tagged me in a thingy. Since he’s the Overlord of Tumblr I’m pretty sure I’m obligated by royal decree to respond. So, here goes.
1. What is the worst movie you’ve watched more than once?
The Happening. First seen in 2008 during my trip to the States, my girlfriends and I sat through all of this horrendous film in the cosy confines of the tiny studio apartment we rented in New York. I found myself subjected to it again three years later at a party despite my passionate protestations. The villain in the film is the air. THE AIR. It makes people… WALK BACKWARDS. Omg M. Night Shyamalan, no. Just no.
It is literally the stupidest film ever and not even Zoey Deschanel’s exceptionally pretty eyes can save it. 182 precious minutes of my life that I will never get back.
2. If money were no object, what vehicle would you drive? Be specific on this one—I have a bit of a fetish for motorized transport.
I have three and you can’t stop me:
3. If your home were going up in flames and you could save just one material item, what would it be?
Fucking hell. You’re actually going to make me write this on the internet?
My… childhood teddy bear. OkaythereIsaidit.
4. When performing personal…maintenance, righty, or lefty?
Welp, this is a bizarre question. Hands? We’re talking hands, right?
I am boring ole right handed. I don’t live dangerously enough to throw caution to the wind and work with my bad hand to perform such… delicate tasks. Why, do you? *looks accusingly at Az*
5. Assume you’ve been prosecuted for all the hearts you’ve broken over the years, and now sit on death row, readying yourself for that long, last walk. What order will you place for your last meal?
Grain fed, filet mignon steak cooked rare, served with Hot English Mustard.
I’m ready to die now.
6. If you could make your home anywhere, where would it be?
Melbourne or New York.
7. One act or omission from your past you would undo, if you could?
Umm, okay. I won’t bore you with a romantic one. This is a much more subtle life event that didn’t seem to matter too much at the time, but as the years have progressed it is something that I very much regret.
About a year after my grandmother passed away, my grandfather decided to sell the house they lived in. It was more than just R and P’s house (we call our grandparents by their first names - R would never tolerate being called a grandmother. Grandmothers were old. She was beautiful and impossibly glamorous right until the end, toenails painted bright red in her hospital bed), it was the heart of the family.
It was where my brother and I spent countless afternoons swimming in the pool with our many cousins,
injuring ourselves bouncing on the trampoline, playing tennis, eating R’s incredible cooking and being together as a very large, somewhat dysfunctional, but happy family. I loved being there so much, I looked forward to sick days when Mum would drop me off there in the morning and I’d have P and R all to myself, doting on their gleeful, ahem, ailing little granddaughter.
On the day of the auction of the house, I was asked to cover a shift at work - my first job in a clothing store. I tried to get out of it, but was told that I couldn’t (really, my boss was a bit of a bully, and I was an adolescent that hadn’t quite learned to stand up for herself yet).
So, I went to work. And the rest of the family gathered in this place that had meant so much to all of us, and supported P through saying goodbye to the house and passing it on to its new owners. And then, just like that, the house was gone.
I have always felt like I didn’t get to walk through it one last time - knowing it was the last time. To say goodbye to it. At least once a week, I dream of being back in that house. Funny how places stick with you, isn’t it?
8. One dream you harbored as a child that you still cling to?
Dancing in the Colosseum by moonlight.
9. You think you may be falling for someone—what is the number one universal deal-killer that would unquestionably halt your descent?
Nasty, aggressive true colours.
10. Describe the first unrelated person you believe you came to love.
His name meant “water”.
I remember the exact moment I fell in love with him. I was the first one awake, the morning after a high school party. He was on the other side of a living room filled with slumbering teenage bodies, and I watched the sun come through the window illuminating his gorgeous sleeping face.
Olive skin, fair hair that curled adorably at his ears, and the most perfect, arched eyebrows I’d ever seen. Fuck, I fell in love with his eyebrows right then.
A fierce intellect with an incredibly sensitive side, that wonderful boy was my first… everything. Including the first to write poetry about me. How lucky I was to have him as my introduction to love. Is it any wonder I’m such a sucker for writers?
He’s married now to a lovely girl. I smile whenever I hear about him.
Great questions, thank you!
I am overcome with the urge to keep writing out these little confessions that you will never read. Really, I write them to nobody… to the wind, like a mad woman.
It was raining today, grey and cold, and a cloud of depression seemed to settle upon me. You always used to tease me for how affected I was by the weather, how it coloured my every mood, and I fear you would have been amused to find me a very terse, sad figure indeed.
Truly, I haunt the streets of this dusty little town, saying nothing real to anybody.
Some try to reach out to me, intrigued by the solitary, well-dressed phantom that I must appear. If only I could tell them that no sublime mystery is contained within this walking corpse. Only despair, and perhaps the promise of their demise.
Were I not so tragically in love with humanity, one might consider me a misanthrope. Really though, it is myself that I despise, and myself that I shall never forgive. And you already knew that, didn’t you?
This evening, alone in the dark, I am awash with lust. I feel all of my past lovers coming back to me at once. Reliving them, one by one, until I get to you.
You, demon lust. You, Timothy the Tender Torturer. I hate myself, but it’s all I can do to stop from begging for the lava of your kiss.
My sex is aching for your touch, having long forgotten the trespass of any other. My breasts singing to feel the sting of your slap, the graze of your teeth. The nether hole tingles for the relentless strokes of your tongue, the insistence of your fingers breaking its resistance, and the delicious agony of your completion pounded into me.
But you won’t lay a hand on me, will you?
This is the exquisite anguish of it all. You will sit, within reaching distance, and you will devastate me with your words as I lie in torment, weeping in vain for your touch. You will leave me before sunrise, weeping and wet, to pen my confessions.
How I have written for you, Timothy.
Presenting dark curved lines on a white page; gifts of an admiring servant. It was all that I could do from where my feet were firmly rooted, despite my evocations. I was afraid of what would greet me when I found you, lured from your dark triad
Didn’t I learn long ago that I would love that which would cause me pain, and keep itself separate from me?
You know I’ve always been weak in my hands, but soldered like iron in how much suffering I can take. Yet at times, like tonight, I feel driven to madness by your spectre. You leave me weak; sickened in the shadow memory of you. I fear I cannot bear it much longer. If I could reach you, I’d implore you. Cease these nightly visits.
Stay gone, from my mind and from this half-waking realm that haunts me in my bed.
Yours for always
Yeah, most people find my self-worth hard to take. They think I should be broken, underneath this smile. I should be insecure and fucked on and fucked up. The fact that I don’t hate myself, don’t loathe my naked skin… it rattles people. Because girls like me should have a shattered back story. Girls like me should fall to pieces at the slightest tender touch. Girls like me should not be whole in themselves. So they sit, and they wait for me to break.
I watch them wait in vain.”
Sorry, that was cheap. But you did walk right into it ;)
Some things I find attractive, off the top of my head: Kindness, creativity, humour, ability to put up with (and enjoy) extreme levels of dorkiness, an open mind, a boundless heart, and an unquenchable sexual imagination.
For me, attraction happens very organically. It’s violent and all-consuming. You can profile your ideal lover and make all the wish lists you want, but ultimately chemistry is chemistry. And when it hits you in the face… you know.
labelledamesansdice replied to your post “This really goes against the whole “writer” image…”
Wow, you’re good. <333333!!! Awesome cause though:-)
Thank you lovely! x
elzaro replied to your post “This really goes against the whole “writer” image…”
will try donate later this week. great idea for a great cause.
You’re a sweetheart, thank you.
mj-orchard replied to your post “This really goes against the whole “writer” image…”
i will be cheering you on with a beer in my hand!
Haha, brilliant! A most excellent cheerleading effort :)
rodh80 replied to your post “This really goes against the whole “writer” image…”
You’re fucking amazing for doing this! xx
Not at all, you’re too kind as always R. Thanks dude!
kittygory replied to your post “This really goes against the whole “writer” image…”
Sober is good! Embrace it! *hugs*
Will do gorgeous, thank you! x
Thanks for the support guys. Team five.
jake501 replied to your post “This really goes against the whole “writer” image…”
i’ve never jerked off to a photo on a charity’s website before. Odd.
rakuli replied to your post “This really goes against the whole “writer” image…”
I did this last year. You’ll be surprised (well, I was anyway) how clear you mind gets when you lay off the juice. I found my ability — and want — to write increased greatly.
Thanks for the donation Luke, you rock! Yeah, I did Dry July last year and it was amazing how much more focused and energised I became. Made me wonder why I even drink in the first place, but then August rocked around and well… wine happened. Stupid sexy wine.
But I’m doing Febfast 2014, which means no alcohol for 28 days.
Goodbye wine in both still and sparkling forms! Goodbye cider! Goodbye various delicious incarnations of vodka!
It will be tough, especially with Australian summer in full swing, but it’s nothing compared with what people with serious addictions go through every day. Money donated will go to support solutions for youth addiction issues.
Please feel free to message me for more information on Febfast, (or just to commiserate with my sorry sober ass).
I am by no means an Australian historian, however since you raise an important part of our history, I shall relate a brief understanding of it.
Australia Day marks the the anniversary of the First Fleet in 1788 - 11 ships from Great Britain which founded a penal colony which became the first European settlement in Australia.
The significance of the day has evolved over time, and an alternate indigenous observance of the occasion are “Invasion Day” or “Australian Natives Association Day”.
The day marks the docking of the First Fleet at Sydney Cove, not a massacre. In fact, an immediate consequence of the British settlement on the Aboriginal people was a series of European epidemic diseases, with smallpox being the principle cause of Aboriginal deaths.
However, violence against the indigenous people was not far behind, with the first known massacres of Aboriginal people by the British occurring from 1804 onward. Hideous crimes of murder and genocide against the indigenous people being perpetrated (at least those that were recorded) until as late as the 1930’s.
Horrific human rights breaches continued against the aboriginals between the 1930’s and 1960’s, when the Government of Australia sought to “assimilate” the indigenous culture into the white European Australian culture by removing children of Aboriginal or Torres Straight Islander descent from their families, and placing them in church-run orphanages and missions. The social impact of this policy cannot be underestimated. Some social commentators, such as Sir Ronald Wilson have argued that it was nothing less than an attempt at complete genocide. That the Australian Government thought that by “resocialising” the stolen generation of Aboriginal children into European Australian culture, the existing indigenous people - along with their rich and ingrained culture - would simple die out.
Of course, the Aboriginal people did not, and in the late 1960’s Aboriginal activists fought to revoke the Government’s policy of assimilation. In 1976 the Aboriginal Land Rights Act was passed, which was the first step in allowing Aboriginal Groups to reclaim their traditional lands.
In the 1980’s the Government’s policy of removal of indigenous children came to light and garnered the horror and shame of the European Australian people. On 26 May 1998 the first “National Sorry Day” was held, with huge public pressure placed on the Howard Government to issue a public apology to the Aboriginal Australian people.
It wasn’t until the 13th February 2008 that Prime Minister Kevin Rudd presented a formal apology to the indigenous people of Australia.
As an Australian, I can only speak for myself when I say that I carry a deep regret for the actions of my European predecessors. However, I cannot personally be held responsible for their crimes, just as Americans who celebrate the family tradition of Thanksgiving should not be accused of “walking on the bones of the innocent.” I do not believe that any person, of any nationality, would ever rejoice in the violence of their country’s past.
I feel that awareness and education of our history is important for all Australians, as is the eradication of racism against all cultures - indigenous or otherwise - who share this country.
For myself and many others, January 26th is a day to celebrate kindness, mateship and that which makes us unique, while never forgetting the injustices of the past.