That's Not Dust, It's Magic

Tomorrow is new years eve. Tomorrow is the end of the year. Tomorrow completes another year of me wishing to do better things, and also being single. And tomorrow is 40 degrees, which is disgusting.

So far some frans and I have concucted the spine tingling plan of dressing up in the clothes of bygone eras, and forcing ourselves into the town parade, which is otherwise extreamly boring. We all hope that this will bring us some sort of joy and excitement and make the last day of 2010 somewhat life changing.

If all goes well, I hope to be wearing Zoe’s lilac cut off denim overalls (http://outre-moth.tumblr.com/ — follow her, shes amazing), some sort of faded fluroecent top underneath (or one of my many acid wash wears), and my desert style combat boots. I’ll hopefully whip my hair into a quiff, and don on some john lennon sunglasses to look savvy and also protect my cornias.

I dont really know how the evening should pan out. I dont know how busy this tourist town will get. I dont know how far I will be able to walk in a straight line either. But I do know that me in short purple overalls will be …. a sight.

P.S - Is anybody doing anything actually worthwhile for new years eve?

my mammy and all her family is… if that counts for anything..

Its not Christmas anymore! Not for a whole entire year! Rejoice and be glad.
From my mother, I was given the most beautiful coat that I love and will wear to the grave, along with some lovely watercolour inks and brushes, all in woody, sepia tones for me to be creative with. A gift that I will use - this hasnt happened before.
Buwhat did I get form my sister? The one that stopped talking to me for a while and then started again. The one who’s house we all gathered to feast at.
A towel.
Not a purple towel. Not a towel with patterns. Not a joke towel with My Little Pony on it. Not a retro towel, or one that is particularly soft.
A. Large. Brown. Towel.
The plus side is that I love drying myself, so it will definately be a gift of good use.

Yes Caleb, but did you see your father?, I hear you ask as you eat your popcorn, watching the screen. No, I didnt.
He didn’t reply, until suddenly, he sent a short message through saying that he feels ill and doesnt want visitors.
Classic ‘my dad’ excuse. Absolutely, totally, completely, predictable excuse. i can only bet three million dollars that his ‘illness’ was a ‘migraine’, because for whatever unknown reason, he happens to suffer the most terriffic mirgraines whenever a family event occurs.
This was upsetting, but what could I do? I swept it under my emotionally rotting soul-carpet and continued to eat my day, until my brother (10 years older than me) told someone about his plans to after lunch, go to Dads for the evening.
It turned out that all the visitors Dad didnt want around, because of his sickness, happened to just be me. How merry.

Tommorow is Christmas. Christmas = family, pudding, fat men and baby mesiahs, yes?
Knew it.
My family is gathering at my sisters house tomorrow for lunch. We usually alternate whos house the family-parade will take place in, and this year its at Amy’s, here in Daylesford, and after much complaining about how far it is to drive (even though its us who have done the miles every other year), people have actually decided to come. Hooray for my family.
Christmas also is a large meat fiesta, I have come to learn, and being a vegetarian, this means a very very large sugar rush come 4pm, after I have filled up on pudding and reindeer shaped cookies.
But family (and jesus) are the bigger call cards for Christmas. But this year, both things have been shoved down some sort of shit hole, because people are apparently too stressed. I havent seen my father for most of this year, due to a huge ongoing tiff thats been between us, that was only getting worse and spreading us further apart.
But I thought that it might be very lots and manys nice to try and see papa-bear and his oriental wife and child. Last time I tried to contact him, he told me how much I had hurt them and how he either wants me to see him all the time and be ‘happy and normal’, or not at all.
Christmas tends to make me happy and relatively normal, so I thought now would be a good time to pounce.

Have I heard a reply?
Nope.
Look at my face, is my face bovvered?
I. Aint. Bovvered.

If there is one thing thats certain, its that if I dont get this vegan chicken burger into my gut right now, heads will roll.
Roll. Yum.
But also, in this late night/early morning deep thought pattern that Im now locked into, theres one thing that I cant think through so that I can rest.
What will fix my sigleton blues?

Single, lonely, call it what you please, its not fun to be ____ all of the time. I know this because I am single all of the time. Im not at all saying that in order to have fun, you must have some sort of life partner, Im just saying that .. I…
I scare myself when I think this sometimes. Ive never wanted to become the person that just wants a lover for the sake of having a lover. What would that fix? What does having a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/defacto-partner fix?
Someone to talk to? I have those.
Someone to look at? I have those.
Someone to talk pretty things to? I have those.
So what is it that Im wanting? And will my need ever be satisfied, or will I just move on to become an Obese-relationship-eater who just endlessly eats the love people give without ceasing and without ever feeling when enough is enough.

I need to find a way to fill this for myself. Why do I suddenly rely on a non-existant ‘someone else’? Should I be looking for the raspberry to my white-chocolate, or should I push my trolly out of the muffin aisle completely?

CALEB’S LIFE CHANGING LIST:
1. Start road of self discovery in morning.
2. Eat rasberry and white chocolate muffin in pantry.
3. Go to bed, you sound like a crazy person.

I would officially like to say my Mother is a top bird.
My sister likes to remind me of how I cant stand her, I cant talk to her, I wish she was more open and all the angsty rest.. but that was from years ago. Not now. Not at all!
Definately sometimes actually, but this is normal for any relationship. Mother doesnt accept somethings about me. She doesnt like some things about me. She loves some things about me. She wishes some people had certain traits like mine. She wishes I could change. She wishes I would stay the same. And I feel the same about her.
Your mum doesnt approve that youre gay?!  No, but does your mum approve your disrespectfull pig headed behaviour?
It doesnt really bother me. Because at the moment, Im not myself. I dont have my own life - Im still dependant, I still go to school and all the rest. I cant judge my life now for something that it hasnt even become. I cant wish my life was more like someone elses when a. Im not them, and b. My life is still developing.
And my dear dear Wench, allowed me as a 6 year old, to be the biggest Spice Girls fan in the world, mimic the voice of Shakira and dye my hair bright blood red (accidentally), because it made me happy.
I dont know how hard it would have been for her to console me from how hard I used to be bullied, but still let me be so different just because thats who I was. In grade Prep, I could sing ‘My Heart Will Go On’ from The Titanic in its entirity, in grade 3 I would cut my hair in wierd ways and rave on about the imorality of the Iraq War. I was just that sort of kid. And to know that your child is being hated and made fun of because of these reasons, but know that if you tell your child to stop, you are telling them to be someone else - I cant comprehend.
I dont even need to go outside of my family to see crap parenting. My fathers sister has 7 children, and scourges them mentally into doing whatever she thinks is right. Im sure she’s been their friend on few occasions but hey, the devil sold Eve the apple for a good price and he didnt turn out to be too crash hot.

Im not her buddy all of the time. Sometimes I feel pressured into being her confidante. But Im thankfull that my mammy is my mammy.

What you are about to do in a matter of minutes, is listen, whether it be on youtube, itunes, a cd or your ipod, you will listen to ‘Rambling Man’ by Laura Marling.
Then you will stop. Take a deep breathe, then listen to it again.
Then you will realize that this is actually the story of your life. Its your want. Like an Eptiah, its your wish that you hope if nothing else, people will remember you by.
For the rest of the day, you will have the line ‘Let it always be known that I was who I am’ etched into your mind, because now you are reminded that only you are in control of how you behave, what you speak and what you make yourself to be.
Then you feel proud that you have this power.
Then you will feel completely hollowed out, when you listen to fact being sung when you hear the lines talking about how hard it is to accept ourselves when we realize we are nothing we would ever want to be, especially when its something we hate.

Well, thats what I’ve been doing anyway.

Dreamfest rocked my cotton socks quite well.
The attendance was much much much much much much etc. less than what the Facebook page lied to us all about, but I feel the crowd was still substantial.
Leda and I dont really have superstar-minds, we arent particularly technical, and I wouldn’t be able to set up a mic stand if my life depended on it, but I do think we have a good sound. We are still getting used to the whole ‘fan’ thing, and people saying how they wish they were like us, wish they looked like us, or wish they sounded like us. We are also still getting used to the strenght of Mi Goreng flavouring also, so we are generally ‘growing’ into everything.

Bonjah - reggae band - were lovely. They used my capo. And I had never really listened to their music before (to the rabid disgust of my friends), but I actually think they werent too shabby. + the guitarist is like a sexy sexy Jesus.

Tonight, ‘Leda & Caleb’ are playing at a Jazz Bar here in town. We’re a bit slightly very lots excited, and some ex collegues of mine are coming to see.
How dear.

Here are just 2 shots (for now anyway) of us, and one of our beloved florence-drum.

I have currently decked the halls with bells of holly, and I have falalalala lalalala-ed myself around the place, spreading Christmasness as I go.
But am I the only one who feels that this year, Christmas is hiding under a rug, or behind the yoghurt in the fridge?

I like Christmas. I like the gatherings, the food, the festivity, the niceness and generosity of people, and how they give me things. I don’t wear reindeer badges or red fat-suits, but I do reletively like the Christmas season.
But this year, despite the tinsel on our banister, and despite the pretty birds we have on our Christmas tree (I call it tree, but its brown sticks with feathery covered polystyrine balls that really look more fantastic than the shit that they sound)„ I dont feel the Christmas I did as a child.
Am I growing up? Am I over worked? Am I missing the spirit of Christmas? Should I eat some breakfast already?
Im not sure.
But I do realize the trend thats started of being-so-cool-that-not-only-do-I-hate-children-I-also-hate-Christmas-and-smiling, and I dont think its particularly funny.
Cynics are funny. Cynics drinking red wine, wearing black turtleneck sweaters, eating day old cake for dinner are funny. But so is Christmas (sometimes that is, when you arent with the side of the family that drive you to the point of suicide by attempting to choke yourself on a bon-bon toy and party hat).

So bitches, Smile - It’s Christmas.

Today I toddled myself off to my lubly hairdresser to get my tresses chopped off.
Ive had a Megan Washington/Sally Bowles/Spock/Beatles mop of dark hair for the last while, and whilst I love the look - it leaves my face looking tired and pudgy, and tired and pudgy are not my favourite things.

Im really happy with the cut. I hear you gasp and now scratch your head as to what on earth could I have to bitch on about, in a hair-related setting.
No, not my hairdresser. He’s a dear chap who’s life and vocations have basically been everything I could hope to be, and ontop of his olive complexion, the man can work a hair dryer and round brush like some sort of majestic octopus with extream style.
But remember my stories of Benny from the cafe? And how Benny and Octo-style were previously in a relationship?
Hmm.

Well as Octo-style and I do like a good chat while my mane is being tamed, we have accepted to now be friends on facebook. Hooray for that.
“Your photos were great..” he says, “Yeah, I felt like a real voyeur as I read through absolutely everything. Your wording’s great…. I found out a few things too”
Found out a few things? christjesusgodjesusgodjesuschrist

Has he seen my love-struck discussions? Not that I publically rave on my wall about every infatuation and thing I adore, but what exactly did he ‘find out’ form reading ‘absolutely everything’ ?

My hair session was normal and nice, nothing awkward was raised, nothing presumpteous.
However … I have my reasons to fear

Excuse me, but I dont believe it makes me a satanist to hate Christmas music. Or to hate Christmas clothes. Or to hate children, in Christmas clothes.
It does however make me a satanist if I wear Christmas clothes, whilst listening to Christmas music, or so my childhood bible study lessons tell me.

I for one, would like to cast a vote for some Buddha music. Played prefusely at certain times of the year, I think a spot of Buddha music would go down a treat. Then afterwards, we could warm down with some Allah music, while we deck the halls with burquas and whatnot.
Why all this Christmas music? Why must it be made so brash and senseless? Why must I hear it?
The other day, I was wondering through Chadstone Shopping Centre, just exiting the lovely Fat store, to which I heard someone with a voice simillarly painful to Mariah Carey, belting out a Christmas beat. Her tag line, for which the entire end of the song was loud “JESUS JESUS JESUS“‘s being yelled or screeched or sung maybe, over and over again. I was trying to shop. Theyre nice shoes JESUS!! I like that jacket JESUS!! Is that a sale I see? JESUS JESUS JESUUUUUUUSSSSS!!

There is only so much holy and merciful saviour I can take when Im looking for summer-ware, and I feel it was exceeded. I also feel like some Christmas pudding.