off the interislander

 

 

22/02/26, Sun | Off the Interislander

i want to sort of revive this blog as a sort of grounds for infrequent journalling. this may just be like a halfhearted impulse after just finishing reading laura jane grace's autobiography - I want to leave a trail of momentary records in the chance I forget what kind of person I am! I won't let myself forget the perverse, bitter and passive aggressive thoughts that make up myself - moments of joy also permitted.

I thought of physical journalling as a first instinct - I've only ever filled a small little book with a leather cover - which I believe I reserved most often for shitty sketches - many self portraits in pen. some drawings from said journal are archived in a previous post I believe. I don't really actually like writing with pen. My handwriting - chicken scratch and scrawl. I then remember I have this site, and the convenience of a keyboard.

So I sacrifice a bit of privacy - the only course of corrections I must steer myself when writing these is referring to real people obscurely - not ever saying names directly for the most part. so when I have my moments of anguish when pining over a girl - I can't just exclaim something like: "oh Sarah! Oh Sarah!!!" Sarah in this situation will need to become "she" or "her". may this be a fun game of decyphering if these entries ever need to be read by myself again years in the future. I already do this in the obtuse poetry on this blog.

To write without ego and hesitation will be the challenge; always afraid to say something in poor taste, always pausing for the best given word choice in the moment. A pocket thesaurus would be my reliable friend in pretention. I also do have to move forward with the slight paranoid awareness that this blog is actually read by others who are not myself. But voyeurism is exciting! There must be a priest on the opposite end of the confessional. This is the paradoxical mode of which I operate almost on a daily basis: with reckless abandon and with great paranoia! I sort of immediately regret the style of which I write this - my tone is embarrassing. It's a never ending cycle of self consciousness of which I better learn to live with sooner or later. It doesn't matter. When I was a teen, I used to accidentally say things I was thinking out loud. People's heads would turn, and I would catch myself and kind of continue muttering to myself - trying to look normal - just making matters worse.

I am disembarking the Interislander and setting foot back in Wellington after some days of absence. I need to start working. I need to get into a groove of rising and sleeping early. Tonight, I will drive to the Pak N Save to get broccoli and chicken. I will then publish this piece of writing, and if my urges to play Deadlock don't consume my entire evening, I will send emails to Caroline and Ruby about getting their blessing to film their gigs this month.

The bag claim always reminds me of the lyric from Jeff Rosenstock's "Ohio Tpke":

And at the bag claim - with eyes scanned for tatters of tags

Flying half mast like the flag.

Accuracy of lyrics not absolute.

This is the most dire looking bag claim I've seen in my life. It is a room in a long shed with approximately eight chairs. There are trestle tables in place of proper ones. Not that I have any particular disdain for trestle tables! 

I need to lose weight. I look like this: (see figure attached below)

 

 

 

It is broccoli and tuna forever for me! (I have since outgrown rice and tuna (untrue)). But I actually for real actually really need to do this. I look like a total blockhead and block-bodied - and no one is ever impressed by my self deprecating of my body. Look: if I was my own girlfriend, I would dump my ass for being fat as fuck. Of course, I wouldn't actually dump my girlfriends on basis of their bodies. I love the two unconditionally (:. I'm just being a little more critical on myself. I always lecture myself about living with conviction and resolve! I'll show you living with a conviction.