I have been another year older for nineteen minutes, without realising. This makes me sad, I feel like my dad, the weight of his pain sinks into my face, my expression, the corners of my mouth. When did it get like this? I have become so broken. Perhaps I never wasn’t broken. I tried to hold each new thing, make a fresh new vase out of good clay, good intentions – but perhaps the mold I’m working with is faulty. Is broken. Perhaps all this time it hasn’t been good. I guess ending up in a cult at sixteen and arguably before that at fourteen if you count radical swappie political recruiting as cultish, isn’t such a good sign. I can’t believe that, that this has been my life, I was such a dreamer – maybe I still am. Maybe that’s why I can’t be here, like really be here. I’ve been staying up watching 10 Things I Hate About You and all I could think of was writing a song which sang about how I wanted to slip away into a different world, where the paintball scene goes on for ever and Heath Ledger didn’t die til he was old and he was happy. I also thought that films are a very safe way for us to experience and let out our emotions, I found a wicked article one time by a film maker that talked about how he found it a good medium to work with because the audience are there in the theatre, really wanting a cinematic experience, to be whisked away, to see a spectacle. I also found myself wishing that I had grown up in 90s American college, and learnt archery and all sorts of mad skills. I think maybe I should go to America, and write songs about it. Hello, hello, it’s me, it’s me, I’m broken, broken, beyond relief, beyond anything you could, believe. I’ve travelled, travelled, so, so far, to be here, here, where you all are, and so, so, round I’ll go, following dreams that go nowhere. Except the same, place, always, a feint dark, disgrace, taints me all my days, days, and all that the ways of life, have taught me is live, live, shortly and slowly, it might help to stem the pain, pain. Slow, slow, mind how go down that rabbit hole, mind how you go down that rabbit, hole. Toiled and broken, plundered and turned in, over and in, round it begins, around the world for to sing, sing, of all the ways of my sins, sins. Wow well that’s good, twenty-five for thirty-three minutes and you’ve already written a song. Perhaps this is your calling. Perhaps you should follow your heart, my dear, my beautiful dear, perhaps you should follow your heart, heart. I love you. I love you, not some stupid boy who doesn’t know he has a rod up his ass. Me. This beautiful being that you inhabit and don’t care for. These hands, these fingers, must care for you right now, somehow. They really do. Follow your heart, child. Follow your heart. It’s broken and so it’s pulling in all the different directions there are to go, but somehow still it knows, it knows, somehow still it knows.
I have decided to come of age. I have decided to do this. Perhaps it was better that this was always a secret, because then I can just truly do the things I want to do, and do the things I truly want to do. It means I can shed my strings, silently, and quietly, and just start doing. It’s my life, I am twenty-five years old. I am. Me. Don’t let the fear sink in. Don’t let the doubt come in. You have to stop, to change this now. Keep flowing, sister. You gotta keep playing, girl, you gotta keep moving, with the waves, inside, against the waves, you’ll make a stormy, tide.
I am now twenty five years old. I am not going to eat crap anymore. I can NOT eat crap. I am going to not eat sugar, anymore. Fruit, fine. Honey, fine. Whatever, but for now, fruit and honey. No sugar. This is not extreme. This is born out of love, for joy. I CAN do that. I am also not going to compulsively stare into mirrors whenever I spy one in a room I am in, as soon as I am alone. It has become a habit, whatever, look in the mirror, but never to judge, you are not the Judge. You are the Lover, remember?