secret: today's prayer

when the actual best part of your shitty fucking inane bore of a day (with a side note of what the fuck hope is there for humanity anyways) is hanging your washing out in a wash of streetlight, amongst the stars:

just be greatful that you have the quiet street.

just be thankful that you have that piece of peace.

just be happy you're allowed

to count the fucking stars.

Secret: it's cool to care (a manifesto)

A warning that this piece, written in early December last year, is born of the hellfury that only little brothers can inspire. Admittedly, it's not only them, as there are plenty of other nuisances pervading my mental space, but on this particular night the nonchalant attitude of younger male siblings brought forth my ire, and so I wanted to share with you poor unsuspecting readers my thoughts.

In case you're concerned that the legendary friendship of the infamous Taylor siblings is in jeopardy, fear not: we still got this, in buckets full of awesome. But sometimes to make an omelette you gotta break some eggs.

Additionally, let me observe that that "why" of the pissed offedness of me on the night this was scribbled furiously into my notebook is not relevant. I actually thank them for pissing me off because they are often the filter through which my world exists, whether I give them credit for it or not. And funnily enough, it's not them at all that doesn't care. However, for that second when I assumed they weren't the type to give a fuck, I really took the world's tendency to not care (disappointing me hugely, always) as personally as I take hurt feelings c/- little brothers.

Here is my rant:

Listen, y'all: caring is cool. It is not creepy, like The Shins said once. Caring about things is what humans do: it's status quo stuff. We care about ourselves- our hair, our breath, our bum in those jeans.  We care about not being able to justify a second helping of cake. We care about if we'll get our request for leave over Christmas granted. We care about keeping our jobs, cars and houses. We care about things happening that we want to happen. We care about being happy, in a myriad of different ways. If you're very lucky, you'll find yourself surrounded by people who care not only about themselves, but about others, too.

Maybe even others like you.

And their caring will fill your cup right to the brim. You will feel happy and loved and valued in ways immeasurable, simply because someone cared. 

The point where you start thinking it's better not to care is a veritable death sentence of the heart. How could it possibly ever be better not to care about things? The living worst, in my opinion, is when you're so misguided in your creepy gross not-care agenda that you start attracting and hanging out with other non-carers, and their very existence starts to get you thinking that not caring is cool. That people who do care are silly, or weak, or just need to calm the fuck down.

I do get it, I really do. Caring about something means inevitable hurt, at some point. We hate the breaking of our tender, vulnerable hearts. We feel the cracks left by the stuff we've cared about, we feel the wind whistling through those cracks- it's like biting down on a sweet thing when you have a cavity. This shit gets right up into the hurtin' stakes.

To care is to expect things. To have expectations is to have something to lose. To lose is to be vulnerable, and nobody wants that - vulnerability isn't brag-worthy, isn't a trophy, doesn't look good as a Facebook post. Care about stuff and sooner or later, shit will inevitably go south. It's the law of things.

But listen up, motherfuckers: I think you should care anyway. Even if it's different from what your friends are doing. Even when no one else is doing it. Even though you're probably going to get hurt. Care anyway. Stand for things, even if it's just you standing there. Love people. Love your family. Get involved and have an opinion about something that might get you into a fight. Care about getting what you want from your life. Ask for things! Demand answers to your questions.

And once you've focused on Number One, do a bit of a social experiment and care about other stuff. People you know. People you don't. Things that are happening, like babies being put in detention centres or Australia's education system or (fuck it) all the countries in the world with populations seeking basic human rights.

What I think is that caring is awesome. Sure, it can hurt. Caring keeps beating me around with its pointy stick of irony, but I can take it. What I can't for the life of me embrace is not caring. Of missing out on the thrill of meaningful human experience- things like best friends getting on planes in the near future to come to Australia. Fuck yeah, I care about that. And because I do, that first glass of wine together is going to be sweet beyond belief. 

Yep, I give a shit about stuff, and the one thing I don't care about is who knows it. I hope for and wish for and expect things from the people I care about. Even when they let me down, which is an inevitable factor of the human condition, I'll still continue to care. The meaning in my life is huge, each day appreciated because of the care factor. I wouldn't do it any other way.

If you don't care, that's your loss, because I'm going to sit here and continue to give a shit about aspects of my life and the lives of others, both great and small. I'm going to rant about the things I care about. I'm going to rant and rave to my heart's content. When you non- carers roll your eyes at my mortifying lack of cool, just know that I'm feeling sorry for ya.

And because I care, I'm probably going to continue trying to make you care too, for the rest of my days. Because YOLO.

Peace. *drops mic*

July 15 - Oh Land, "Renaissance Girls"

the first in the next theme which is "shit someone showed me/I found on the internet". this one wins many points for the amazing film clip, which is quite a bit about the dancing, a little about the hair and a bit about the clothing.

Oh Land is Nanna Øland Fabricius, a girl from Denmark with an amazing name. There's something catchy about this tune that I'm not quite ready to be bored with yet.

secret: the soundtrack of your life, part one

There are some songs that find me forever 17.

When I was 17 I was a beautiful mix of music, poetry, angst and idealism. I spent much of my time just being hard out in love with people who hard out did not love me back.

I was cocooned in the safety of parent's money and food on the table 3 times a day, clean sheets and clean clothes and care, lights on when I got home. I drew things and made things, sang things and wrote things and holy fuck, my little heart was so open, so joyous and so vulnerable. 

How ferociously I loved. How vigorously I scribbled and cut and pasted, how carefully I coded my poetry to hide the love it was bursting with. I marvel at my 17 year old self and her sheer bloodymindedness at being constantly rejected and loved and never really being aware.

I'm all too aware now. A heart can only stay open to all the horrors of the world for so long before it hardens over, just a little. I'd tell my 17 year old self to tell everyone how she felt, even though my 28 year old self finds that damn near impossible. 

I listen to '1979' by the Pumpkins and am putting the finishing touches to an end of school mixtape. Dragging my fingertips through the air with my arms out the window of someone's car adorned with freshly minted P plates (how did our parents ever trust us enough to let us go?). Embarking on my first real relationship with my first real boyfriend, not knowing what a struggle I'd put myself in for, just heady in love with somebody beautiful to deigned to love me back. That was enough, and I didn't know any better.

I listen to 'Nothingman' by Pearl Jam and I'm right back into the torn up pinstripe flares dragged on underneath my school uniform in a faux show of rebellion. Why don't I have any photos of this? We were punk in the way Smirnoff Ice is alcoholic, we were alternative in a mode of carefully constructed layers of tie-dye and nose piercings. I'm happy I've kept my nose pierced, a relic of my 16 year old self in one of her few moments of rebelling against parents who gave her every little thing she wanted except maybe being able to attend more parties.

When I was 17 I felt so damned invisible. I felt angry that a part of me wanted to get the best marks in the class, and another part of me wanted to burn the world down. How do you reconcile the two of those? How do you figure out who to be? I wanted to hurt people to be sure they cared, but I also wanted everyone to love me for always, to know all the secrets and be someone's everything. 

I'd never have picked all the things that would happen to me, all the loves I'd have had and all the times my heart would have broken by the time I was 28. 

And perhaps I hold it a little less loftily high than I used to, but love is still all I think about, one way or another. 

"Shakedown 1979, cool kids never have the time

On a live wire right up off the street

You and I should meet

Junebug skipping like a stone

With the headlights pointed at the dawn

We were sure we'd never see an end to it all

And I don't even care to shake these zipper blues

And we don't know

Just where our bones will rest

To dust I guess

Forgotten and absorbed into the earth below

Double cross the vacant and the bored

They're not sure just what we have in store

Morphine city slipping dues down to see

That we don't even care as restless as we are

We feel the pull in the land of a thousand guilts

And poured cement, lamented and assured

To the lights and towns below

Faster than the speed of sound

Faster than we thought we'd go, beneath the sound of hope

Justine never knew the rules,

Hung down with the freaks and the ghouls

No apologies ever need be made, I know you better than you fake it

To see that we don't even care to shake these zipper blues

And we don't know just where our bones will rest

To dust I guess

Forgotten and absorbed into the earth below

The street heats the urgency of now

As you see there's no one around."

1979, Smashing Pumpkins