Something with pictures.

Disclaimer: this one gets into my personal, confusing brain space. I saw no reason to censor it, even though a mere ten days later my brain is in a different place. Christopher, I'm pretty sure you're the only person who reads this anyway. I hope you don't mind.


29th June

Finished last night at a meat reastaurant where they threw together a vegetarian meal for me.

 

Inbar, our guard with a gun, saw me crying as I got off the bus and I felt like a lame, attention seeking doofus. She was more than sweet and when I told her what was up, I knew she had been there too, and wasn't just telling me she knows how I feel. I don't think I've ever felt the loss of a life as hard as I'm feeling Adam's.

One of our group leaders, Yonit, uses words like 'funtivity' and says things like 'rock on' - it's hard to keep my cynicism at bay but it seems as if she is genuinely excited to be sharing this trip with us.



This morning we started by visiting a lookout on the Syrian border which used to be a bunker for Israeli soldiers during wartime. Daniel, our tour guide, gave us a brief explanation of the Six Day War, including the fact that Israel decided to strike pre-emptively even after the UN asked them not to. (This is a terribly abridged explanation of an explanation, please wiki it or something if you care to.) I am here to learn more about my history and hopefully to come to believe in the plight of Israel, but I struggle when I hear things like this...





In the afternoon we went rafting - it was super empowering. Tara, Daniella, Yael and I shared a rafty thing, and at first I was pretty nervous because I'm used to being really uncoordinated. Tara and I ended up rowing the whole way - it was great! Yael and Daniella lay back, and with each stroke of the oar I felt more and more pissed off at myself for indulging this self-image where I don't know how to do things. We were fast, and efficient, and made it to the end before most of the group. Then we stood around for a while and just Israeli-watched (which is kind of like people-watching, but more aesthetically pleasing).


Visited a kibbutz on the border of Lebanon where we were given a brief talk by Aryeh - contender for most interesting man in the world. His motto is basically "this is what I think, if you don't like it I don't give a shit." Quite amazing to sit with him, literally looking into Lebanon, while he gave the finger to the UN helicopters that fly overhead daily and talked to us about his convictions.


He's got the kind of face that has really lived, and I have to forgive a man like that his opinions, whether I agree with them or not. He's staunchly pro-Israel and anti-peace-at-any-cost, and he has no fear. He reminds me a little of what Pierre may have been like had he not turned his anger inward.



Evening - 8pmish

I'm not even sure I want to write... I'm afraid of what might come out. Another flood from my eyes and mind tonight. I am told so often that I am "too" emotional, or "too" sensitive, but is there such thing? What's the yardstick? I just feel the way I feel...

I logged online for the first time since I'd left to find that Chris had joined facebook. This led to me looking through his photos and finding moments I'd forgotten - my hair shorter, his arm around me. It was almost like being a stranger meeting us as a couple at the time. Looking at us from the outside. It made me think about all the things we've done together, the places we've been. My writing has gotten so shit that it's doing these thoughts little justice - just routine sentimentality, I guess.

I want things. He did not/could not always give them to me.
How much does that matter? Love doesn't listen... maybe love is deaf, not blind.
I wanted him to tell me I look pretty when I cry, instead of being burdened by my tears (clearly I'm a crier, that's never going to change. but then... if I couldn't change, why should he? my thoughts chase each other, in circles). 
I want to be loved so hard that my other would die a little without me.
But.
I want my lover back.
I want to wake up and have him put on some music I hate while he walks around in his underwear. I want to be a family again.
Have we fucked everything?

(schizophrenic internal monologue says:
if he read this, he would think how dramatic and overly complex i am.
so how can i feel good about the way my brain works?
i want him to make me feel like my mind is his favourite place!
he would probably think that is a huge responsibility and that feeling good about myself is a job that should fall to me...
but i think it's about balance.)

On a slightly seperate note, I think it's pretty universal for a woman to want her man to make her feel like a supermodel instead of admiring other forms... there's nothing worse for me than having my man admire an airbrushed woman (regardless of how good his taste is, and the fact that he's smart enough not to like skinny girls)... we know they're hot - that's why they're models/actresses/b-grade celebrities. I think we all want to feel like we are the only ones who belong in the fantasy. I wonder if it's because of this desire that I never notice women doing this... commenting on hotness or drooling in front of their men. Some kind of subconscious treat others how you wish to be treated? Fuck I can ramble...

I feel like vomiting or dying.
Not sure which.


Later

At our end-of-the-day group meeting, Yonit asks why I missed dinner and I tell her that I'm incredibly emotional and have been in my room crying. Inbar says I am a real Israeli woman - ha! "Like a cool bartender from Tel Aviv" she says. I'll take that, especially from a cute girl with a gun.


We split into small groups for a tie in session, which sort of turns into an even smaller group having a philosophical discussion with Rabbi Yisroel. I address a lot of my doubts with him, and he's a smart and understanding guy, but there's still too much I can't swallow.


30th June

On our morning bus ride Tim develops a new weapon - his index finger nail. The attack comes with the tagline 'I'll slice ya!'


Visited a preschool for special needs kids in Sefat. The area was kind of ghetto and super religious - it sort of broke my heart.

 







After leaving them (too soon), we visited a bunch of synagogues and a super enthusiastic guy called Avraham who spoke to us a little bit about Kabbalah. I think people generally found him inspiring and funny, but he sort of grossed me out. He actually seemed high on Kabbalah, and used words like 'awwwwesome' and 'blissed out'. A little much for me.

We were given some time to walk around and shop...

We stuck with Inbar through the cobblestoned lanes full of jewellery and art vendors, and discussed the merits of haggling. Ate my first (but not last) felafel in Israel!



The days are so full on and I tend to fall asleep a lot on the bus between places. Headphones in my ears, view in my eyes. Lots of Bjork, Deftones, Fiona, Beck, Portishead, Buck, Team Sleep.

These are everywhere...


They took us to the place where a really important rabbi was buried (you can see I am absorbing lots of detail). It's regarded as a highly spiritual place and I surprised myself by doing something like praying for the first time in many years. If things come good for mum + dad, I may have no choice but to become a believer.

Ended the day at a winery that bored the crap out of me, so while everybody else got drunk on wine tasting, I sat and spoke with Inbar and Yonit for a while. I told them a little about my mind mush regarding Christopher, and we discussed the pros and cons of Israeli men.
Inbar said, "Talia, you could have any man you wanted."
She's so sincere it makes me want to die.

Something Israelish.

I've been keeping a paper journal as best I can on the plane rides through the world and bus rides through Israel. Here's a close copy for your eyes and brains.


26th June 2010

Flying away from everything I know, my pen comes to life and I feel almost instantly as if my thoughts carry more weight than at home... enough to note them down, anyway.

Bjork says:
I'm a fountain of blood
in the shape of a girl.

A man at the airport said "hello madam" as I walked by him, and I felt a little like royalty. Easily pleased, sometimes.
I must learn to play an instrument.


Midnight. Second leg - Brisbane to Bangkok

Doctor Who says:
The laws of time are mine and they will obey me!
Time Lord victorious... I quite enjoy nerdly pursuits. (but even the Doctor knew when he'd gone too far.)
Watched the Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus (amazing, if somewhat confusing on that little screen), was given a vegan meal (less amazing), slept much.

Bangkok airport has a Mister Donut.

We have a 9 hour stop over, and start breaking the ice over games of Uno. Eat lots of food and have a ridiculously good, cheap massage.
While the Thai lady rubbed my shoulders and chattered away behind me I thought:
sometimes i am in love with everyone.
(and sometimes nothing, and sometimes everything. With body heat and the way my clothes smell after Gram washes them and listening to music while the world rushes by my window.)

Israeli guy at the airport who checked our passports: "Emsalem... that name is very... Israeli."
Us: "Really? We always thought it sounded Arabic."
Guy: "Yes, really... you will be getting a lot of mail."


Bangkok to Israel

I need a shower and I'm not sure what day or time it is anymore. I think the first Israeli we saw was one of the male stewards, milling around at the airport. Both Yael and Tara's jaws were on the ground, and I sort of had to double take and freeze for a moment. There is something extra appealing about a dude doing a sort of feminine job when (as Tara put it) "you know they've held a huge fuck off gun before." Maintains major masculinity as sort of wrong as that is...

Some dude just walked up the airplane aisle in a t-shirt with a road sign on it of a stick figure bride and groom, with the words 'wrong turn' underneath. I am so fucking sick of this cliched, supposedly humorous idea that marriage ruins life. Doubly so because they're never women's shirts, bumper stickers, ugly jokes... so juvenile and sexist. We are not the enemy!

Kelly, one of the twins on the program, is as anxious about flying as I am, so she slipped me a Valium for the flight. It was rather fitting that as the plane was taking off, part of the electrical stuff in the ceiling (and indeed part of the ceiling) fell down just where the two of us were sitting. Better still that neither of us really cared, in our Valium haze.


28th June

A night shrouded in travel and sleep. We then spent the morning at a barren little place doing teambuilding exercises with ropes. I am trying not to be a cynic and quite enjoying the group. Mostly I am a bit in love with our rifle toting female security guard.

Probably the most interesting conversation I've had today was with Adam, a religious dude who was hesitant about me sitting next to him because he's not allowed to touch women. We got into the beginnings of a discussion about whether or not this idea is a good one. Adam's basic explanation of the reasons for doing it come down to 'morality'. That a man is a sexual being, and were he to touch a woman or be alone in a room with her, his morality would be led astray. For a married man, the rule is also because the connection between a husband and wife is so sacred, that she should be the only one who can touch him. On the one hand that can be considered somewhat of a romantic notion, but it's just so highly sexist. It seems to me it objectifies women into beings that can only arouse sexuality through physicality. What about a woman's brain, conversation? Should those things be off limits too? Not to mention that this kind of rule doesn't credit a man with any level of restraint at all. What's appealing about being with a man who can't touch any other woman because even a brush of the hand gives him sexual thoughts? Isn't choice the only worthy restraint? So many problems with this...

We just came off a brutal two hour hike up and down a mountain. I do not understand hiking, nor the people who find pleasure in it.

Visited our first supermarket - fantastically foreign and a ridiculous selection of junk food. I think this is the point where Yael decided to move to Israel. We were very overwhelmed and I somehow came away with nothing but Cinammon Toast Crunch.


Evening

Sitting on the tour bus as it passes through green and forever landscapes. The sun is low in the sky, Mogwai playing to me, I feel somewhat cliched but I can't help crying for Adam. The world is so much bigger than we allow ourselves to consider when we're inside our daily mess. I wonder how much a plane ticket would have changed his mind. I hope to leave the world better than I came into it (a crying blob), and it fucking wrecks me that his last moments may have been moments of torment. I hope they were of relief.











....much more to come. I wanted to add pictures but the internet connection is so slow and it's beyond bed time. Tomorrow.
I've been keeping a paper journal, so there will be some long, hopefully interesting travel blogging to come when I have a little more Internet time than the five minutes I have right now.

But, in this immediate second:
I am in Israel and I am still as emotional as ever, perhaps moreso. Everything I see or hear gets me choked up and I've spilled tears more than once.
For Adam, for Israel, for my history, for kids who drop their icecreams.

I'm sitting at the computer with my eyes welling right now.
Will I ever stop being a flood?

Moment of honesty:
I wish you hadn't joined facebook.
I wish I hadn't read your blog.
I miss us terribly.

Something lost.

I do miss urgently scrawling
Though not the torment that drove my hand.

Something worth a thousand words.



Sylvia Ji

Something that makes me sad in the heart, but happy too.

Don't freak out when you see the minutes come up...
It's worth every second.


Something self indulgent.

Lately I have no head space for writing. I used to have to carry a notebook everywhere, to jot down the perpetual words chasing each other through my mind. Well crafted phrases used to form themselves almost spontaneously, autonomously.
Now I struggle even to speak the way I think.

I would like to exercise my brain muscle more, but of late it is my heart doing all the work.

Funnily enough, I am feeling the most creatively satisfied I have in a long time, and I'm basking in this subtle sense of... shall we call it career enjoyment? Even though there is no massive career to speak of, there's something empowering about getting up everyday and working on my own projects, flexing some creative control, and not answering to anybody else about ANYTHING.

When I was styling for the magazine, there was absolutely nothing pleasant about the situation. I was everybody's bitch - picking things up, dropping things off, and fitting my vision somewhere inside somebody else's creative box. Starting the eBay store has really helped my hone my styling and photography skills (even though they're both still pretty amateur), and starting some oufit self-photography has made me more aware of what I put on each morning. That might seem like a simple thing to most people, but I'm a firm believer in style being an art for those who can't draw or play an instrument.

Exciting things on the horizon:
- Styling the lookbook for Matt's new T-shirt line
- Potentially doing some styling for Jeremy's denim label, Billycock
- Giving Kiss My Button Vintage a design overhaul
- Decluttering my life/house

I still want to finish the picture book at some point this year, but I'd rather let it come naturally than pressure myself into writing something of merit. Is that a cop out? Possibly.... I'm just so disillusioned with parenting, schooling, NAPLAN testing, and countless other things, that I'd like to just take a step back from anything kid-related for a little while.
I'll come back to it when I'm fresh for it... I promise.

And then I can write something as good as this:




This week is an exercise in relaxation. I intend on hanging out with my mum, brainstorming some ideas for Matt's shoot, working on my eBay store, learning some Photoshop with Simon, and watching some LOST with Adam.

And if this is any indication, I might even manage to bang out some more written words.

Something pink and made of tulle.

Pink tutus for grey days...



I have a real weakness for tutus, and tend to throw one on whenever I get a chance.
I know I often run the risk of looking like a six year old dressed up as a fairy princess, so I try to combat that by adding heels… but that probably just makes me look like a crazy person.



Also, when I accompanied my sister to the grocery store, a little girl of about four years old walked past with her mum and I heard her say, “Mummy, look how pretty that girl looks!”

Gold… a girl can always do with more compliments, even if they come from toddlers.


- ASOS heart tights
- Peter Alexander tutu skirt
- Kain Label sheer pocket tee
- Vintage sequin bolero
- Mystique shoe boots with DIY pink ribbon

Something I probably couldn't afford.


….after lurking a number of fashion blogs for some time now, I have finally braved the front of the camera myself.

I’m usually behind the lens, taking photos for my eBay store or doing random bits and pieces of styling, but I’m starting to feel like more than the same five or so people should get to see the wardrobe that I spend too much of my $$$ on…

So, I’m extremely inexperienced and awkward in front of a camera, but hopefully this adventure will cure that.

This is from last Saturday or Sunday, when Christopher and I went to have coffee with Jade. One of my favourite fashion bloggers, Rebecca from The Clothes Horse, recently said that if she didn't wear her dresses out to do errands and walk the dog, she would never wear her dresses. Reading that was like a wardrobe revelation.... duh!
I'm no longer saving my best outfits for occasions that never come.

- Topshop skirt with ruffle at the back
- Secondhand cardigan from the markets
- Diva mesh headband
- ASOS sheer heart suspender tights
- Mystique patent shoe boots with DIY pink ribbon.

Enjoy.

Something horrendous.




I don't care if Chanel says it's ok.
I will NEVER wear clogs.

Something I'd rather not consider.

Christopher just described being with me as looking at a 60,000 piece jigsaw puzzle that's 59,000 shades of white.

Maybe nobody has the will or patience to assemble such a thing.





And (most tragically) an unassembled jigsaw puzzle is just 60,000 pieces of irregularly shaped cardboard that serves no purpose.

Something I'll cringe to read one day.

A few months ago Daniel Lyynch added me to Facebook. We spoke a bit.
He died a few weeks ago, and now almost every time I log in to my account a little suggestion pops up that says 'reconnect with Daniel Lyynch! Send him a message.'
I wonder how long that will keep happening for.

An unrelated fragment of words that came into my head yesterday:

I loved a man I never met
Hungry for his pixels but choking on an empty inbox
Standing in a Brooklyn doorway on the phone to Chicago
I ached to never forget the boyishness of his late night voice
Of course by the time I couldnt summon it anymore
I didn't really care.

Something beautiful.

Wishlist...

*Gorillapod for my camera
*New tyres so I don't have a car accident and die
*Lola by Marc Jacobs eau de parfum / Michael Kors eau de parfum
*McSweeney's subscription
*Lobotomy


Photograph by Brigitte Lacombe

Ballerina entertaining Karl (courtesy of google)

Chanel paper hats (courtesy of google)

The woman herself (I'm not old enough to have taken this photo)

"I never wanted to weigh more heavily on a man than a bird."

"Dress shabbily and they remember the dress; dress impeccably and they remember the woman."

"There is no time for cut-and-dried monotony. There is time for work. And time for love. That leaves no other time."

"Nature gives you the face you have at twenty; it is up to you to merit the face you have at fifty."

"When I can no longer create anything, I'll be done for."

- Coco Chanel

Something to learn from.

If you just reversed their order and added a large pile of dog shit to the left this would be like one of those evolutionary diagrams.
- VICE Don't


There are so many things we can learn from this, but I'm going to go with some sartorial advice.
Men, please, if you're going to wear shorts, make sure they end above your knees.
For the love of all that is good and attractive.

Something old.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

artline 200 + styrofoam cup.

most of the time we are about to burst into flames.
we command our evenings with a glow.
we can not clap for your antics.
sometimes we are tired, and do not feel like shouting with our eyes.
the people we know are a house of mirrors.
the people we meet are easily fooled.
we do laugh when you dictate friendship in terms of top 8s.
we do wonder if it makes you proud.
we were probably pirates before you,
or dirt poets.
no, we will not make the same mistakes our parents made.
we will make completely new ones.


"I'm in love with illusion, so saw me in half."
- Jenny Lewis

Something blue.

Pain I can handle,
It's desire that kills.

I fear I may be on fire.


Something else blue:

(not my image)

Something comic-al.





My favourite comic artist lives on the internet. Her name is Kate Beaton.

Something about Max.

One of the many ideas I have for a picture book centres around Max, a little boy I started looking after when he had just turned 3. He is now six, almost seven, and is on the autism spectrum. His first word was 'button' and at 18 months he could recite "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" word for word.

I want to write a story about him that does him justice, but is also an insight into the world of autism. Maybe too ambitious, I'm not sure. I don't know how to turn this amazing child into a twentysomething page anecdote.

I wrote this little blurb/list at least a year ago, and have got nowhere with my story. Would love some of your criticism, suggestions, ideas, praise, golden brain nuggets.



Max did not like pineapples. At the zoo, he avoided the porcupines. Every Tuesday, he would eat chicken, chips and tomato sauce for dinner. His favourite treat was gooey chocolate cake, and when he ate it he liked to shout "gooey chocolate cake" very loud. He loved the library but did not like to hear the microwave beep.
Max was not so fond of sunflowers, and sometimes when Mumma would check on him at 4:30am, Max was lying quietly awake, thinking. Max knew the names of a lot of planets and classical composers, but he wasn't sure yet how to tie his shoelaces. He like to find out how old people were and tell them how many years until they were a hundred, and how many body parts they had.
Sometimes when his little brother Leo played the piano, he covered his ears really hard with his hands. He did not like all the songs Leo knew how to play.

Something audiovisual.

Anyone who thinks John Mayer is a douche has never seen these.
Watch, and your life will be enriched.



Something I wrote, that I still like.

Friday, July 21, 2006

what i know at night

and i looked up at the sky
the rain fell like toothpicks on my face.
and the buildings stood, still, waiting in line next to me.
i have buried too many friends and not enough memories,
carried too many pens and not enough enemies,
but i listened to the paint peeling on the wet street
and it told me
blood is heavy and falls faster than water.
i lowered my head and leant on his shoulder and knew that
someone was right when they said
that the hands of the rain grow ever smaller as they seep into our skin.



"Got a mouth
insert the hook
reel us in
see you later
chain pulling man."
- Pinback