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the pirate girl
Juste un peu de silence.

black, white
and the shades of grey in between

photo's by me :)


This is just a blog for thoughts - songs that are speaking to me, pics from where I've been today, or projects on the drawing board.
Just a random outlet.
An area of free association.
Comments welcome - though anon's are discouraged please.
Enjoy your stay & come again.
Please note: The content of this blog does not represent the views of any organisations to which I belong.

pirate folder
the pirate girl

coeval happenings
reading: Moab is my Washpot - Stephen Fry
listening to: Napalm & Silly Putty - George Carlin
travelling/staying in: SA, NSW & Vic - depending when you catch me

Let's call today: 'Friday, 20 August 2010'

pirategirl wrote in the notebook:
i'm sitting in my car in the city after work. I'm waiting for Dave to finish so i can give him a lift home.
All around me are people my age or even younger, oblivious that this parked car has eyes and ears, milling in all directions clouded with alcohol.
Anyone who doesn't understand my reasons not to become intoxicated must not see what I see every week.
I see in these people waste and no self respect.
I see no dignity, no love, no charisma.
I see lechery and recoiling, I see tears and screaming, I see someone walking off and someone staying behind.
I see vomit on the paths, urine on the walls.
I see highheeled shoes in hands and barefeet on the wet cement. I see spiked hair and immaculate makeup turn into puddles of unrecognisable mess.
I see bravado and bitching, gossip and guffawing.
I don't see anything of myself in them. I don't relate to them. Neither gender, neither age.
As they pour out from the nightspots a few bang on my car while they pass. Some use it to steady themselves as they walk. A threesome take a photo 'myspacestyle' and I wonder if tomorrow when they look through the camera they'll spot my face in the car in the background, in no doubt an expression of resignation.
One girl, possibly the only one, notices me as she goes by, taps on the window and waves while cawling something unintelligible.
What is the point of all this self destruction?
Am i weird in not understanding it? I know for certain those who like to be drunk understand me as little as i them, i've seen their faces when i tell them. Perhaps it's I, then, who should be pitied and observed and mocked.
But one thing I know for sure is that if I am, I will be all of these things alot wealthier, happier and respectful of my self, and without unexplainable bruises on my person.

this is a post for the blog

10:07 pm | Post A Comment... >

pirategirl wrote in the notebook:
thoughts about my last customer:

"I dont care how tough you think you look with your leather jacket and handlebar moustache, dripping with gold chains and rings, but when you wave those hand signals at me, and those gold toughguy bracelets jangle round your wrists, you still make me think of a fairy."

this is a post for the blog

5:52 pm | Post A Comment... >


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blogs, projects & other links:
under construction after gremlins attacked this sidebar

mine sweeper
zombie skittles
under my umbrella
jason b standing
hyperbole and a half
you are not a photographer
geek with curves

untitled experimental dating site outlet blog
captain's log
the scribe
the NEW amount
big unit studios

20 things i learned about browsers & the web
that's not cool - anti online/textual harassment support

music, art & inspiration:
avaste music
ben folds
hawksley workman
missy higgins
wandering minstrels
xavier rudd
more coming - goddam gremlins ruined my linksbar!!!! >.<
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