Family Ties

Why is it that I cannot love another way. Other than these soul crushing, heart rending, flesh ripping ways. Whether it be my lover, my sisters, my mother or my father, I never do it quite in halves. When I think of them, when I feel them, all I see is blood.

 

When I think of my lover, my beautiful, beautiful man, who stands beside me, before me, and behind me. I see a kiss on his lips, never kind words, kind words are for the defeated and he knows no one shall ever defeat me. The way I love him is like a shadow. Ever present and guiding of the light that is shining. It can be scary to those who do not understand it, or know from whence it came. But in the darkness and doubt, I am with him, and no one can block me out from loving him in a completeness unfathomable.

 

When I think of my sisters, those two paragons of beauty, creativity, and grace, I think of nothing but strength. I know that neither of them truly need me in the scheme of things, both too powerful to ever place themselves completely at anothers hands, but I love them so. The way I love them is like a roman army, a battalion of blood thirsty troops armed to the teeth. I am there to be called upon with the rage of a thousand suns, fearing nothing and loyal to no one except their siren call across a battlefield. I know given the chance I would destroy anything for them, any obstacle, anyone, anything, even if it was themselves. I will always be on call to them, a word away from pillaging my way to saving theirs.

 

When I think of my mother, her kindness, empathy, and willingness to believe, I know she is someone I will look up to forever. I will never have her capacity for forgiveness and unadulterated passion for people. I don’t understand and I’ve finally realised, as I’ve grown older, it’s okay not to. The way I love her is as an impenetrable shield, soft to her and abrasive, deflective to the outside world. There is something far too precious not to protect inside my mother, her self worth and beauty and just boundless joy for any situation. She deserves more than the moon and the stars, and will no doubt in this cruel life receive neither, but she draws her strength elsewhere. So I will protect, I will tell her that she is worth it, that she is wonderful and deserving and gorgeous and transcendent when even she cannot believe it. Because she is worth it.

 

When I think of my father, I see compassion, majesty, pure power and strength of will. I see a man who will bow to no one but himself and his most loved. I see in him the ability to be in equal measure completely in control, but able to let go. He has the deepest and most profound capacity to love, and be loved in return. The way I love my father is to be free. Free of constraint and inhibition, freedom to be who I am and to complete his circle of unbounded love. That is the way he loves and lives, unforgivingly, unforgettably, unrestrained. I will simply be there for him. I want to be there for him as he has been for me. I want him to know what it is like to have someone forever with you without strings, without rhyme nor reason. I shall be free for him. I shall be completely open so I can love him with the same abandon as he has loved me.
I cannot love without all of me. I cannot love without ripping myself into these joyful, neverending, painful shreds. I will not love without it.

A Palimpsest Existence

I have a dream. I sit sipping italian coffee, through fine cigarette smoke on a highrise balcony in London, Rome, New York, Paris, wearing a soft cotton nightgown beneath an artfully draped emerald green silk robe. The tassels hanging from the hand woven rug covering a white wrought iron coffee table, barely brush the worn white marble of the landing. Jazz plays over the rooftops and a neighbour practising piano from a nearby building can be heard through an open window, breaking up the sound of car horns and the bustle of the street below. A breeze runs through my hair bringing with it the smell of a wondrous city, fresh bread, burnt coffee, redolent gas fumes and that indescribable scent that all cities have when enough people live there for too long. I see polished marble, white china, deep red exposed beams and ornate framings, smooth cream paint and bright Venetian tiling. I see opulence and decay, I see comfort and style mixed in a way that makes a home a palace, and a palace a comfort.

In my mind I spend my days there on that balcony, interrupted daily by a slew of friends passing through, my laptop and artists pad only an arms length from me at any time. I see nights spent in candle lit parlours, and darkened bars, sometimes brightly lit galleries and opening events. I see myself as lissome, eloquent and admirable. I see myself as a trusted advisor and an indulgent friend. I see myself as the best I can be.

Currently though, I have expensive tastes masked in a body that craves the immediate comforts of cheap wine and op-shop clothing. I have no patience, and little to no drive to work in a commonplace sense.

I guess my motives have changed as I’ve become older. I no longer wish to make money to support how I live in the present, but now I strive to support who I wish to become, an ideal of who I wish to be, and where I want to be. I want everything I do, to support the person I am on the inside. An understated philosophical elegance, unafraid of the unclean and dirty, but excited by the passion of beautiful people. I want to start my own era. They say a con artist has only three things they need for success, Personality, Observance, Research. I don’t want to be a con artist, a liar, a thief or swindler, but I do admire the three rules as a way of life. It is a solid ground to gain trust, and also to almost guarantee success in your endeavours. In personality I also add appearance which most definitely factors in. You may not judge a book by it’s cover, but a pretty cover does go a long way to smooth initial success. Confidence, sincerity, mystery with a touch of ambivalence. Observation of your surroundings, social, body and conversation cues are so important especially now with technology, rarely do people know how to converse anymore without the aid of their devices, which is not a bad thing, but it does stand out when you need them. Knowing when to listen and when to speak, controlling the pace and direction of discourse has its value. Research, is by far the most important, knowing everything and anything about your chosen prize or subject leaves you in confidence of your actions, it gives you belief in your worlds, and smooths the edges of your mind like nicotine. I personally need to become far better at research. I’ll get there though, I know I will.

It sounds so unhealthy working toward some vague future. Not focusing of the present, but on some fantastical future that may or may not be, but I need it. I need it to focus me in the present. Everyday you are bombarded with immediate decisions that will no doubt affect you later on in life. I use my future self as a kind of compass, I make my everyday and short term goals based on what will bring me closer to that beautiful woman. She is my litmus test, and my role model. She has more control over me than anything else in my life besides, of course, love. So I don’t think it is that unhealthy to have such elaborate dreams. Not if it requires me to be so mindful of the consequences to my actions in the long run. We all need something to look forward to, and if mine is a lackadaisical affair grounded in some kind of seraglio setting, so be it.

At least my fantasies are hitting the ground running.

Tabula Rasa: A Study

Let’s talk philosophy. No, not really, I haven’t done enough study to really give any kind of educated opinion, but nonetheless want to have a go at explaining at least a summation of my own personal philosophy in life. Forgive me.

I have always been a firm believer in Nihilism, which put down to its basics is a belief that argues the meaningfulness of existence. Existential nihilism is the belief that all life is without true meaning, objective or value, and is sometimes used by head shrinkers to describe, or explain part of the depression that comes from a lack of meaning in life experienced by some people. Moral nihilism, which I also adhere to, is an idea that says morality doesn’t exist. This means that any action, whether it be murder or saving a child from drowning in a river, is neither right nor wrong and morality is only there as an abstract social construct. These are my core beliefs in Nihilism as a whole.

We are created as nothing, just individuals who make our own meaning for ourselves. There is no grand plan, there is no ‘otherness’, or real path for us, whether it be theological in nature or simply self perpetuated. Our values are nothing that have not been learnt, or directly benefit us. Our morality and meaning is created as a mix of social/cultural constructs, and our own animalistic instincts. Truly we mean nothing, we have nothing, we are isolated beings born into a universe that we have no chance of changing in the totality of existence.

Isn’t that so freeing? Isn’t that so profound to think that we are what we make of ourselves? If nothing truly matters, the only people we are responsible to are ourselves, and those we choose to enslave our meaning to. We are defined by our own consequences, engagement and commitment to our narcissistic perfect worlds. They say the world doesn’t revolve around you, but it must, it must if you are to survive, and if you are to make any sort of understanding of the place you live in. You are alone. You are not apart of anything other than what you choose to be or are born into, but even being born is circumstantial at best, only your choices really matter. Your existence precedes anything you make of yourself, which means that you are a pure blankness of meaning. We are all born tabula rasa of this life, of this single strand in a string theory mess of existences.

Any fear you may hold about death or life is simply a construct of the absurdity of life itself. I am not ashamed by the sheer ridiculousness of my own existence. I am though afraid of death, but that is my choice. Eventually, I will die, and religion, physics, my beliefs will all fade into the shadows. Donald A. Crosby said “There is no justification for life, but also no reason not to live,” and I base my own life on those words. Rules are only the recommendations, and convoluted set of instructions set by a ruling class. This doesn’t mean they’re wrong. It’s the way we need to live if we want it to go ahead without obstruction, unless we choose to rebel and change. Either way, there is no real meaning behind them other than to smooth lines. There is no right and wrong that we are fighting for or against. It is only a change of preference, or social dynamic. It is a shift in the waters of behavioural acceptance. It is a seismic wave of guided ideas and resources.

I think the world would be better off if we could all just come to terms with the fact that we are not special. We are not leaders, nor revolutionaries, we aren’t happy, sad, jaded, cruel, or kind people. Not unless we specifically choose to be. There is no plan except for the one that we make for ourselves. So why are we so hesitant to believe that, in the bottom of our hearts, we are really the vehicle for our own desires? Why do we not take responsibility for our successes and mistakes, why do we choose to believe that we will be judged or accepted at the end of time? Why do we feel the need to be a part of something? Wishful thinking disillusions the masses, and blinds individuals from progress. Accept yourself as an individual. With your own individual consequences, and individual successes and defeats. Accept that both of those mean nothing. Accept that you are here for only a short, tiny span of existence in this universe. You are not special. But you can, of your own design, make yourself special. Your life can be special. You just have to chose to be. You are but the sum of your achievements, and your faults, so question why is this not enough?

If there is no one at the end of time, to hold their arms open wide and accept you into their fold of chosen, the real question is, can you look back on your life with no regrets? Can you look back with acceptance and humility. Can you say that you were only who you made yourself to be. That for me, is simply enough. I play within the rules and recommendations because they are there, not because they are real or binding. I strive forward because there is nothing telling me I should or have to, but there is also nothing telling me I can’t. That is enough. I am enough. There is nothing else in the darkness that surrounds us in the before and after of our existence.

There is no one to tell me no.

 

BornInMebourne: Born Again

So finally, a post about my first foray into amateur modelling. Because let’s not kid ourselves, it really was amateur. I am not classically beautiful, with my undefined jawline and deep Nasal Labial fold. My standout features are simply additions, legs and breasts. At least in those two I can be charmingly distracting in a classic sense. I really did enjoy myself though.

The clothing on the day by ‘borninmelbourne’ was exquisite, and deserves to be worn by the strong women who will no doubt do them justice. Wearing them made me feel a 100-feet tall, and twice as beautiful, I felt powerful, gorgeous, traffic stopping, these are clothes designed to accentuate and free the women who wear them, armoring them to bring out their full potential for greatness. There is nothing like a well tailored short/jacket combo to make you feel like the world is lies at your feet.

The photographer, ‘David Nendal Photography’, was also absolutely fantastic, such a pleasure to work with and under. He made me feel so comfortable and welcome in his vision of beauty. Cheeky, bright, vibrant, and just so real, he inspired true greatness in me. Photography that defines life, half glass full images of the excitement you see in people every day.

The whole photo shoot and aftermath really helped define some things about myself also. Mostly to do with the power of visualization in my life, how it helps and hinders me. I never thought I would be a model, but of course being thin and 5’8/9 I had thought about it in an abstract sort of sense. I just never really acknowledged how much I valued the idea before Thursday, never understood how much power it had over me. Turns out it really does. My boyfriend made a comment the night of the shoot as we were relaxing at local bar, that I shouldn’t start calling myself a model. I was immediatley a little hurt and offended by his offhand comment, but it does make sense, who knows? If he hadn’t said it maybe I would have started saying that. One shoot does not make you a model, one job does not make you an expert on the subject.

I know I do that a lot. I bullshit my way through life. My new years resolution of being honest be damned, if I’ve done it, I find some grey area of honesty and can say I have done it, right? Not truthfully. It’s a semi-truth, an elaboration upon my own limited experience. That’s what I realised what this modelling job would become to me if I didn’t nip my own delusions of grandeur in the bud. I promised myself honesty. As much as I loved modeling, I need to do more, I WANT to do more so I can claim this as an honest to god achievement, not just a sideline in my life. I do not want to be a professional model. What I want is an undying, un-erasable record of me when I was young, and beautiful, and full of so much life it shocks you in your sleep. Wakes me from the pits of my own self-induced imprisonment. I want that. I want to remind myself with physical evidence that I am desirable, that I am passably pretty. I want that so bad.

I thank to the bottom of my heart the people who woke me and made this possible. Thank you Kelly. Thank you ‘BornInMelbourne’. Thank you David Nendel. Thank you for believing in something I couldn’t properly see. Thank you for reminding me I am beautiful.

BornInMelbourne

Prologue: An Adventure

Well my modelling job got moved back to Thursday due to shitty weather last Saturday. Probably for the best since I had a huge night the evening before and basically destroyed my legs trying to shave drunk. Don’t do that kids. PSA from Jade, don’t shave drunk because you end up thinking its a great idea to shave your arms, and bikini line. Which although didn’t end in tragedy this time, very well could have been catastrophic.

Other than that I’m in a really great mood, I’ve drunk a litre and a half of coke, am currently sipping a cup of coffee and cream, and am slowly scrolling my way through my facebook and the other dredges of the internet. Cigarettes abound, and I am without money until Thursday, but it doesn’t bother me too much. There’s nothing I need to really spend money on. Funny how whenever I do have money I blow it so quickly on stuff I don’t really need, I mean I regret nothing, but the days I am impecunious aren’t so different from the days when I’m not. My mood tempered by the benefits of having a generous and wonderful partner I fear. But honestly I really haven’t been writing consistently, not due to a lack in interest, but simply a lack of what I perceive to be interesting material.

Recently, a couple of friends of both Reid and myself, have come over from Perth to Melbourne for a visit. That has been incredibly fun. My friend Liz, is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, just so courageous, and beautiful with a soul as bright and clear as polished glass on a summers day. I just love talking with her as she never treats me as anything other than an equal in both mind and spirit. Nevertheless, I continue to feel a bit out of my depth in her company, forever attempting to put my best foot forward in an attempt to impress her. I assume though, that we all have friends of that particular vein. The friends/not-quite friends we wish we could emulate, or form tight bonds with, but most likely never will. They’re important to remind us of who we wish to be, goals yet to be achieved. Real life role model we know are both achievable and within our reach, thats who Liz is to me. I enjoyed her company immensely. Reids friends were amazing as well, Shaun and his girlfriend, who are both wonderful and funny people. I wish I had gotten to know them a little better, but time is fleeting and they are in Melbourne to have a good time out enjoying the city, not sitting at home with us. As much as that too, would be enjoyable.

I have my orientation for University tomorrow morning which I am incredibly excited about! Should probably get a good night sleep in beforehand but that seems unlikely to happen, knowing me. It will be fun to see the other new students in my year, maybe make some friends and possible colleagues as I start my Uni adventure. I really do feel it is truly an adventure.

I will make it so.

Calling Bullshit On Your Dignity Ratio

There’s so much that I have an issue with when it comes to clothing. Especially when someone decides to base who I am on what I look like, or decides to allocate my worth dictated on how much skin I’m showing. It gives me such a fucking headache, a pressure behind my ears and eyes. A circlet of diamonds formed from the primordial pressures placed on women in society. To insinuate, through fashion, that the amount of skin I show or do not show, somehow signifies how much dignity I posses? Fuck you.

If I wear a tiny bikini, or a goddamn burqa I still have the same amount of dignity, and expect to be treated with the same amount of respect. This coded speech justifying, and telling, the masses that you are not the sum of your actions or skills, but are compromised only of the stitch count in your clothes and the square feet of cloth covering your body, disgusts me. I do not dress to make you more comfortable. I do not dress to make men feel safer, to make them more assured of their position by recreating myself to be smaller and more insignificant in their eyes.

I am a skyscraper.

I am a mountain.

I will not move, and deny myself space to give you more. If you decide to reduce me to an object based on what parts of my body I show, it is your own stupidity and ignorance that is showing NOT MINE.

Covering up may make social interactions between the sexes easier temporarily, but it is not addressing or fixing the underlying issue of some men being unable to communicate correctly. Biological reaction or not, the brain is a magical and powerful organ. If women can turn pretense into an art form, shoving down and ignoring our own need to be heard through years of socialised oppression, then men can learn to ignore their own bodies urges and treat people based on their actions and merits, not on their appearance.

Theres a better way to achieve mutual equality between all sexes, and it is not by allowing men to dictate what we wear through biological default. That is not equality, that is not dignity, that is not respect, that is pandering to the old money/religious/government old boys club. Who have been telling us to be happy with what we are given, and that equality has been achieved, simultaneously for years.

I call bullshit.

We can do better than idealistically compromised clothing and swimwear to fix the situation.

I believe too much in us as human beings not to.