Tuesday, November 30, 2004

a brief history of fear...

A short time back, a friend postulated that most people live their lives in fear, meaning that the driving factor behind most people's actions and decisions is the things that they fear. This prompted me to investigate the evolution of fear in my own life...

1980 - A wolf/man-like figure who, in recurring vivid dreams, would chase me in a UFO across fields in the dark.

1981 - The man outside the window, watching. The parents who didn't believe my brother and I.

1982 - Three weeks with a seemingly-wicked but well meaning aunt who tried to teach me manners, enunciation and etiquette only found in English manors and boarding houses.

1983 - Living without my parents for the first time, shifting around from baby-sitting family to family, and different schools for extremely short periods of time.

1984 - Not being able to make my mother's grief go away.

1985 - More of same.

1986 - The man in the Wendouree Village Shopping Mall washroom, thwarted only by the entrance of another man.

1987 - First awareness of sexuality.

1988 - Best friend moves away and the sense of being alone. First sexual experience with same gender - fear of what that meant.

1989 - Having to choose a new school.

1990 - New school. The 1.5 hour bus trip each way with Damian Fitzgerald and the Sinnott Boys, daily fear. Fear of Physical Education class!

1991 - Alienation at school. Brief expulsion to the "Smoker's Corner".

1992 - Fear of hellfire and brimstone for feelings of same-gender lust.

1993 - More of same. Fear of what the church and bible say about it all. Fear of anyone finding out.

1994 - First sexual experience with a woman, almost getting caught by her Dad, more hellfire & brimstone fears.

1995 - Being uncontrollably sick, having final exams, being hospitalized, feeling like my whole future is over. Not wanting to break the heart of or become distant from one of the greatest people who ever lived.

1996 - Starting university. First adventures on Melbourne gay scene. Fear of accepting myself. Fear of the wrath of God.

1997 - Being unable to "save" my schizophrenic, manic-depressive friend. Fear of falling to pieces myself in the process of "saving" someone else.

1998 - Finishing university, no experience = no job.

2000 - Moving to Sydney. Fear of making the wrong decision, fear of change.

2001 - Realizing that I have to leave my partner because he is a jerk. Brief exile to Traralgon. Learning to be alone again. All things September 11.

2004 - Leaving for Canada. The prospect of returning to Australia. Fear of settling back into the same box, fear of others expectations that I will do the same.

Its strange that when I take account of fear, just how enormous the role is that it plays in my life. How does one go about dealing with fears? How do you identify fear as a motivating factor and deal with it so that it doesn't control your life?

Its disturbing, not only to look at the role of fear in my life, but to consider the way it works in others and for the way in which they respond to it, often controlled by their own fear.

I am left with one circling thought...is it possible to fear fear? Certainly it must be, didn't someone famous in history say that the only thing to fear, was fear itself?

Hmmmm...If you can control fear, you've won the game!

Friday, November 26, 2004

Morning Coffee

I'll have a flat white with two sugars,
and my friend here will have a large double double.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

A pocketful of hands...

As I wandered through chilly downtown Vancouver today, I noticed that I was walking along with one hand in my pocket, while my other hand was out in the cold.

This prompted me to do a brief survey of other people walking around, which is not an unusual activity for me!

Some observations:

- 99% of men had their hands in their pockets, and always their trouser pockets. Actually I only saw 1 man with his hands exposed, and he was carrying a box.

- Of the pocket dwelling men, around 90% had only one hand in a pocket, with the other exposed to the cold. What's up with that? Is one warm hand enough? Why must the other hand suffer while the other relaxes and probably takes a nap in the cosy trouser cavern?

- Only one woman had her hands in her pockets, and even then it was in her all-consuming puffy down jacket. Why is it that women do not put their hands in their pockets? My guess, most women's clothing does not provide the functionality of pockets, therefore even those who have pockets would not use them for the purpose of attached mittens.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Who I say I am

I am exactly who I say I am
When you listen carefully


You pricked up your ears, heard something
But didn’t wait around for the full story

Conclusions were jumped to
Presumptions were made

Then you had the nerve to accuse me of misrepresenting myself

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

Ah, The Opera

Ah, the opera! I love to sit back at the opera and play my two favourite games: Celebrity Spotting and Pashmina Count.
Tonight, there were approximately 3, 673 pashminas, shawls and wraps.
I spied cousin Barry Jones and I think Brian Toldme, or was it Mal Walden. I’m not sure. One of those older news readers from a station that I obviously don’t watch much.

The worst part about the opera is how slow the crowds move. But it’s understandable when you consider the average age of the audience.

I am comfortable going to a performance on my own, I just don’t like it when well-meaning people sit next to me and talk to me during interval. What I really don’t like about this is that they asked me questions about the opera and no matter what answer I give, I cannot make myself sound more cultured. I’m just an uneducated girl from small town Victoria.

Tonight’s effort was a couple to my right who asked what I thought of the show. To form the reply I drew on my extensive vocabulary of adjectives and said “it’s good, really good.” However, they were not to be deterred, they ploughed on, “do you know anyone in the show?” I repressed the immediate urge to say, fuck no, and said no, but taking their lead, asked them the same. Well, of course. Their daughter is the stage manager, their son-in-law in the chorus and the best man of the son-in-law also in the chorus. Naturally!

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

a small collection of other's words...

Most people don't know there are angels whose only job is to make sure you don't get too comfortable and fall asleep and miss your life. ~brian andreas~

I know that you and I are both this angel to people. And gratefully, to each other too!!~the greatest canadian

when people say "how cute" i just say "yeah, she is" - i've checked and apparently it's fine to not be modest about your kid. ~lesbian mum

i don't think you are ready for home yet, or vice versa. unless you have some grand plan i don't know about. don't give me the "i'll come home , save money and go back again" line. never happens. ~honest friend

I can't convince her to leave him. I haven't told her but after I ring them she's gonna hate me. ~angel sister

I was debating over something the other day, but it did contain a mention of feminine bleeding, and thought perhaps you woudn't appreciate it. ~considerate best friend

Sunday, November 07, 2004

"The U.S. election is so important (for Australia) simply because, unlike the Australian election, the U.S. election decides who will lead our country for the next four years." - Wil Anderson

Example

Past Affections

Playing this CD reminds me of when we saw this band live. Together. You drove your 180B, I bought you an orange juice and a beer for myself. You couldn’t have guessed then how much I loved you.
I was shy as I handed you the poem I had written for you, about you. You were touched. You pinned it to your wall. You didn’t think I was a dickhead! I was ecstatic. But really, secretly, I wanted more. I wanted you to read more into the words, in between the lines. I wanted you to see what I was really giving you. Me. My heart, all of me. You didn’t give me any signals, non signs. I figured I wasn’t your type and didn’t pursue you any further.
Now, years later, when I think about you, I wonder, did I not try hard enough? Should I have made myself more obvious? Or would I have just made a fool of myself?
Thinking about it won’t change anything.
Playing this CD reminds me of you.

Inventory of You

3 coat hangers,
a can of deodorant,
several rolls of wrapping paper,
plastic bags.
This is what is left of you.

Not your scent, not a scribble by the telephone.
Impersonal, solid, hard objects.
I want to pull back the covers on the bed and find you hiding there.
I want to find a note under the pillow, “good bye, I love you,” it would say.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

America...

what have you done?