unwinding girl

Got it wrong

unwinding — Fri, 06 Jan 2017 12:29:51 GMT

Sorry, changed some things around. If you still want to subscribe to my tinyletters it is at:

unwinding — Sun, 28 Oct 2012 10:05:36 GMT

Hey y'all, come and find me on dream width as unwinding_jo!

unwinding — Sun, 18 Mar 2012 13:43:01 GMT

What is the deal with dreamwidth and should I post there?

unwinding — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 02:56:52 GMT

you know the thing is that i'm not religious. so with this whole whitney houston thing the thing that strikes me is there is something inherently cruel with gifting someone these fucking amazing vocal skills (not a fan of the music, but my god, the things she could do with her voice), and then taking them away bit by bit in such public and perverse ways. i just don't understand it.

I'm not here, this isn't happening

unwinding — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 07:34:07 GMT

I don't know how to write about my life anymore.

unwinding — Sat, 09 Oct 2010 09:47:59 GMT

this poem is embedded into my mind at the moment: Taste For Falling

unwinding — Sat, 14 Aug 2010 08:37:00 GMT

i am scared about the upcoming election because I fear the conservative party (or, rather, the MORE conservative party) will be elected.

No comments

unwinding — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 11:42:25 GMT

I make posts no comment when they are too hard for me to think about, let alone other people's thoughts. By way of explanation.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

unwinding — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 09:24:33 GMT

If I wake up on the 22nd August 2010 and find out that Tony Abbot is our new Prime Minister I am literally going to vomit.

ETA: I may not literally vomit but the idea of such a proto-conservative being PM is terrifying, particularly in relation to the issue of gay marriage (we have no such right here.)

We are our only saviours

unwinding — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 16:07:08 GMT

i'm having a pretty hot'n'heavy love affair with The Hold Steady at the moment.

unwinding — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 14:20:53 GMT

tonight i could see my breathe in the air. the mulberry tree is dropping its leaves, the rosemary plants are growing. life goes on around me.

unwinding — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 15:03:03 GMT

I like the girl in this icon. She's a morning after girl. She's a girl with a plan.

unwinding — Tue, 04 May 2010 04:33:18 GMT

New shoots come up on our baby lemon tree. Paler than the others, but full of promise.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

Poems!

unwinding — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 14:08:14 GMT

And before I go to sleep, my two favourite poems:

I'm cautious about losing
myself to words.

So I carry trinkets
to remind myself
of this,

and
that,

and
other
things.

-- heather handler

What did Ellington mean
when he said

“I love you madly”

his hands touching a piano
not made of flesh?

-- E. Ethelbert Miller

unwinding — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 05:00:25 GMT

i keep filling this lj box with words and then deleting them.

MY HEART ! MY HEART!

unwinding — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 07:18:52 GMT

how could you, battlestar galactica? after all the hard work in our relationship, all the times you had promised me you, you would be different?

3

unwinding — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 04:36:28 GMT

1. our giant dog origami folds herself into a small ball on her pile of blankets. In the morning her head is folded next to her legs and her eyes are squeezed shut. sometimes i sit and watch her.

2. i can feel slight anxiety in me, lapping at my edges like low tide. i am medication free for the first time in seven years.

3. the difficulty with having chidlren, and in our case having so many complex, clever children is that b & i sometimes forget to have time to ourselves. and it's a mistake to think that relationships autopilot because they do not. i need to remind myself that.

unwinding — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 10:53:29 GMT

today is my aunt's 66th birthday, and also her funeral.

when we arrived for the service there were dozens of galahs on the grass, drinking the dew. just as the mass began my aunt's old clock chimed and the galahs took to the sky.

after the service, it rained.

unwinding — Fri, 23 May 2008 03:38:46 GMT

last night i had a dream that bron & i visited mollya. we (bron and i) had a huge argument and then mollya made us dig out the roots of a tree in her backyard. she then sent us to some kind of wonderful Ikea that was filled with aquariums and small delicate painted things. b & i made up and brought back leather bound books and shaped silver for mollya.

i woke up to the cold, wet nose of the dog in my face. her wagging tail hit the clothes basket and under the blue light of the clock, i laughed.

so tired of playing

unwinding — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 08:53:55 GMT

a part of me feels like it's 1995 all over again and all i want to do is listen to beth gibbons sing with portishead on dummy. at the moment it's alice smith and dream that's making me feel this way, this swing-song mood except i'm not seventeen anymore, not any of those things.

portishead, glory box

alice smith, dream

unwinding — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 03:39:31 GMT

by way of moxiemylove

I will send a gift to the first 3 people who leave a comment here on my LJ.

I don't know what that gift will be yet, but you will receive it within 365 days (likely sooner than later). It might be anything. A small book, a poem, an heirloom recipe, a curiosity, a thrift store find, or something strange from my messy bedroom. Anything.

The only thing you have to do in return is "pay it forward" by making a similar agreement on your journal.

unwinding — Wed, 06 Jun 2007 03:58:20 GMT

Three hours before the funeral I decided to cut my fringe. All I could find was the blunt scissors with the plastic orange handle and so I stood in the muted bathroom light and watched my hair fall into the sink.

When Nick called, I was standing in my underwear trying to decide what to wear.

"I wanted to give you a call," he said.
"Yeah." I said.

When the hearse pulled up outside of the chapel I started crying. Brad was sobbing in his Mum's arms. I wished that I had let Bron come with me.

unwinding — Tue, 22 May 2007 07:52:20 GMT

just outside my window the mint plant has bent and twisted around the lower garden. from where i'm sitting i can see the bird house and my long suffering bonsai tree.

leaning against my windowsill is heather handler's poem:

I'm cautious about losing
myself to words.

So I carry trinkets
to remind myself
of this,

and
that,

and
other
things.

sorry for being psychotically jealous

unwinding — Thu, 17 May 2007 00:56:57 GMT

finally, the e-cards that say everything you can't...

www.someecards.com

unwinding — Tue, 17 Apr 2007 08:17:06 GMT

i've been home for a number of days now but strangely reluctant to give it to words, to say: here, i've set my bags down, i'm back, unpacked, i'm back. i had the most amazing time. each city was clear and distinct from the next. and planes and planes and trains and buses. i'm so thrilled by each and every one of you that i spent time with. thank you for inviting us into your homes, your bars, your lives.

it rained very heavily on sunday, the kind of rain i would describe as pouring. i was exhausted, so exhausted, and moving furniture out of the rain. bron and noah watched from the dry patio as i sweept puddles of leaves and water.

"come inside," bron said, and the rain ran off my face and my hair.