CW: depictions of depression, mentions of blood, references to death/dead body
friday 19/6/24
i. 10:15am
To do:
- laundry
- call mum, try not to cry
- vacuum lounge and hallway
- buy a $7.40 dirty chai that tastes like bong water, nearly cry
- hand in workshopping piece, shed a tear
- reply to hinge guy, act nonchalant
- eat, nap, listen to music, cry a little more
- shower, wash hair, cry but tears are washed away
- take iron supplements, shave legs
- finish reading book, cry again, mourn, sob, grieve
ii. 11:32am
An encouraging but pessimistic and self-deprecating poem that would make keats writhe in his early grave
Je Suis La Belle Dame Sans Merci
O how can fail thee, maid-at-arms?
Alone, drink cheap ale, loitering
I pray thee woe and sorrows turn dust,
till magpies sing.
O how can fail thee, maid-at-arms?
The day is fresh, and accolades won,
lush and full and teeming wealth
of friendship and sweet harvest sun.
Yet,
your addiction crippling to your phone.
And at no hand of man hath thee
made sweet moan.
Just gritty teeth and frustrated groan,
and to all your life you bemoan
Je suis la belle dame sans merci
Merci beaucoup.
I actually don’t speak french…do you?
But drink up, say it with me – merci, salut!
iii. 2:16pm
A poem that sounds really pretty and smart but doesn’t mean anything profound at all and does not follow any poetic rhythm style even though it should
- I call it ‘sonnet I’m no longer 18’
shall I compare thee to a Melbourne winter’s day?/ thou art more volatile and ill-tempered/ rough winds do shake the snarling leaves of autumn/ and from the trees onto vomit stained streets/ so they fall
Like I or Brunswick lease short of rent many a date…..
reminder
and often my complexion dimmed for fear and cold and pale
fair from fair/ and bank card declined/by chance or so long men breathe and eyes see
in summer laid/ beaches and shade
so long
through the streets
I’ll wade
iv. 6:47 pm
Groceries
- hummus
- vegan pesto
- vibrator, fur rug, chandelier
- oat milk, barista soy
- some sort of magic salt that repels unwanted visitors
- choccy, champagne, caviar, cigarettes
- overnight pads, tampons, free healthcare
- good psychologist, cheaper rent (either or pls)
- mixers for tonight! cheap vodka (what is cheap vodka?)
- copious amounts of vegan nuggets, mustard too
- cheap wine that doesn’t taste like smoke
- tissues
v. 10:54pm
Another poem I wrote in line about everything and nothing called ‘sad girl loved wrong’ - an appropriation of Plath’s 'mad girl’s love song’
I shut my eyes; I hold you dead;
Your lids don't lift, not born again.
(I think this you is made up in my head.)
I bite my lip till blood runs red,
Dripping the love given with a price;
I shut my eyes; I hold you dead.
Your once warm touch is cold as lead.
There’s a different you I can’t regain.
(I think this you is made up in my head.)
I dreamed you’d tuck me into bed,
Not rush away far and far and far
I shut my eyes; I hold you dead.
I remember him each day I tread,
And I can’t hold it in this searing pain
(I think this you is made up in my head.)
I won't forget the cruel words you said,
Promises of a ghost I can’t restrain,
I shut my eyes; I hold you dead
(I think this you is made up in my head.)
Tomorrow
vi. 12:08am
play off to the races?
PLAY LANA DEL REY??////??
play liability?
Play LORDE!
vii. 2:16am
I’m going outside, I don’t feel so good…
Okay, I’m gonna stay here. But we’ll talk later.
You're gonna be okay.
viii. 2:18am
Career plan
- Film writer and director (naive dream)
- Barista (free coffee)
- Fran Fine in The Nanny (rich husband, free accommodation, maybe free coffee)
- Join a convent (also free accommodation, no husband, lots of lesbian sex)
x. 2:40am
Hey can we leave now?
3am?
Yep, I’ll call the uber
Astara is a 20 year old 2nd year BA student studying Screen and Cultural studies and Creative Writing.