Because I cannot help myself...

More writing that I have found...damn I should keep all these habits under control.

Regardless of how many lovers or time spent with lovers, I always feel like it is the first time. That feeling of shock when someone does not just part your legs, but goes deep inside you, has never left me. I crave it and I push my hips into it, but that moment of tension never fails to disgust me. This is the legacy of my virginity.

Words

I enjoy finding something you have written a while after it has been committed to the page. At the same time I find the words disconcerting and awkward, as if they hold far more meanings than I can remember. I never know what to do with them. Anyway, I woke up this morning and read that the socceroos are finished in their WC campaign and I reckon they did a good job. AS much as I deplore this Government's attitude to sport and the arts in this country, it upsets me that I take it out on my love of sport.
Anyway, the temporarily lost beginning of a story:

There is this odd contradiction of going bush. You leave the city to get away from it all, but end up in a place where monsters lurk and the loudest, most terrifying sounds imaginable cause physical pain. I never thought I would see the day where I would say that my comfort zone lies in the paved and dirty streets of the city.

I guess it comes from being old and weary. Worn out. Not that I am really. Those of you in the know will scoff when you hear me say that I am thirty. I know I am a terrible cliché of a waning youth, but my cynicism is all I’ve got. And you’ve got to have something these days or you are just simply suburban.

Anyway, off the topic as usual. I am lying here in this ditch I dug, feeling the dryness of the earth and hoping to be at one with it. Hoping for grounding, so I can deal with the world when I open my eyes and drive back into the city. it’s my comfort and my punishment. I love Melbourne, but its tall grey buildings and secret alleyways play havoc on my sense of self. I feel like Melbourne is always hiding something from me and regardless of how fast I get into the latest club without a name in a dark festy alley filled with junkies, I’ll always be late.

My companion on my journey is also on a path of self-discovery disguised as loathing. It’s just not cool to be cool. He embraces it with the versatility youth brings. I even sneer at myself when I derride the young, knowing that my companion, loving called The Boy, is 10 years younger than me. But for any of you who remember their twenties, you will know and understand that the difference between 20 and 30 is a more than a wide yawn. It is a an uncrossable divide.

So what makes me pack up and leave my beloved city for 28 days to spend time with the youf of the country? Sex. It’s plain and simple really. Well at least I thought it was until by the 5^th day I had not got any and didn’t know if I had enough energy to not refuse another night. I would have to go about this one with all the intelligence a thirty year old woman can muster. And my manipulating pants pulled up tight.

I am thinking about all of this whilst laying in my shallow grave in the dirt. Eyes closed because I know he is out there and I want him to surprise me because I know it will be physical. Sometimes I even exhaust myself with my machinations. I wonder how I can make a move that is not a dedicated move, but is obvious, but is not pushy.

This is where the age difference is important. I don’t necessarily feel ten years older than the boy, but in fact I am therefore have a reputation within society to uphold. I was never really into out and out debauchery, despite the parties in my early twenties where we ripped off each others clothes and bed hopped all night. This boy was different anyway, he was a challenge. I had to make him want it so much that he lost control of himself. It’s all about winning with him, but you’ll gather more about that later.

One hundred and forty two hours and thirty five minutes

Time is a burden.
Pictures from my university...ahhh Monash.

More of the Timor Story

I have found out more of the story and it is clearer to me now. The Serious Crimes Unit in Timor had computers stolen and records removed when it was broken into. The Truth Commission was the target for recent looters who stole motorbikes, but did not take any records from the building. Both places hold pertinent records in regards to human rights abuses in Timor and calls have been made to the Australian & NZ Governments to protect the records in the Truth Commission building.
I wonder what will be the response...

Slippers and Crime

I have been reading with interest the beginnings of an expose about history. As we all know, recent developments in East Timor have resulted in violence and fear. As a fledgling archivist and avid lurker on the australian archivist listserv, I have been recently reading posts about how a building in East Timor was the target of looters. This building contains records about serious crimes committed in East Timor over many years. Some of the cases are still pending. It was reported initially that computers were stolen, although later I read that motorbikes were taken. I am not sure if both or either is true. Awareness is now being raised reagrds possible further looting and how to best protect the records.
These files and reports and documents decribe and articulate a history of a culture. They make up part of the identity of that culture. Apparently the US forces did not consider these implications when they went into Afghanistan and cultural heritage was destroyed. The importance of this information is indefinable, yet I cannot help but think about how evidence of a culture can exist in a document and how much import we place on preserving those documents. Now the looting incident forms part of a record of East Timor.
I cannot articulate my thoughts about this very well at the moment because my head is filled with metadata schemas and record keeping implications in small business applications. It will not disappear however and I will come back to it again soon.
Slippers? Well, my sister bought me a pair six months ago and never sent them. Today, finally, I went out and bought a pair from Safeway. Its too cold in Melbourne to do with out them.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/newsitems/200605/s1652287.htm