Welcome 222 My Mind [journal excerpts]
A curation of journal entries & recent playlists. If what you consume/create is some sort of representation of who you are, then this is me right now.
— Holly
Snake-skin
Healing on a cellular level. I repeat the same affirmation all day, and into the night when I wake. Reeling from the pressure of the shower-head; reeling from the pressure of romantic interaction. It used to be so easy. Sometimes my skin is so dry that it hurts to even smile.
Mornings in Yamba
The first day of an entire month and life is flowing fast. But my mornings are slow and thorough — run, yoga, ocean dip — with no tension of haste between each activity. The sun feels hot on the tops of my thighs, hair hanging out of my bather-bottoms but I don’t care anymore. It’s a symptom of freedom.
Shelley’s Beach
The national park feels deserted and so we strip down to skin. I gallop into the ocean first, turning back to see her running naked across the sand as an eagle passes overhead — two entities in free flight.
23
The world is as infinite as the olive-toned, light-layered surface of the rock pool. I wake up at 6am and watch Dawson’s Creek and forgive myself for not moving more. The women around me become increasingly more empowered, and the men more open. And I sit at the dinner table, between parents and children, the bridge between two worlds but also the sole proprietor of my own world, truly just sitting alone in a whirlwind of gestures and noise.
Temporal Reprieve
Today marks one year since you left me — and oh, how the tides have changed, turquoise spilling over my board as I surf sunset alone for the first time. And I drive second-rate highways on the way to the shopping centre, no direction to follow, only trust that I will make it in good time. I am the first person to hike Mount Cougal this morning and I cry on the summit, thinking: life is glorious, life is glorious, life is glorious.
Now That I’m A River
Everything is black, intensified by the imminent full moon. We walk in wide arcs toward the water — me not wanting to impose, to encroach upon his space. And we swim knee-deep in the evening blue, the current dragging my body West toward him, having to root my feet firmly into the sand to maintain an amicable distance between us.
Rainbow
Is this a lesson in integration? As per usual, I feel on the outside of everyone, hardly emerging from my tent. The smell of my own sweat, mixed with fire and weed and natural bug repellant, kind of turns me on.
We share a joint while digging out earth for a fire-pit. He feels like a rock amidst these unknown tidings even though I’ve only known him for a day. My feet become wetter, dirtier, each time I step outside.
Flood Season
There’s something to be said for the way the river runs up here — unhurried yet fierce, blood from skinned knees, hands reaching for over-hanging trees. We run along Tallebudgera Valley Road in the rain, wading through the flooded causeways. Marching into the river, we let the current carry us downstream, tumbling head over heels into one another.
Grandmother Moon
It takes only twenty minutes under the moon to forget any thoughts of peroxide perfection, to forget the two digits in my bank account, to feel the tears well.
New Flesh
I think about three days of driving and the red roads of the desert and how you can’t drive at night because there is too much wild-life. Twenty-five hours of diesel will seperate us, and we will forget what it feels like to exist in proximity. Today my head feels heavy but not in a bad way. I’m not sure in what sort of way.
Space Is Curved
How clear my eyes and skin will be, how light my energetic field will be, how quickly we will fall back into place. How some bonds can transcend time-space entirely. How friendship is the purest form of love and perhaps the only form of love I was ever really qualified to give him.