A self portrait.

Hair that looks like feathers and stained glass. At least, it does in my head.

Illustration Friday: Robot

Considering their own existence, in pencil and gold pen.

Illustration Friday – Travel

Made of photographs (not mine) and eyeliner (mine)

Chook Legs

Illustration Friday: Protest

“If it’s not tr…

“If it’s not true nowhere, it has to be somewhere.” – Diana Wynne Jones

My Voyage to Yonder Graftonvale

That’s right, meagre readers (and by readers I mean myself later), today I travelled home from a place whence I had been staying since a little time ago.

Don’t expect this to make any sense. If my calculations are correct (and they probably aren’t), I have now been awake for like 20 million hours or something. Give or take twenty minutes or so.

The adventure begun with a hasty promise and near instantanious regret. My first wife, Lady Hallows did guilt-invite us to repast at her South of New Wales homestead some time ago, and like the fool I am in love, I agreed, so long as our chapperone, the honourable Lady Toffington, would accompany us for the sake of THE MOST HIGH PROPRIETY.

—–

I break this momentarily to recount my present conversation.

Lady Kickson: Do you know anything about cinnamon?… How about Tumeric? Paprica? Bush Seasoning? Tuscan Spice?

Lady Toffington: Do you know anything about the four garden gnomes that are staring at me with their beady troll eyes? (approximation).

Bastards swapped our prized possessions when we were gone.

——-

In continuation, on Saturday past we three wanderers did set out for Graftontown –

——-

The present:

Lady Kickson: How do you feel about Ground Ginger?

——-

And the four(youlyingbastards)hour trip thence passed somewhat uneventfully. I think we may have shouted ‘windmill’ a bit too oft for the comfort of our fellow car-less trainable companions. Also, I saw an alpaca and had a close spiritual insta-bond. I didn’t tell my intimate companions of this. The sudden infidenlity of spirit combined with the stress of travel may have broken their fragile, love-starved heart-penises. Sorry, did I say penis? Must have been a freudian penis. I mean – slip. Freudian slip-penis.

I hear they’re common in the Netherlands.

Speaking of penis, I ended up sharing a nightly platonic bed-related experience with Lady Toffington. I know, disappointing, right? All that effort to get Lady Hallows alone and I get Blanket-Hog Toffle-Town with her weird bendy legs that make angles a protractor can’t.

We made a cheesecake. By we, I mean Tofflepot, who turns out to have even more wife point thn we originally had room for in the wife points scale. Halopolis made an oriental delight for main course, which was served on a delightfully set table with fancy candles and bird of paradise napkin foldings.

I arranged a cheese platter. Don’t act like you’re not impressed. I’d show you a photo but I ain’t even bovvered.

We also went to the beach. I never feel more Australian than I do covered in goopy sun lotion, baring parts of you that the sun hasn’t seen since you were a kid who realised too late that maybe daggy undies weren’t formal enough for a picnic.

We got lost on the way. That also makes me feel like an Aussie. The sun was beating in through the back windsheild, the bridges were closed and we were on a river island with no obvious escape path and a dwindling petrol supply. “She’ll be right, mate” comes to mind in these situations. And she was all right, more than. ‘She’ was worth it.

We did a ceremonial sheepish disrobing and made our way down to the water. 10 seconds later:

Ladhee Toe-phee: I’m done. Are you done?

Ladhee Keek-sewn: I can’t feel my ankles. Can I put on pants now?

Soccer ensued. It snuck up on us in the form of Brian, the driftwood goalie. Brian, with his singlasses and vanilla coke. He promised us an even game! We were betrayed. He and his cousin Samuel (Also flimsy driftwood) proved to be no good as goalies whatsoever. We lost because I happened to be in my head at an opportune time, instead of being inside the moment. I had to find a way to regain my honour.

We explored the rock jetty. The path eventually degraded to a jumble of strangely shaped rocks. The waves  rushed in from the gaps below and spray jetted up from the sides. We went down, almost inside, and heard the echoes of the waves reverberate in the half cavern. The splatter of the little waterfalls and the ever-increasing feeling that I, Lady Kickson, was Pocohontas in a former life. There are photographs of me gazing out into the waves from atop a rock, as if singing wistfully to windy colours. As usual when one tries to impersonate an animated native American beauty goddess, the results are underwhelming.

Hilarity ensued the entire week, culminating in this sleeplessness. The 2am train left our station at ten to 3. First class my left buttcheek. I spent most of it on the floor with the bags, trying to catch a comfortable position by surprise and pin it down. The train squealed like rusty tin-man, and the woman behind us was no stranger to sleep-induced nasal noise.

I am home.

Brisbane. River city, pretty city. Better than any other nonsense cities with their tourists and their fancy dutch theatres.

I live in a brick box. It’s not very pretty but it’s mine, and I’m pretty darn attached to it.

I drank coffee. I have a research essay due in a week.

All I want to do is write about this amazing trip and about how above all, it just made me realise how much I have going for me in this little brick box.

Besides, it’s way easier to get Halo alone when her mum isn’t around. She’s got wife points too, you know.

And they ain’t for cookin’.

I may need sleep.

 

——-

 

UPDATE: Cummin Seeds.

 

My life changing experience with a leather skirted warrior.

I haven’t posted for so long that I had to reset my password. I should get to writing these things down.

 

Despite my readership being less than impressive I will continue as if after my death at 27, an undiscovered cashe of my works are discovered and I am rendered a modern genius, and everything I have ever contributed to the online community becomes front page news.

 

If my title has caused you to violently wonder about what I could possibly be talking about, let me put you at your ease. Today, I would like to talk about my first experience with Xena – Warrior Princess.

 

Putting the sexy back into brown leather.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was today. I flicked channels and there it was in stunningly out-dated technicolour. And wow. Just wow. And rather than describe to you what I saw, I will transcribe the text messages that i sent during the episode to my friends –  in my incredulity that I had before this time never witnessed the magnificence that is Xena Warrior Princess.

This is what I wrote:

Just flicked to Xena Warior Princess… and it has a young Eomer from Lord of the Rings in it… in a roman uniform… seducing a scantily clad maiden soap opera style… my life is complete.

Oh gosh, it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen, but I’m going to try downloading all of it. I think he might be evil! But when he kissed her on the beach he said he’d think of her every day! What a betrayal.

He’s Caesar! Plot twist alert!

I don’t think he even loved her, just used her body on his way to greatness. What a sexy betrayal!

Oh it’s okay, her sassy black friend just interrupted her crucifixion and kicked the guards in the backface with her ninja skills.

The town doctor just pulled back one of her eyelids and proclaimed: “Her organs are swollen from internal bleeding!” and then cracked her broken leg back in.

(At this point I am very confused and impressed)

Oh it’s okay now, they healed her with acupuncture. But the centurions killed the sassy black friend! And now Xena’s in a trippy dream and her friend is a sky mermaid made of blue bobbles. WHAT IS THIS SHIT.

 

I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING.

 

And so, with my mind completely blown, I am resolved to find and study all Xena Warrior Princess with the same intensity as Abed studies Cougar Town.

 

 

Golly That’s Amazing!

About Rabid Monkeys.

Yesterday I went to the doctors about vaccinations for Bali. I left with this image

RABID MONKEYS!

 

And today I go back, bacause apparently it’s uncool to get polio (among other things) and the doctor gave me a helpful strategy to avoid rabid dogs and other animals.

1. detect rabid dog – the dog will be all manner of unspeakableness and will probably try to attack you with it’s visious infected jaws of death.

2. Run like all hell.

3. Fail at outrunning.

4. If you are still alive, wash in soapy water, and call yourself an ambulance.

OH HAPPY DAY! NOTHING CAN HURT ME NOW WOOOOOO!

Yeah, not very optimistic about rabies.

But otherwise, this is going to be awesome fun! (P.S. I now have both sore arms and hardcore immunities.) AND I’m seeing a play tomorrow night which will be amazing procrastination fun. Oh, and BTW, 3 assignments to submit before I leave for holidays? Challenge Accepted.

Smiley face.

Golly That’s Amazing!

A visual account of everyday life at uni.

I thought I’d better give a decent and DETAILED update to my adventures at uni, and this will come in time. But for now I thought that a succinct run down of my everyday activities might help to relieve stress some may have about my new situation. I’ve decided on a little picture gallery, illustrating the major goings on of my days.

Here is my room, and a decent room it is.

Here is me, being generally satisfied with life in my little abode, unaware of the big scary world. I am inviting you to view the most interesting part of my room, the SHELVES! But please, contain your outward excitement, things can only get more enticing.

"Ooh, what in the world could this be?"

In this slide our heroine discovers something sinister on her impeccably tidy desk. This evil being is commonly referred to as STUDY. STUDY is something that collegians are expected to do every now and then, and regular battles with the minions help to keep the arch villains away.  This is no ordinary battle, but a battle of skill and cunning, as depicted here:

'The thinking woman', a common and useful defence.

Using her wits, the protagonist (me) duels ferociously with up to four subjects at a time! Have no fear, though ’tis a bloody battle, the glory to be found at the end is surely worth it. Aye, mead and wenches for all! (If you lika da wenches – me no really lika da wenches – me lika da….. da……. menches.)

ULTIMATE GLORY!

OUR HEROIC RETELLING IS AT AN END!

 

 

 

FIN.

 

Two Words:

Stuff. That.