Ullapool, now Tessa Base Camp

If I walk to the end of the verandah, this is what I can see. In the foreground, beyond the frame of this glimpse, a flock of ducks scabbling lazily as they settle on the grass in the dying light.

The shore is stone. The loch is sea. Dried weeds amid the pebbles. On the steps to the footpath a shattering of mussel and scallop shells, derelict barnacles and crushed mother-of-pearl.

A raised voice echoing around a corner. Such fury and vehemence. Don't you dare. Get back here.

To my left, an empty carpark. Two horses in coats, clopping in tandem across that space between buildings. Whingeing whinny and snort.

For a moment, I believe the supermarket not to stock bananas. For a moment.

There is no wind down by the water. The air is cold, too cold busy itself. The silence surrounding me as I stand in the daffodils is dense with space.

Mum said, are you sure you really want to go?

Nights like this night, with warm soft air and all people behind doors and windows, an amiable breeze and light rain, walking in that quiet, being unseen, feet in thongs and umbrella on my shoulder, listening to night birds and angry possums, the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine; these nights are only found here.

I am the motherfucking sea.

Too readily and eagerly I give people power over me. Readily, eagerly, and yet unwillingly. Too often the awareness of what intangible contract I am entering into is accompanied by a sinking despair, sinking as it comes from so high above, drifting down through all the layers of sky to rest on my shoulders and confirm that, yes, that was not wise, and no, they will not acknowledge or respect the power you have given them, and no, they have given you now power in return, and yes, you are a silly girl.

That's okay. I'm used to it. Perpetually exasperated, but used to it.

Just as quickly I recognise the imbalance and while I have no control over gut reactions to throw away comments, I am badhorse at seeing it goes no further. No stewing. No seething and brooding. No wringing and twisting and choking. I'm the little boy with his finger in the dyke, stopping the sea from ruining the town.

This is also an exaggeration. There is seething and brooding galore. There are leaks my other fingers can't reach. But. You know. The wall is holding.

Minutes ago, I read something that kicked off a gut reaction. I sat there, just observing that kick-in-the-guts sickness and unworthiness ripple out through my limbs, and didn't immediately stick my finger in the dyke because that's just fucking ridiculous. Why the fuck do I still let them effect me so? It isn't as though I have not accidentally on purpose given other people power over me since then, people who do acknowledge and respect that, people who in turn have given me power over them, people who drive me to giddy distraction and are not just good to me, but good for me.

Thinking on it, I don't believe I've ever successful taken back power once given.

It would be nice if I was more discriminatory about who I let effect me. It would be really, really nice if I had any sort of control over that. But, I don't think that is likely to happen. If I could change my willingness to give pieces of my vulnerability to others, I don't think I would. I suspect that would only result in never letting anyone in, and I would rather suffer the hurt and damage that others, unwittingly or not, inflict upon me than what I do to myself.

I'm not putting my finger in the dyke. There should not be a sea behind the wall.

(And just like that, there was not.)

(A magic trick she will be forced to perform on herself again, and again, and again, and she will, she will, she will.)

ETA: Bizarrely, not two minutes later the internet threw this in my face:



"Love" means many things.

There are probably people reading this, thinking "You do this to me," at me.
I am sorry.
None of us control our hearts.
And only some of us control our heads.

Preen and Primp

If I achieve no other critical acclaim in my lifetime, I will always be able to say that Margo Lanagan likes my tweets.

Hello, my strangers known and unknown, if you would like to practice writing love letters by writing to me, I would be okay with that.

On the Subject of Towels

How do you prefer your towels;

A) Soft, fluffy, like wiping yourself all over with an obese Angola rabbit which has only ever bathed in fabric softener made from the milk of puffy pillows

OR

B) Ancient, dessicated and concrete, like drying yourself down with the tongue of a drought which rasps away your top layer of skin to suck up every last trace of moisture

you are angels and drunks, you are magi

First Pristiq tablet yesterday at 0840 hours. No immediate effects noticed. MASSIVE NIGHT SWEAT.

Second Pristiq tablet today at 0840 hours. No immediate effects noticed until I realised I was chipper to the point of manic. Those of you on twitter copped the brunt of it. Below is the gist of my tweeting for the day, and by 'gist' I mean 'everything but the yes/no @ replies'. It's very shouty. (Start at the bottom and work your way up. It's a pain I know.)

• Extra points if the lie involves lemon meringue pie.
• Yeah, I'm clocked off, but you can still sit on my lap and have your ear licked. Just tell me a lie and make me believe it.
• Our hero enters the train mid-flight, the doors closing in on her, and squealing like a stuck schoolgirl piglet. #stylin'
• Now; lion hunting.
• Oh thank fuck I can stop being so loudly awesome. Was giving myself a headache.
• HOME TIME HOME TIME THIS IS YOUR CASE WORKER AT THE MINISTRY OF LOVE, SIGNING OFF. SNOGS AND PAWINGS, MY FREAKY DARLINGS, SNOGS AND PAWINGS.
• @battledinosaur SWEET LITTLE PEACHASAURUS YOU ARE WALKING CUTENESS EVEN IN YOUR SLEEP
• @ZacDavies NAH MATE I JUST REALLY LOVE TEA CHEERS MATE
• I WOULD LOVE A THIRD CUP OF TEA. LOVE ONE. LOVE IT. SWALLOW THAT FUCKER WHOLE. PHWOAR.
• @trickyidnego YOU LEARN WELL, GRASSHOPPER. HAVE SOME ROSES.
• @tyronotron @emlypie MAY THE LOVIN' BE IN YOU.
• DOES THIS SMELL LIKE CHEAP ROMANCE TO YOU?
• I WANT YOU TO WANT ME TO LOVE YOU. SO I CAN SPURN YOU. SCHOOL OF LIFE, CLASS IS IN.
• @emlypie @tyronotron SING IT BACK BRING IT BACK SING IT BACK TO MEEEEEE
• @emlypie WELL I LOVE HER ANYWAY. SHE GAVE ME A BISCUIT.
• @idreamofcodeine AND BY THROW YOU MEAN HURL IN THEIR FACE. AWWW. YOU KNOW ME SO WELL. C'MERE YOU SACK OF SUGAR.
• HEY @emlypie I'M GONNA STAND OUTSIDE @tyronotron's DOOR I KNOW HE'S HOME.
• @emlypie WELL DAYUM WOMAN YOU SHOODA CALLED AHEAD YOUR MUM IS LOOKING AT ME FUNNY I THINK SHE JUDGES MY LOVE
• @ZacDavies MORON 1+4 LAWL
• I'M GOING TO WALK 100 MILES TO STAND OUTSIDE @emlypie's DOOR, WHICH ISN'T CREEPY AT ALL.
• @ZacDavies NO REALLY. THAT SHIT IS BANANAS.
• 4 hours ago
• I'M FROM THE MINISTRY OF LOVE, I'M HERE TO HELP. YOU WILL BE LOVED. LIKE A MAROON5 SONG. NO I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T LIKE MAROON5. FFS.
• @Marxamus @simonnix IF I DO IT REALITY DISTORTS AND IT DOES NOT SUCK
• @simonnix BA-DUM-CHING
• THE LACK OF FLOWERS YOU HAVE BROUGHT ME HAS NOT GONE UNNOTICED.
• I think when she's drinking she's drowning some riot, what is my friend trying to hide...
• @tyronotron TALK TO YOUR ANCESTORS, THEY'RE THE ONES WHO EVOLVED EARS.
• @simonnix FUNNY IS PROBABLY GOING TO FILE A SEXUAL HARASSMENT CLAIM.
• RT @charlesatan: @sirtessa I FIGURED EVERYTHING WOULD STILL BE IN ALL CAPS IF YOU WERE SPEAKING IN REAL LIFE
• ALTHOUGH I WAS INDEED YELLING AT YOU BEFORE BECAUSE YOU ARE A JERK. BRING ME A CUP OF TEA AND I SHALL CONSIDER YOUR PARDON.
• IT IS NOT ALLCAPS, IT IS MY AWESOMNIC FIELD DISTORTING REALITY.
• [cries, rides off into the sunset.]
• SURE, TAKE MY LOVE, BUT YOU SHOULD KNOW I DON'T LIKE YOU, NEVER LIKED YOU, YOU'RE A JERK.
• NO REALLY THAT IS JUST FINE.
• WHATEVER.
• FINE. JUST FINE.
• I'LL LOVE YOU IF I WANT YOUR ARGUMENT IS INVALID
• You dispute my love? What are you saying, that I have bad taste in love? Who the fuck are you to tell me who to love?
• [The previous tweet true for a limited time only.]
• I love you, and am prepared to go to war if you refuse this love. Think carefully. I have elephants, triceratops and velociraptorbearsharks
• @PoppyGallico you are ahead of me, and clearly branched off into an alternate universe in which lunch was uh maze ink.
• Those of you in lagging time zones, here's a heads up: your lunch for Thursday is pretty bland. #youarewelcome
• I DUB @tyronotron THE NEXT STAGE OF HUMAN EVOLUTION.
• @Jazpuh_ special clauses and amendments for you, milady.
• 7 hours ago
• @Genghis_Dong I like to play benevolent dictator now and then.
• SEE I DON'T SUCK RT @idreamofcodeine: @sirtessa you're adorable...your existence on my twitter feed brightens my day :)
• @tyronotron I ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR EXISTENCE YOU REQUIRE NOTHING ELSE IN LIFE
• @hannahrochelle I am not. Everyone else is irrelevant.
• I have risen from my morose depths and lo the sun doth hide its face because verily I am a badass muthafucka like that. #sorrymelbourne
• @hannahrochelle BOYS BOYS HAVE ALL THE FUN WE SAW @allyouzombies WITH HIS PANTS UNDONE
• @jamesgorman the city sirens are BLARING IN MAH EARS
• PHRASE REPETITION. SEPPUKU YOU FILTHY WORD ABUSER.
• Right now @purrsikat & @_twertle are the most adorable things in my world right now. Dare you to usurp them.
• Mirrorball is an appropriate soundtrack for burning buildings and toasting souls.
• Spirals down 11 flights with the music up to awesome.
• Of course they call a fire evacuation drill as I'm evacuating my bladder.
• @nosubstance headbop sidestep blinky-blink headbop sidestep blinky-blink
• @Genghis_Dong blink
• @nosubstance blinky-blink headbop headbop headbop HUGE STARING EYES GLARE GLARE GLARE STOP hammer time
• blinky-blink turn head all the way around squint blinky-blink-blink
• i feel owlish. Like, i'm doing that suspicious blinky-blink thing owls do.
• Dear friends; you are angels and drunks, you are magi...
• Bayonets and banana bread; let me share the glorious death of this day with you, over and over, we rise as kings and rest as usurpers.
• @hannahrochelle congratulations on leveling up, minihannah!
• Is the abseiling window-washer harassing the seagulls, or are they harassing him? (Would love to have that job.)
• Last night my body attempted to commit suicide via massive dehydration. #nightsweat

On the train ride home I switched from twitter to texts, and sent a lot of shouty texts to people who would not get in trouble or freak out to be the recipient of shouty amorous texts.

High as my yellow diamond kite with blue and green streamers. Cheery and directionless and useful as a marshmallow. I meant everything I said. I mean everything I say.

This message is for you II by sirtessa

I don't care if this is an artificially and medically induced high. It is here, and I must use and abuse the shit out of it while it is. I will suck it dry and leave myself empty and hollow, because when it leaves - and it is leaving - I will not be able to say any of these things with the fierceness they deserve.

You are magnificent. Be flawed and make magic.

I apologise for none of this.

The Ceiling Unfelt

the sun sets

The sun struggled, it didn't want to go and so left scratches in the sky.



the sun rises

My freaky darlings, today is so fat with delight it has stretch marks, and it is all for you.

the sun sets

Act swift if you wish to pan the clouds for gold, for the gold is gone even swifter.

Things They Said

"If I hadn't met you, I'd think you are a bit odd."

"You are a complicated person."

"You're kooky and terribly endearing & I expect you are extremely endearing to others. There's a surreal quality to your life, yeah?"

"This girl operates words like levers."

"You have this joie de vivre about you."

"Jerk."

"Er. No. You're 22 or something."

"I hadn't heard you say it before."

"Confirmed you are not a pancake."

"You are family."

"You need a fucking warning label."

"You got under my skin. WAY under. Like a mite. Or a tapeworm."

"Tessa, what are you doing?"

The Psychosomatic Phrynosoma

The Psychosomatic Phrynosoma is most often found in the abdomen, particularly in the stomach but has been known to roam about the digestive tract and guts according to the stability or lack thereof of its immediate environment.

Eggs are introduced to the host via aural injection, usually riding in upon words that the host does not wish to hear, or that perhaps herald further words that the host does not wish to hear. As these words traverse the earways they trigger various timers and countdowns that will either terminate in their own time or at the behest of external interference.

Once the eggs are deposited in the head they will remain dormant until mindscape surrounding them is at an appropriately fruitful and tense state, at which point they will hatch and begin their journey south in to the literal bowels of their host.

There, depending on the stress under which the host is placed, they will grow into mature adult size which is typically just a little bigger than is comfortable for the host. The host will react by clenching their stomach against this protrusion, which in turn will prompt the Psychosomatic Phrynosoma to extend the many spikes adorning its armour. This conflict will proceed as a struggle of wills, with the Phrynosoma twisting, clawing and scrabbling about with its many spines and claws while the host is most typically sitting calmly in a public place, such as a tram stop or an office desk, gazing distractedly into the distance and working the inside of their lips tensely.

The Psychosomatic Phrynosoma causes no physical damage. The infestation ends once the host's stress drops below viable levels, at which point the Phrynosoma dies, passes through the host's digestive tract, and leaves the body with a moist sigh.

The common name for the Psychosomatic Phrynsoma is "Anxiety".

ETA 28 June 2011: Cockle-warming surprise reading of this post done by the bouncy flouncy Alex Garber.

BEST. STARTING LETTERS. EVER.

When something like that hits at 10:50am on a Friday morning there's no point in pretending that any further productivity will be forthcoming. Hot porn heralded the beginning of the weekend.

Plans only last until contact with-

It can now be revealed that last weekend and operation was conducted that saw the covert invasion of Canberra for the purposes of attending Gillian's 50th birthday party. This operation was successful. Copious amounts of fairy bread were neutralised.

This operation could not have been carried out without the assistance of a third party, who shall go unnamed at this point in time, especially given what happened after the party, which I shall now recount.

At the entrance to his base we stood in the dark, he with the key in the door and I freezing my non-existent nuts off, when a "Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" rang out in the night. My accomplice half-turned to me, as if unsure about drawing my attention to the sound, or unsure if I was the one who had made it, as I said, "Did you just hear a sheep?"

My accomplice opened the door, and said to the [redacted] standing in the hall, "What have you done?"

Before he could finish this question, a second very definite "BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" shook the house, and a third, and we proceeded straight to the kitchen and observed the following;

One (1) new-born lamb in a cardboard box lined with newspaper.



A lamb. Definitely.

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

This lamb had been born only hours before hand. Unfortunately the act of giving birth inflicted a prolapsed uterus upon the mother, who had to be put down. The [reeeeedaaaaaaacted] were already running late, and could not leave the lamb unguarded or the eagles would get it. The crows too, apparently crows are all for stealing bebelamb's eyes. In light of this, they took the only course of action available to them and took the lamb with them. In an esky on t he back seat.

It was crusted with blood and placenta still, and "BAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"ing incessantly.

Being the big strong unmeltable person I am, I immediately went to the bebelamb and proceeded to coo and whisper and pat it furiously. All it wanted was contact. Put a hand to his head and he became quiet and calm.

The legs amazed me. So ridiculously knobby, so many joints cannot be practical. [redacted] lifted and set him down on his feet, and those knobby legs shook like crazy, the look on his face nothing short of a terrified "OMG GUYS, GUYS OMG, THIS IS HIGH UP, LIKE, REALLY HIGH UP."



Then he peed. Aww. Bebelambie's first wee!

A mixture of milk and sugar was concocted, and once it was warm enough fed to the bebelambie from a bottle with a massive teat. Bebelambie loved the shit out of that, gobbled it all right up. And his tail went SPASTIC with joy. I have never seen such a happy tail!

Sadly, bebelambie did not shut up. Thankfully, bebelambie slept at the other end of the house.

In the morning, there was no sign of the bebelambie.

Chops for breakfast?

Apply Now

Tessadom Inc. is now taking applications for the role of SACRIFICIAL MONKEY.

Your role will include giving up your soul, dignity and possibly your life (not necessarily in that order) to Our Lady of Unseen Tensions, who inflicteth and taketh away Repetitive Strain Injuries.

Responsibilities include: stop Tessa's arms from hurting, appeasing the above mentioned saint, and not getting blood on the carpet.

For the record

Today I completed a first draft of a short story. That's the first story since I wrote Acception in 2009 and the first time I've written anything in more than a year.

The last day of April is okay, you know?

Metaphor much?

"What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for a black t-shirt in a drawer full of black t-shirts."

"Oh."






"Want to talk about it?"

"Shut up."

"Just trying to be friendly."

"Well, my advice to you is: stick to what you're good at."

Feeling sharky. Feeling shitty.

Some days you're the Great White Muthafuckin' Shark, and some days you're a weeny little diver trapped in a tinfoil cage getting shat upon.

(This week I have not been the shark.)

(Nor the diver.)

(I am shit, and et by fishes.)

The Dead Birds of North Melbourne

BEGIN


Some say he gave his life - kamikaze - to defend them.
Some say he flew too close to the sun.
(We know he saw his reflection on a windscreen.)

BETWEEN


"It's not agoraphobia!" she wailed. "The sky has no point of reference!" And so saying she buried her head in the footpath and never moved again.

END


We are not dead.

We were never birds.

Undoing One of Many Mistakes; Triptych

"Well, this is the end. There isn't anymore. Now what do we do?"

"The only thing we can do: evolve."

"I think you mean 'devolve'."

"That is a matter of perspective. Anyway. Onward?"

"Onward."



"................Okay so the siphonophore thing didn't really work out."

"I won't say I told you so."

"Well if you're so clever why haven't I seen you in the sea? What did you devolve into?"



"A Golden Ray of course."

Travellers and Escapists

"We have to go, we have to get out," he said. "Everything is fucked."

She shook her head. "There is nowhere to go," she said. "'Everything is fucked'."

Then she smiled, opened the window and let the end in.

The ghost lingers by the tracks with the reminder of flight, stilled.