We had a bit of a incident with the hair clippers this morning. I’m fine doing most of it myself, but neatening the back-of-neck bit (so I don’t look like a monkey) defeats me. A month and a bit back I got mum to do this an all was fine. I got mum to do this today too, but all was not fine. I was looking way more asymmetrical than usual (“this is why I walk and talk this way!”). The only thing for it was to shave the whole lot off, I’ve never done that before. It doesn’t look as extreme as I thought it would, but it feels a bit weird; like gaining a whole nother skin-sense organ, eg. I can feel the warmth from just a normal lightt bulb by standing under it. My sister wanted to shave her name into it as part of the process, but not this time kiddo.
Ma and her were looking at this little old book called _Let’s talk Strine_ which seemed rather interesting indeed. Strine = Australian. Way more cryptic than anything I’ve ever thought of – eg.:
“I marfter tan” translates to “I’m off to town”.
Will have to have a closer look at that next time I’m there. 1964 it was written – in Sinny (Sydney).
Caught the train back again tonight – a free ride! When I was living in Melbourne fare evasion was practically a psuedo-sport to me, but I’ve honested up in the last while. And I was fully intending to pay for the ticket, but it was like I was invisible to the inspector. I was looking right at him, money and concession card in hand… it was a compartment – so not like I was half-hidden behind a seat. I could’ve called out to him, “here! take my money”, but sometimes it’s just best to let the universe do its thing. Maybe I’ve a magical skinhead-job that causes invisibility among authority figures.
They smell your fear.
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name: yak sox
Nah, I would’ve been quite happy to pay. He just looked right past me.