Unintentional Hipster

I just like wearing women's jeans, not eating animal products and writing shit nobody cares about. It was an accident, I swear

Archive for the tag “sydney”

A Thought On International Women’s Day

Considering how pro equal rights I am, I get very, very upset when I see people in articles, books and social media referring to men, not only in a sense of a collective but in often very hateful ways. I’m not sure what the word for it is-I know it can’t just be extreme feminism but I just don’t know the word for it. And it hurts.

But then a few days ago I had a terribly sad realisation. Now, I’m not particularly into following the news because, more often than not, it makes me terribly sad. Maybe I’m ignorant, maybe I’m overly sensitive, it doesn’t really matter. But over the last week I’ve been trying to keep slightly more up to date on events (for uni) and the last week has been a very bad week for the sexual abuse of women in Sydney. A VERY bad week.

And after reading these articles, I’ve sat down and thought about it. And I’m ashamed. I find it hard to not feel disgust and anger at what is far too huge a proportion of my gender, even despite how well I try to live my life by equal treatment of all different sorts of people. I feel somehow responsible and I cannot for the life of me explain why. I’ve never hit a girl (or even really a boy for that matter) and I understand that no means no. But I can’t explain it, I feel like I haven’t done enough.

And even more so than anything else, I feel like men haven’t done enough.

And I know I’m very far away from being the only person who thinks this.

But I just don’t hear enough men speaking up about it. And I’m guilty of this too (In fairness, for the most part this is due to an astounding lack of education on the issue, which I’m trying to alleviate [any recommendations on things to read would be appreciated!]).

So, on this day we have set aside to celebrate the wonderful achievements of women and mourn the atrocities that are still happening all over the world, even in our first-world Western society, I’m going to try and change. I don’t want to be one of those men that stands on the side and says, “oh, that’s awful. I’m so lucky not to be a woman”. No! It shouldn’t be like that!

I feel like a good Catholic father who loves his wife, kids and gay neighbour every time a priest gets pulled out for child abuse.

I don’t wanna feel like that. This has to be as much of a men’s issue as it is a women’s issue. Fellow men, speak up for equality! Especially amongst just mates at the pub with all the wrong kinds of disrespect. There is always a point before somebody commits abuse-maybe through disapproval of bad habits we can prevent a potential abuser from being created. I don’t know.

I know I know very little on the matter, but I was really shocked at the lack of these feminist articles being written by men and every article calls for men to do something. So…here I am. Trying, maybe poorly, to help make a lil’ bit of difference!

Peace and love everyone, hope your weekends are smashing!



How To Talk To Hot People

So I’ve decided, in the spirit of happy blogging, to not only share my unenlightened and probably terrible advice on talking to hot people (as opposed to just women, I want this blog to be accessible to people trying to pick up whichsoever gender!) but also to try out the weekly writing challenge. So, using images from mine and my friends’ lives, here are my top five tips on how to talk to hot people!

1: Dis ass, not dat ass!


I am one SEXY bird!

Any player worth his salt and a vast majority of women will tell you that confidence is key to a successful interaction with women. This is a true story of almost everything in life, let alone talking to hot people. Confidence is sexy. We all know this. However, if you were like a sixteen year-old me, one doesn’t simply become confident. Sometimes, we do that little thing where we believe, “nah, they’re way too hot for me!” No! Bad! This is mistake number one.

I always found however, trying to take the approach, “Hey, maybe she’s so babing that she never gets hit on??” isn’t the best one. Whilst this does take the competitive pressure out of picking up, but doesn’t alleviate confidence issues. So, this is my mantra: dis ass, not dat ass. The basic principle being: I am definitely hot enough to talk to them. So turn around, grab a cheeky squiz at that wagon you’re draggin’, get fired up and get ready for STD scares!

2: Being hot is literally being uncool (The Hipster Principle)


Unfashionable? Maybe, but I got spanked that night so gneh!

This is probably the second most important thing to keep in mind in the art of talking to not just hot people but also a very valuable thing to take on board in your real life: it’s hip to be square. I know a few of you are reeling and saying, “He could not possibly have just said that,” but let me go on.

Think of the coolest people you know. Not necessarily the coolest people on the telly but the coolest people you hang around with. There’s something that all these people will share in common with each other and that is that they just don’t give a fuck what other people think, or at least enough of one to stop doing whatever it is that they’re doing that makes them so gosh darned sassy and fun to be around. This is a little bit different to saying, “Just be yourself!” because who you are and how you behave is constantly changing. This is about becoming who you want to be.

Not to get all philosophical and wanky, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with changing who you are if it will make you feel better. If you’re a smoker or heavily overweight and want to change that, isn’t that a good thing? The same way that if you can’t stop talking about Skyrim or fart on strangers to try and impress them with the depth of your humour, it’s okay to want to change. Once you decide upon what you want to be and are confident in your own skin being that, you will  become cool. That’s what a REAL hipster is- not necessarily somebody who buttons their top button, wears lensless glasses and tight jeans. BUT if that’s what you dig, what you think is fashionable and cool, do it. To hell with the haters-I wear women’s jeans, play blues and know way too much about Winnie the Pooh. Find your skin, get in it and love the hell outta it.

3: Thinking is for winners and you just told me to be a hipster!


Maybe think more than this…

Now that you think you’re sexy and you’re the coolest guy/gal in da club, it’s time for you to now approach said hot person and wow them with your sexiness and coolness! But what do you say? How do you introduce yourself?

Do you aim to be charming, make them feel like the cutest person in the world and that they want to keep your company cause you make them tingle? Do you aim for intelligence, showing off your worldliness and cultured mannerisms with the elocution of a monarch? Or do you try to be funny, connecting dots light years apart in unpredictable and hilarious ways? Want me to tell you?

IT DOES NOT MATTER IN THE SLIGHTEST. Through rigorous experimentation in various social scenarios, unless you start getting really extreme with things, the approach is in many ways, completely meaningless. There’s a youtube channel called SimplePickup-look them up and watch people who really just don’t care. I find the easiest thing is to be super blunt: “Hi, you’re really cute and I just had to say hi. I’m Toby.” Lines from all across the spectrum from devilishly charming to gag-worthingly blunt have been tried and really, the approach just doesn’t matter.

Two minutes later, all they’ll remember is that they’re now talking to one sexy bad mothah (bamf, if you prefer). My favourite pick-up line is connected to my fifth point so I’ll share it with you then 🙂

4: Talk about cats.


Meet my cat: Tepinyaki the Food Destroyer.

Did you read the last section? Good, then this one can be delightfully shorter in comparison to all the other ones.

When asking the question over how to keep a conversation going, talk about stuff that you can actually talk about. Seriously, talk about cats. So many people love cats that you can usually get away with it. Maybe they like puppies over kittens and now you can get them talking about things they like. I just really like cats is all…

5: Dis ass: part II


Me as a sexy, yellow Yoshi, pretending I have an ass.

This is what I find to be the most important part of talking to hot people: the pick-up process is just as much for you as it is for them. Remember the first and second points-dis ass is hawt! Regardless when I’m trying to pick up, I believe that they have to impress me as much as I have to impress them before either of us can get a lil sugar ;D One of my favourite pick-up lines I’ve invented exemplifies my philosophy pretty accurately really,

“Excuse me, you’re amazingly cute and I just had to come and introduce myself to you. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to pick you up yet cause I’m not sure, for all I know you could be an awful person who kills cats and likes Nickleback. I’m Toby.”

And it could turn out five minutes into talking to them that wow, there is no way I could date or sleep with this person. If you’re as much of a tramp for an intellect as I am or are possibly accustomed to getting hit on a lot, you’ll know the process is a two-way road. Don’t settle for less, you’ll just feel filthy.

So! There’s my first weekly challenge done and if you know me, you’ll understand how ironic and hilarious this blog is. Remember-this is just about how to talk to hot people. Nobody mentioned anything about success plsdon’tsueme ❤ As always, feedback is wonderfully appreciated and I’d love to hear other people’s opinions on how to do this!

Peace, love and happy travels yo!


How Exercise Lost Me A Date

ImageI made a little decision a few days ago that I should get back into writing. The reason it’s taken me a few days to write this short little ditty and the reason I’m writing it are pretty much exactly the same…

So, for those of you who I’m not friends with and wouldn’t know, two weeks ago I broke my wrist. Now, all I was doing before I broke my wrist was skateboarding, playing guitar and working-I had almost saved up enough money to move out in time for semester at uni starting. Anywho-the wrist breaks, now I can’t longboard, play music or work-so now I can’t move out.

And everything which I had accepted as being a part of who I am that is attractive to women has suddenly disappeared. I mean, I grow an okay beard yeah, but that only seems to only work for a niche market and in France.

So, in a bid to keep busy, attempt to become funny and actually have a blog which when I tell hot first year arts students that I have a blog actually has blog posts on it. See-most men try to learn how to talk to women. Some men may culture and educate themselves in ways of the world, invest in the practice of proper etiquette and keep in immaculate physical condition, both in terms of fitness and grooming.


I haven’t shaved in other a month, a guy who plays drums on buckets for a living (the band is called Pludo, they’re great and you should all youtube them!) cut my hair, I smoke a bajillion cigarettes and believe that coming out and saying that I’m writing to try and pick up women. A pathetic ploy? Considering people still ask, “DTF bayb?” and come up with the most elaborate hoaxes to pick up, I feel this is fine. 

Sometimes, I actually wonder why I’m still single. Then I hug my cat in one arm and my teddy bear in the other and realize: I spend too much time with my cats and really need to outgrow my teddy bear. And stop talking about picking up..

Anyways, I’m going to start posting funny stories of things that would only and always happen only to me, starting with the story of the hot receptionist at Chatswood Medical Centre (a short and sweet one!)…

So, it was the end of 2012. I was making a living busking around Pitt St Mall and, due to tightness of funds and the fact that I’m way too hungry, was skateboarding everywhere to avoid catching busses. However, a Sydney summer isn’t particularly forgiving in terms of heat and humidity and I quickly developed an intense chafe rash on my “upper thighs.” (For the record, it actually was my upper thighs. There just isn’t a way to say that without it sounding like I got herpes)

The discomfort had become too much, so I decided to pop to the local free clinic to get it checked out and fixed. I was limping when I walked in and literally tripped over when I saw the receptionist.

She was lean and just gorgeous, with long black hair pulled back so as not to get in the way of these bright blue eyes which were so huge, they would make anime characters feel the need to use more make-up.

“You know, those are the most adorable headphones I’ve ever seen! So cute!”

I look down at my headphones, which literally have pink, fluffy cats printed on them, think, “To hell with it, I can’t look any sillier,” and start flirting my ass off with no shame.

But it’s going brilliantly! Apparently I’m charming and funny? Who knew. We’re having great banter whilst she takes my details. As she takes down my mobile number for contact, details, I’m thinking this would be a great time to ask for her number (SEW ORYGYNEL, RYT?!).

“So Toby, what are you being seen for today?”
“Ah. I um, I’ve got a rash.”
“Okay cool, and where is this rash located?”
“I’m sorry, say that again?”
“Where is the rash?”
“Ohh. It’s um, on my thighs.”
“My um…upper thighs..”
“Okay, take a seat Mr Fredkin, a doctor will be with you shortly.”

And that’s how exercise lost me a date.

You try and tell a hot receptionist you’re getting checked out for something literally leaning on the stands of the ballpark that is herpes and recover!

Oh well. Win some, you lose some.

This is the first time I’ve tried funny blogging, might take a little while to click into working. Nice to get back into writing and try a different style!


In other news, my shit came back from Europe finally so I can upload my photos/journal and finish off my, “What I Learned In” little series. Rocking!

Peace amigos, hope you’re all still living happy!


A Diary Entry-Lauterbrunne, Switzerland.

So it’s been a fairly long time since I’ve actually sat down and written anything on here, cause for quite a substantial period of time I simply haven’t had access to a computer where I could sit down and write stuff about stuff. I wholly intend upon finishing off all my, ‘What I learnt in…’ blogs, as I’ve been keeping a fairly detailed journal but for now it’s been a bit too hectic for such a thing.

Instead, I’m going to share one of my diary entries that I made whilst sitting on a rock over a freshwater river, in a tiny town in the Swiss Alps called Lauterbrunnen-I liked this entry and I felt that it was worth sharing this, or just that I wanted to share it (even if it wasn’t worth sharing. Unedited except for grammatical errors.

Like I said, this was initially written only for me to read. So it’s not clean and classy or whatever. But maybe you’ll enjoy a little bit of insight into my mindset 🙂

Aight: Go!


05/09/2012 – Lauterbrunnen

It’s so strange to be sitting somewhere, looking at something that you’ve only ever seen photographs of. It’s even stranger to try and appreciate the fact that most of thse pictures aren’t just pictures, they’re real things. Does that make sense? In my head it does…

I’m looking at these awesome, snow-capped mountains with their peaks pushing through the bottoms of the clouds with ease and trying to process that they are actually real. This is reality, not a photograph.

Toorrow, for the first time in my life, I will touch snow.

Tomorrow, for the first time in my life, I may just get to touch a cloud.
That’s like touching the sky man…or as close as I may ever come.

One can find it terribly difficult not to be wholly overcome by the sheer beauty of it all.  So why need one even bother trying?

The concept of, “I can’t do this, it’s too hard/too big of a job/too unknown,” seems to become far beyond untrue underneath the grandess of these mountains.
For some reason, I seem to have lost what little poetic touch that I have…Oh well. Man, I’m sitting on a rock, which for all intents and purposes, seems to be simply hovering over a roaring, fresh, springwater river (straight from the peak of the mountains! Should I…Should I drink it?).
In this instance, I feel like eloquence in a journal matters sweet, sweet fuck all.

I think I’m starting to get better now. Not in a just, “I’m not sad all the time anymore,” sort of way, but actually better. Better than I was before the sadness even started.

I’m still terribly confused and befuddled by so, so many things…but I feel okay.
Okay is good…right? Yeah.

It’s been, in truth, a really, really, really fucking long time since I thought so many things were possible for me.
A stable career.
A healthy lifestyle.
Best friends who you genuinely mean “BFFL!” with.
And last, but not least, a lover.

Everything most people could associate with a ‘normal’ life.
And though this mightn’t seem a big deal to most people I know, ever since I was fourteen years old, the concept of having anything that even mildly resembled a normal life seemed alien to me.

I was just too…different, I suppose.
Too everything that isn’t ‘normal.’

Sitting here, what I’ve just realized is that I’m far more different than I ever actually thought I was before.
But that’s cool, baby. I can dig it, y’know?

Cause there’s a lot to dig about being different. Why do you think the word is used to strongly around jazz and more forward-pushing styles of hip-hop and the like?

You dig it because it’s ‘fresh,’ it’s ‘cool.’ But these qualities are only ‘dug’ cause the things that make it fresh and cool reside in difference of it all. Difference is groovy, man.

I spend too much time focused on limitations and what things aren’t. Of course, an apple can’t be an orange and you’re only going to be disappointed if you expect it to be.
Do not, do not, DO NOT even get me started on the staring contests I’ve had with a block of tofu, just begging it to somehow become a sirloin…
…Where’s Dobby when you need him?

A limitation isn’t a bad thing, you know?
Especially the ones that don’t exist. Those are just perfect for what I’m talking about here.

I can only run this fast.
              Right now.
I can only write this well.
              Right now.
I can only love this much.
              Right now.

So much time…so much stuff to do.

But don’t ever forget Toby, my dear sweet boy, that scheduling a little bit of nothing can be a terribly good thing. It’s an important thing to do!

Toby Fredkin

Get Big: Blog One-A little promise to myself

So, I’m pretty thin. Saying that I’m just a little bit on the slim-side would be a vast understatement, I’m heinously underweight. If you knew me back home in Sydney, you’d know this has been true for roughly twenty of my twenty-one years of my life (there was that year I dated a Korean girl whose mum used to cook me fried pork with white rice all the time and I took up drinking beer as a hobby…I miss being chubz =[ ) and I’m starting to feel a bit like, hey, this is enough of this hootananny. I am a man gosh darned it and I will represent myself as one!

…I’m sorry for the language, I wish none of you ever had to see me like that. But it’s gotten a little bit too far and my weight has never been anything I’ve made a really solid commitment to fixing. Right now, I’m just over 51kg (or pretty much directly on 8 stone for my UK frenz) and I don’t think being any height over 5ft at my age justifies that sort of weight.

Soooooo! I got some personal training sessions! Yay! I’m super stoked cause I’ve never had personal training before, even though my sessions with Kieran would give be DOMS so bad…once after a session of squats, I couldn’t sit down or stand still for 40 minutes. Just had to keep walking around swearing like a drunk and stoned, middle-aged Australian police officer whom, whilst on vacation to Byron Bay, has discovered the wonders of tetrahyrdocannibol with a talented pub covers band playing in the background. Yeah, it was THAT dramatic. The point is, I’m getting a diet plan worked out, getting solid measurements to see if I’m actually growing muscles and shiz. SO STOKED.

Turns out I currently have a 6.7% body fat percentage. Which is again, heinously low. Thankfully I’ve found out that a lot of my weight loss can probably be attributed to me trying to eat healthy! (Marley, you should read this bit). This is the first time I’ve ever lived out of home and realistically, the first time I’ve ever provided or cooked for myself. Call me spoilt or whatever, but fact of the matter is I didn’t really know what to do with myself. So I decided to try and call upon all the knowledge I’ve gained over the year of what is considered healthy eating styles (minus animals and what not..) and be a healthy little vegemite! So, all my pasta/bread/rice is wholemeal, I was cooking using low cholesterol oils and trying not to make everything too oily, lots of fresh vegetables and chili and garlic and what not. So, it turns out, my average diet is pretty much the perfect recommendation of a diet for somebody looking to slim up and slim up as quickly as possible.


So, the purpose of this little rant is that I’m starting another little sub-section of blog: Get Big! A little promise to myself that this time I’m going to dedicate myself hard to this goal and I’m going to gain weight. I’m not sure whether to set an obscene goal but I’d rather do that than undershoot. I plan on gaining an average of a kilo a week minimum for the next two months, at which point I’ll be roughly cracking 60 kilos. If I can keep that up for another 2 months, I’ll get to 68 (jeez, this sounds a bit like a Rebecca Black weight gain blog…) and then I’ll be the heaviest I’ve ever been.

I’ve never really tried to be all conformist and that shiz and try to confine myself to what society thinks is beautiful, like I should be my own person and love myself the way I am. I shouldn’t let the way I look affect my self esteem, right? Yeah, no. No offense to my previous self but I think that mindset is for overly fat or over skinny people who don’t wanna admit they got shit that needs sorting out. I look ridiculous. I don’t want to look ridiculous. I fucking want to be pretty. It’s not that weird of a thing in truth, when I think about it. I mean, judging other people for what they do with themselves is wrong.

Yeah, that girl might have lost her feminine edge when she shaved her head and dyed her eyebrows green, whilst wearing boots that a Nazi would call brutal but unless she worries about giving off a feminine image, what’s the issue?

I could make a counter statement about this for males but I think I’ve talked about myself enough.

So yeah, here’s my promise. I am going to get big. I’m going to feel pretty. Get the testosterone flowing and stop using words like pretty so much 🙂

Peace out everybody, hope you’re having a swell weekend!


p.s. My PT suggested drinking lots of Guinness to aid in the weight gain…my life right now>your life

Frenz! Or “Friends”, for those illiterate in internetspeak.

Let me start this blog by saying I’M NOT SICK ANYMORE YAY! Well, I am still sick but not as sick as I was before-I can do stuff now! Like eat! And breathe! And kind of smoke…the whole trying to go off of being vegan thing by getting ethical milk and eggs has taken a slightly poor turn..I’m fairly I’ve become lactose intolerant. But this is meant to be a nice blog, I’ll get back on track.

This is a blog about friends, family and home…

I have never, not at any single point in my life, been homesick until now. I have also never missed anything so debilitatingly as for it to make me confine myself to my room watching “Big Bang Theory” for hours on end because it reminds me of how they always used to watch it at home but I’d never join in. I guess that’s a bit specific but you get the idea. Please, don’t misunderstand me and think that I’m saying I haven’t missed anybody when they’ve gone away, I’m fairly sure I cried on a Netzer camp (a Jewish youth movement-they’re groovy you should all check them out! So vegetarian and happy!) when I was ten after just three days because I dreadfully missed my mummy. And if you’d ever met my mummy, you’d understand that’s not a sad thing at all to do. There’s no way for me to describe how nice she is without divulging my more instinctual Australian attributes, so I’ll just go ahead and say it. My mummy is fucking lovely.

I feel really stupid writing stuff like this sometimes but it’s really strange for me. I always hear about people saying, “you don’t really realise what you have until it’s gone.” And I’m like, well obviously duh. But scrap anything more than that really, really hot green-eyed girl I dated in the 11th grade for a few weeks and broke up with for next to no reason, I never really..got it I guess. And now here I am, today officially marks me being in London for two months. And I am just so enamored with everybody who I don’t have with me right now and it’s really, really painful. It’s really unfamiliar too. I just…I really miss everybody.

I feel like one of those really sad, little teenage boys/girls who has just had their heart broken. No matter where I go, what I do or what I try to occupy myself with they’re still not here. Every character on tv reminds me of my dysfunctionally functional family. Every animal reminds me of my ridiculous friends I’ve compared to memes. Every tree reminds me of that stupid little tree-hugger that won’t get out of my head (yeah, you know who you are. Asshole.). Every song makes me sad. I guess listening to Angus&Julia Stone to write a blog about people back home was a bad idea..I just miss ’em is all.

I miss knowing where the hot clubs are.
And I miss having those friends I could call who would always go there with me or take me to a house party instead of going there.

I miss knowing where to find specific types of food.
Especially having asian supermarkets closer than three train lines away (which in London isn’t that far, it’s just annoying).

I miss having my parents yell at me all the time for drinking way too often.
And now I hardly drink anymore because if it’s not upsetting them, what’s the point?

Guess you just really don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone eh? But it’s still there…I could always just…well, pop back? I mean, I could just not get my visa replaced and trek about for the next six months and be home in time for Christmas.

But that’s not what I’m going to do. In the words that I taught my very own mother, I’m going to (and please excuse the swearing again) “harden the fuck up, cunt!” God I’m a bad influence. Whatever. Yeah, I’m going to harden up and remember-I saved up to be here. I’ve dreamed of coming here for so long. And yeah, I left to try and forget about unfulfilled life and love goals and then found myself chronically ill. It’s just cold you little pussy-you’ll get used to it. And yes, I feel like crying every day but can’t. It’s just a bit of homesickness-you’ve been lazy in making friends-go make out with more lesbians. Seriously, that will solve everything. Make out with way more lesbians.

Just…harden up bro. Remember, we always shine brightest through the black, not the blue.

Not going to bother editing this. It was more of a blog to myself than anybody else. To my friends at home-I really do miss you all dearly. I wish the poetry I was writing about you was good enough to be shared, but it’s not. Don’t let that make you think that I don’t love you, cause I do. I’m just a shitty platonic boyfriend, I show love with thoughtful gifts, not beautiful creations. You’ll deal.

The same way that I will.

I love you guys. Taken me a little while to really realise it, but I do.

Peace out,


Gotta mature before you can get immature (fo’ realz)

Hola everybody! How’s everybody been doing? I know it’s been a little while since I actually went out of my way and posted a blog, it’s not really any form of an apology cause I know nobody really minds but I got tonsilitis on Thursday and my body has been, in every sense of the word but the literal, shitting itself at this. So I was pretty tripped out and woozy for a little while-I’m still kinda trippy from the medication now but feeling good enough to write so I’m gonna write in the hope it straightens out a bit.

I will apologise in case stuff comes out sounding like absolute muck because well…yeah, kinda squiggly off the medication for it but let’s just deal with that problem when it’s already here?

I think the best part of having moved to London, pretty much all on my own, is almost having time alone forced upon myself. Now, I do have some friends here and they’re lovely but being as suddenly quiet as I’ve become (in person, not stoopid internetz), I spend most of my time alone. I used to spend quite a good deal of time at home alone as well, but I find myself behaving in very different ways here as opposed to home. Most of the time at home was spent listening to music and watching random shows online. Now, I’ve only been actually alone in London for two weeks now and I’ve found myself sitting in silence a lot more, thinking a lot more about what’s going on now and what was going on before, unfortunately uneducated on most matters that cross my mind. That’s really more my bad than anyone else’s, I’m the one who dropped out of a music-arts course after all :p

I was talking to Chris about this a bit last night and I’ve been thinking a lot, not about the finer moral and ethical issues disparaging people at the moment (because let’s face it, there are far, far more intelligent people out there struggling with it and I’m sure my two cents on the matter is a bit worthless[if not simply a restatement]) but just nice, little problems that are more of an annoyance than a huge hindrance. Wow, I’m going to change the music from 30 Seconds to Mars to something else, this writing is all sounding very dark..

Ah..Kings of Leon. Better.

Maturity! There we go, I finally got there. From when I was as young as I can remember, (and I’m sure similarly for most others out there) I’ve always wanted to be big and grown up. Now, I don’t think that ever had anything to do with wanting responsibility or power or money or any of that nonsense. I think I just wanted to be better than other people-I wanted to be the kid that didn’t laugh at the word “penis” during class…I wasn’t that kid but I definitely wanted to be. I don’t think that’s a maturity though-it’s a bloody funny word. Penis…hehe. But you get what I mean, I was always trying to be more adult about things, approach everything as maturely as was possible for me.

I started drinking pretty young. Not to rebel or be cool, that just seemed like an adult thing to do. I started smoking pretty young (although from what I understand, not young by English standards). I’m not sure why that was-I think it’s because I was drinking so often with people who did smoke…who knows. 5 days cigarette free at the moment! (In fairness, I’ve only been sick for 4 days so…shut up, a good thing is still a good thing even if the catalyst forced it!) I started trying to approach everything in my life from a far more adult perspective, from a mature point of view…I’m not really sure how to phrase it properly.

Anyways, now I find myself slightly confused. Two more weeks and I’m twenty-one years old. That’s completely insane. And all I want to do is be the kid that I never really let myself admit I was. And now, I really am that. I’m just lacking an appropriate sort of…set off for it. I know that the people I feel most comfortable around, friends wise, I behave like an absolute child. And I love it, I love just being able to be so much more care-free and nonchalant (am I using that right?) than I otherwise am. I show affection and disappointment like a little kid, I take offense and get over it like a small child… I don’t know why I can’t just be that way with everybody. Maybe I’m not mature enough to actually be immature? 

Penis…penis…PENIS… No, nothing. Hmmm.

I think I need to grow up a little bit more before I can just be comfortable to be how I actually wanna be I guess? Although knowing me, in a month I’ll be pissy over how immature I’ve become.

Shit, I’m immature as all hell now. These blogs are probably a testament to that. But they’re helping me become more comfortable with myself by sharing little bits of myself with you. And I know it sounds corny and it’s one of the few things that I have a genuine level of faith in, but I know I cannot be happy with anybody else until I actually become happy with myself. Until my own company pleases me, I don’t understand how it could please anybody else. I’m not going to give a load of rubbish over how I can’t love somebody else till I love myself-maybe I’ll love them more but there’s a heap of people out there I absolutely love and adore. Like I’d not love y’all just cause I’m a whiny little bitch hey?

I think I’ll move to Brighton…


Poetry, what happened to you bro?!

Just to clear things up really quickly: I’m not talking to poetry in general and being all like, “Hey poetry, you used to be cool man…Till the MAN got hold of you and discovered way too many words that rhyme with vagina and made too much emphasis on the colour of the skin of the girl singing dat poetry man…” No, I’m not talking to poetry in general-I’m talking to my own poetry!

And also, although this may have been better to write first although I’m not copying and pasting again-this mightn’t make sense at all if you haven’t read my other stuff. If you still don’t care-thank you, I love you and party on Garth.

So I said a few days ago (drunkenly) that I was going to post poems that I had been writing every day on here, just to try and share a little bit of razzamatazz and try to find new ways in which to express myself cause I was feeling like I simply didn’t have the means to do it any other way. Still sorta feel that way a little bit what whatever, not the point. I’ve still been writing every day-on here and in my little Nanushka journals but I have no more poetry in me to write. It’s obscene-considering the quality of what there was before that I’m already burnt out. It makes me a little bit sad, cause I was actually having a decent little bit of fun with it. It’s like with piano-although piano has been just fun as opposed to a good emotional outlet (see, with piano I can’t play it for shit but I feel like keyboard cat and with poetry I know how to use, at the very least, all the fundamentals of the language, whether or not my ability to put it together is satisfactory…well now I feel like dog…Image

(I know this is technically the wrong meme for it but OMFG LOOK IT THINKS IT’S A BUNNY HAWWWWWW)

A lot of what I reckon has happened is that I’ve simply run out of methods within poetry to express myself. I mean, how many poems can one person write about how they love the environment and animals or are heinously in love with a girl? Oh wait…that’s right…most every song made over the last 50 years. Ma bad.

Yeah. I’m not sure what really happened. Part of the reason for this is that I know I have friends that read this and I know that I have followers who I’ve no idea of who they actually are that write their own poetry and probably most certainly know actual poets (or talented lyricists-if anyone knows any of those too I’m down.) SOOOOO that means that I can ask for advice on who to read/what to listen to 🙂

This is me, Toby,  now asking of you to not only to trudge through this unforgivingly poorly structured blog even more than you already been, but to suggest possible methods of getting my chi (I know I’m using this word in the wrong concept, I’m not PC at all) back yo! I’m going to detox the SHIT out of my liver after my blood test on Friday cause whatever it is I’m sick with, I have abused this baby(my liver) to a point where it’s the Lindberg baby.

Yeah, that just happened. I just referenced my drinking to a tragedy involving a couple losing their baby. If we want to rewind and look at my last few months before I left Sydney, it’s really not that lacking in reason.

I am the Red Dragon (for those who know me shall fear yet love me).

Anywho, hope everyone’s week is going well! Nearly the weekend yayy! It’s my birthday soon too so that makes me a bit more chipper! Thinking about detoxing until the weekend of my birthday to smack shit up with Janine-no caffeine, no nicotine, no drugs (even though I don’t take them anyways) and no alcohol. At the least-no caffeine, no alcohol and less nicotine. Watchy’all think? ESPECIALLY TO YOU LIKE, RAW VEGANS WHO ARE FOLLOWING ME I KNOW WHO YOU ARE TEACH ME TO DETOX PLZ “__”

Lovez youse allz!
Toby Fredkin

Home, yet somewhere so far from it…

So, second day of having a job in London done! The job still isn’t really like a job cause we’re in very early training phases still. It’s mostly been just revision on what makes a good barback a good barback and then I remember my old job, where the training was pretty much, “This goes here, that goes there. Got it? Sweet. Now smmmmile!” And some other random yellings of a grumpy Englishman…But it feels good to be employed yet routine again.

So my friends/anybody else who has read the normal blogs will probably know I’ve not been in the healthiest state lately and I’m struggling to pinpoint exactly whether it’s a purely physical thing or a bit of a mental thing as well dragging me down. I’m running crazy low on energy and motivation and I feel like the people I’ve just started working with sorta look at me like a funny, mute geek. The fact that whilst we were waiting to start this morning, instead of chatting to a French girl sat next to me I took a Joseph Heller novel out of my bag and read. Yeah, that actually happened.

I’m not really sure what it is and I had an interesting thought. So there were a few different reasons that I left Sydney to move to London and I will be perfectly up-front and honest with all of you right now: one of the least pertinent reasons towards making the decision to do this was to pursue a career in music. It’s not that I’m thinking any differently now to how I was before, it’s just there were stacks of other things. I’ve already sort of established myself as feeling very at home-I have a bedroom with posters of the Beatles and Pink Floyd on the wall, some musical instruments littering the place and a desk whose sole purpose is to be unused for everything but losing my keys on. I’ve always been a pretty homely person (if you’re hard into horoscopes, I’m a Cancer. At least my starsign says I can be this feminine without it being weird..) but I’ve never felt that comfortable at home I suppose. It’s nothing at all to do with home life or company but over the last year-ish I’ve just been so uncomfortable everywhere I was.

Anyways, I got that same pang on the tube home from work that I’d get on the train home from work back in Sydney-“I need to get me the fuck out of here.” This time instead of, “I need to move to London…”, I got an, “I need to move to Brighton…” It’s the strangest thing.

So I’ve come up with two possibilities as to this thought train. Well..technically three but the third one is lame and enjoys having a sneaky make-out in the corner with science. So, the first reason is that I simply haven’t found the right place for me yet, somewhere that I can really feel comfortable and really at home. It’s a feeling I haven’t honestly had since I was about 16 or 17. So the alternative to that is to…maybe, well…get the fuck out of here? Stick it out for a bit longer, keep eating brown rice, quit my job, either move to Brighton or send half of my shit home and buy a massive backpack and travel Europe while I still have money. It sounds very appealing but it’s against what I had originally planned. But does that matter for shit? I honestly don’t know..

The second possible reason I figured out is that I am crazy, my friends from my KHS days will testify I’ve been crazy for quite some time and maybe I just needed to come somewhere to be a bit more by myself to just totally and utterly lose my shit. I have to say, I feel like this is the one. Somewhere to learn to live in and love my own company.

The third one is the most reasonable and I like it the least. It’s that I’ve been eating shockingly poorly the last few months, I haven’t been to gym in over 2 months and my body is shocked from how bad my diet and alcohol intake has been as of late (and not even that long ago…).

I think I’m going to get my body balanced out before I make any rash decisions to blow $10k ish seeing the world, since it’d most likely be alone. I don’t know if that would remedy it.

I don’t really remember what the point of this blog was. I just wanted to write a blog about a strange feeling I was having. To y’all back home-I obviously miss you all very dearly and hope everything’s going just swell! Keep well and I promise to try and get healthier. Doctor’s appointment super soon yyyyeah!

Peace out!
Toby Fredkin

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