Thursday, 15 December 2011


There is something about the irradescense of light against the endless ebony of the night sky that draws people in.
We are almost obsessed with it; we seek it out.
Fireworks, Christmas lights, light shows.
I wonder. Perhaps this pull has come from an inner human need for hope.
To see luminous light blast from the bottomless abyss of dark, forming beauty in the otherwise mundane black, taps into this, and offers the viewer some level of satisfaction on a subconscious level.

There is always hope in the darkness if only one remembers to turn on the light.

Monday, 5 December 2011

"Bubble gum angels swooped from top margins or scraped their wings between teeming paragraphs, maidens with golden hair dripped sea blue tears into the book's spine."
- Jeffery Eugenides


Seeing it was malevolently satisfying
drip drip drip
It seemed perfect, the way it slid down my arm
It formed an intricate shape, an art form, a web
I gazed upon it; lost. I began to hear the waves.
But then the panic set in.
What if this is it?
What if I mundanely turn into "the depressed girl", "the dead girl"? Is that all I am destined for in this life?
I refused.
I lifted myself up, pressed the wound and declared;
"I am alive"

Sunday, 13 November 2011

Puppy love

A love that is young is a love that is doomed.
A love formed so soon
Will end as inevitably as the thread in a loom.
Such pain is useless
Yet utterly addictive
In the end, the cure,
Is to become dismissive and elusive.
Such a waste it is.

Friday, 8 July 2011


I wrote this when I was in high school, quite a while ago. I was going through my old school books when I found it on some lined paper in my maths book, surrounded by pen-drawn intertwining flowers. The writing style isn't amazing, but what can I say, once a dreamer always a dreamer.

I let my head tip back,
And I close my eyes in silence.
I breathe the thick air of the bustling class room.
I hear the drone of the teacher,
the chattering of students,
the clashing of church bells.
I let it fade.
Until I breathe the essence of the forest, it's wild flowers and dew drops.
Until I hear the song of birds,
the wind caressing the trees, the hum of indifferent life.
This is where I long to be,
but I cannot.
For the human race has a hunger and expectation for success.
Fast, greedy, ignorant.
This realisation terminates my escape and tears me back to reality.

- Georgia MacLeod


Burlesque dancer, Zorita, taking her pet snake for a walk. As you do.

Journal Extract

It felt like an inescapable weight in my chest.
Pressing down on my heart.
Pushing down on my spirit.
Oh, how I long for it to fade,
like the fog on a winters morning.
But instead it fills me,
that black sticky mess.
Until it engulfs my very being 
Destroying my will.
Annihilating my soul.
Obliterating my heart.

- Georgia MacLeod

Tuesday, 5 July 2011


Is my heart fickle... or afraid?
Do I deny my feelings and ignore them?
Or are they completely non existent?
Is it that I do not want them, 
and do not want related commitments?
Or is it simply a lack of acceptance,  ignorance, and simply will not hear them?
Perhaps, deep down, it is that I merely just fear them.

-Georgia MacLeod

Friday, 1 July 2011


Sorry if my posts seem kind of depressive/sad. It's just that when I write, I normally write when I'm emotional and upset because it's a vent for me. Therefore a significant amount of what I write is depressive/sad. I need to start writing when I am happy as well, just to give myself more of a variety and range of writing and not come across as so "emo" in my blog hehe :) I don't want to be one of those sad people with sad hollow thoughts, because deep down I'm not like that at all, I want to be one of those people with an ethereal light that emanates from within and be full of wondrous life.
Fact of the matter is : LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL.

Love, Georgia.

Monday, 27 June 2011

I wish I could tell you

I wish I could tell you about the dark inside my heart and my brain, 
the endless pull, the way they feel heavy and sodden, 
as though drenched from a torrential rain. 
I wish I could tell you how my bones are weak,
 from all the lives I'm not living weighing down on them. 
Oh, the way they creak.
I wish I could tell you how my expectations have turned to dust
the ones I cherished so fondly in youth.
How hey have melted into the dark, unforgiving dusk
I wish I could tell you.

-Georgia MacLeod

Sunday, 26 June 2011

" I'm the fury in your head
  I'm the fury in your bed
  I'm the ghost in the back of your head"
- Foals

Thursday, 23 June 2011

Time to rhyme

You cannot understand,
The woes of this persons mind
Take your wretched thoughts and assumptions
and leave them all behind.
Delve into the darkness,
Deep into their mind.
Take on their pain and suffering
You will not like what you find.
You realize you were wrong, in your misguided preconceptions
You see, You see
You see why they cannot shine.

- Georgia MacLeod

Wrote this pretty quickly in a moment of anger, very rhyme-y haha.

A Page in Time

I’m sure you are all aware of the fact that many a book store, such as Borders, are being closed due to the new technologic phenomenon; “E-Readers”. Paper back and hard back books are being replaced by “apps”, in which you can buy books and read them through your E-Reader.

In my opinion, to lose the world of literature to cyber space would be a great tragedy indeed. One may say that literature itself is not lost; it is merely and instead embedded in cyber space. This, in some part may be true. However I believe that literature and reading is much more than just words.

The feel of a book in my hand, the musky smell of its pages, the sound of turning each page; these are just some things that add to the beauty of literature and reading. And the moment of perfect clarity, after smoothing my hand over a closed book cover after I have finished reading it, and placing it back in my bookshelf, snug, amongst the other books. This simple (and to some silly) moment is one of my happiest.  How can anyone get such satisfaction out of pixels on a technologic tablet? Why are we all becoming so futuristic? Stay vintage people. Stay vintage.

- Georgia MacLeod

I recommend anyone read the above book, the same Pride & Prejudice story line, except with gory bone crunching, teeth gnashing zombies!

Tuesday, 21 June 2011


My father is a quiet man. He only speaks when necessary and never ever rambles about himself. He is well spoken, and most of what he says is calculated and very well thought out. He is solitary, and does not care one bit for social status or popularity. He does however, care for etiquette and manners, and raised me with the same values; "Georgia stand up straight", "Georgia elbows in at the table".  

One might, at first impression, assume he is feeble; for his manner is modest and inconspicuous. But I know better. I know that deep, under all of his polite demeanor dwells a strong minded and strong willed person. I have seen him win disputes many times over. When confronted he stands tall and does not back down, his speech and arguments are potent and vigorous. He knows when to stand up, and he knows when it's not worth it.

He is the still point in our crazy family of majority females. My mum is the complete opposite of him; loud and vivacious. But that is why I think they work so well together and have been together for over 33 years. They balance each other out. I don't think he knows how much I value him, and how much of a role model he is to me. God knows we have had plenty of arguments, he's had more with me than my other sisters (I blame my stubbornness), but at the end of the day I do look up to him. He's been through so much, especially now. My family has had the most horrible luck in the past few weeks. But I know, that throughout it all, he will stay strong.

- Georgia MacLeod

"When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire."

Dark moments

Some feelings creep up on you.
Different feelings, all at once; skulking in the gloom.
Usually when you are alone; weak.
They group together, as if deliberately, to overwhelm you when they pounce.
They feed off the fragile; it is when they perform at their peak. 
Their malicious fingers intertwine, forming a quivering darkness.
They manifest in your heart, and form a seemingly bottomless void.
You contemplate escape. 
Often is seems impossible, improbable. 
But even in the darkness, we must always find a light
In a person, a memory
To escape the void in blissful flight.

- Georgia MacLeod

Mad cow

Goooood afternoon World Wide Web!
I haven't been blogging much lately because I've been pretty darn sick. Woke up a few mornings ago with blood in my throat and unable to breathe properly, went to the doctors and it turns out I have strep (oh joy.). However they put me on penicillin and I must say, it's working like a charm, I'm feeling significantly better. I've stayed in bed for the past few days and that means I've been writing a lot more, so, expect some more short stories/day dreams/poetry to come your way soon!

I've always wanted to colour co-ordinate my bookshelf like this, and believe me I've tried, but whenever I go to read I always pick out about ten books and put them next to my bed in case I feel like switching. So most of my books end up under my bed, in my bed, or under my bed side table so said colour co-ordination is usually impossible because I can never be bothered re ordering them when I put them back. Some may call it lazy, I call it artistic frivolity.

- Georgia MacLeod

Saturday, 18 June 2011


I've been unemployed for the past few weeks and I have zilch money. 
I could go into a rant about how shitty it is not being able to buy clothes, shoes and other shiny, sparkly, pretty things. But I won't. I will instead look upon the often overlooked; the bright side.
Unemployment is a learning experience. It's made me appreciate smaller things. It's made me opt for staying in with the family and being able to draw and write more over going clubbing/pubbing. Over the past few weeks I've almost perfected the art of drawing and shading roses, my journal is more substantially inked with writing, I'm doing more pilates and I drink more tea and less vodka.
I feel almost... Disconnected from the world and it's superficiality. And I love it.

Although I have to say, not being able to buy multiple coffees is annoying hence I'm going to make a solid effort to get a job as of Monday.
But only for the coffee :3

- Georgia MacLeod

Monday, 13 June 2011

Sea otters

Sea otters hold hands when they sleep, so they don't float away from each other.

Sunday, 12 June 2011

Short 'n' Sweet, established whilst staring at train tracks hehe.

Storm filled pieces of sky,
Sharp edged and rough
Encase the snaking steel
Throughout the country side.

- Georgia MacLeod

Carmine tears

She eases into the clear warmth
Of white wall encased tears.
The crimson rhythm quickens,
The lace floats around the ivory, soft.
A flash clears the way; the scarlet tunnels are wide open, barren.
The tears turn crimson,
filling with her demise.
The carmine tears ascend with the warmth
As does her soul.

- Georgia MacLeod

Tuesday, 7 June 2011

Forget the horror here

Life is an unforgiving ride.
The wind whips our faces
and pulls at our hair.
It twists and turns, descends and ascends.
It is a frightful fanfare.
Learn to forget the horror,
and to see the thrills there.
Seek  happiness everywhere.

- Georgia MacLeod

Journal extract

We, beasts
falter at the sweetest of words,
cry at the most majestic of visions,
and fall to our knees
to the most beautiful music.

- Georgia MacLeod

Monday, 6 June 2011

Organ Donation

Australian Organ Donor Register

I think the idea of being able to donate organs is beautiful.
It's like giving out a little piece of yourself to live on in others, giving out life even though yours has ceased.

Journal extract

The lines are becoming smudged
between their reality and mine.
What are we?
What are you?
What am I?
Am I moth, Or am I flame?
Or are we both of such bitter-sweet incandescence,
Drawn as one; becoming one.

- Georgia MacLeod

Max Fairclough Photography: Georgia Macleod

Max Fairclough Photography: Georgia Macleod: "Georgia and myself have been meaning to hang out for a while now and when it came to actually organising it we came to the conclusion of wan..."

A Perfect Sunday

The day will buzz with a spring glow, the sun will shine and the weather will be a perfect toasty warm. The air will smell rich and sweet; perfumed by spring flowers and freshly cut grass.

 I will wake up refreshed from a long and blissful nights sleep, full of dreams and cuddles. I will start the day by making breakfast for someone special in my white timber kitchen, with it's lace curtains drawn to let the sunlight flood the room, which is always full of vases of tulips from my bountiful garden which seems to overflow with a  superfluity of flowers.
 I will bake croissants from the finest ingredients, cook eggs from our own chicken coup, and make berry drinks with freshly picked berries.

After this I will spend the rest of the day with this someone special, and we will make a tent out of sheets and quilts in the garden, as though we are children again. We will  laugh together, and play our favorite music from the house so it can undulate down amongst the trees. In the tent we will read our favorite books together, and tell each other stories of our adventures that we've once had, or dream of having. We will tell each other our secrets; secrets which are thereby confined to the boundaries of the tent and our minds. Their secrets will become mine and mine will become theirs. We will fall asleep together to the sound of birds and to the honey scent of the air.  The setting sun will start to creep into our tent, making our skin glow with its warmth. The sensation will wake us and we will pack up our tent, to do again another Sunday.

 - Georgia MacLeod

Cirque des Etoiles

One day I'll run away with the circus. I will live in my own caravan that the circus will donate to me. I will work as the make up and costume lady, and help the performers with their audacious attire. I will paint the clowns faces, braid the horses hair, and glitter the gymnasts eyes with many wonderful and different colours. The circus will be called "Cirque des Etoiles" which means "Circus of Stars", and we will only perform by the moonlight. We will be a nocturnal circus and sleep during the day. 

People will see our circus from a mile away, because the many gas lights, lanterns, candles and flame throwers cast a golden light up into the blackened night sky. There will be a plethora of different people that will come to see our circus, but they will all have one thing in common; a love for the weird, wonderful and beautiful, and they will all have an open, happy mind. As they approach the red and gold tent, there will be a magnetic buzz of anticipation, undulating down their spines. They will be hypnotized by the performances, and delight will fill the air. Every night, after the circus there will be a  flamboyant party, and everyone will laugh and dance around a bonfire, and we will all eat circus food like fairy floss, and share the finest apple cider. 

After this, just before dawn, I would retire to my caravan, which is always glowing in candle light. Dream catchers hang from its roof and photo frames documenting my many adventures line its walls. I will sleep in purple satin blankets with the one I love and I will be happy.

- Georgia MacLeod


I find comfort in knowing that there are untouched, beautiful places in the world such as the once shown below. I like knowing that there are places that our human poison hasn't infected yet, and one day, I will see as many of these places as I can. I'll make it happen.

 - Georgia MacLeod

Saturday, 4 June 2011


Today I drove down to Mandurah with my mum and dad to see my gran. She is my only grandparent left and she's ninety years old. She is a fascinating woman to say the least. There's so much history etched into her hands and face and everything about her and her home interests me. Everything has a story.
Her body is fragile, and she walks as though she is a porcelain doll that might break... And yet her eyes are so full of fire. I can see a strong, youthful spirit inside her. It almost seems like her body is a prison, and she is longing to break free from it. I don't see her often enough, but after today something clicked in me, despite our  physcial and historical differences, we are very alike and I think I can learn a lot from her.

- Georgia MacLeod



Thursday, 2 June 2011

When I grow up...

I want to own a garden like this, with a rose vine arch and a pretty bike in which I would ride to my small town village markets in the sun shine and buy fresh bread, grapes and wine for my husband and little children. The villagers would all be smiling and there would not be a car in sight, the smell of croissants and chocolate and freshly cut grass would fill the air and the sky would be blue and I would be happy. Oh, dreams.

- Georgia

A bit of my poetry

She fell into the black abyss that was her mind, 
Its dark fingers suffocate her and drag her down. 
They reach down her throat and claw at her heart,
Until her very soul bleeds rose red.

- Georgia MacLeod

Max Fairclough Photography: Georgia Macleod

Max Fairclough Photography: Georgia Macleod: "It has been bucketing down for the last 8 or so hours today so Georgia and myself took advantage of this by dusting off the umbrella and get..."


So, first blog post. Cool beans.
I'm Georgia and I like to read annnndd......

... funny, I've been thinking about writing this blog for a while, and have all these fabulous ideas. But when I actually go to write something, all thoughts and eloquent sentences escape from my head in a little flurry, like they're afraid to be written crudely over the internet. I can write just fine. In my head. But now its come down to it... well. Yeah I'm suffering writers block the moment so I'll just leave you with a quote from one of my favorite writers, what of it.
"Bubble gum angels swooped from top margins or scraped their wings between teeming paragraphs, maidens with golden hair dripped sea blue tears into the books spine, grape-colored whales spouted blood around a newspaper item (pasted in) listing arrivals to the endangered species list. Six hatchlings cried from shattered shells near an entry made on Easter. Cecilia had filled the pages with a profusion of colors and curlicues, candyland ladders and striped shamrocks."  Jeffrey Eugenides (The Virgin Suicides)
- Georgia MacLeod