Sunday, 30 September 2007

By numbers

Statistically speaking I had a fabulous time. Seven people said I looked nice (they actually used better words than nice) some on several occasions. One person told me I looked very rock and this is the nicest thing to say to a Dale who is not sure about wearing fancy dresses. Five people complimented me on my haircut, two of them people I'd never met before. One person called me a cleavage witch but that was a specific comment about when I was wearing a giant witch's hat and I do mean giant. It was the best giant hat I have ever seen. Two people arrived from an anime convention, one of them in some sort of witch's outfit with a two metre witch's hat. I initially did not count Creamboy's compliment but in the car when I was accidentally stating out loud the overly high number of people who had said that I looked nice he asked if I had counted his and found that I hadn't.

I saw one ex with his wife and two children, spoke to seven people I have known for more than ten years, spoke to four bridal parents, one man I met in a pub once, on ex housemate of the bride, two siblings of the happy couple, one each plus their partners, five friends of the groom's parents and several strangers.

I cried once but was trying not to as I was in charge of racing inside and making the music go as soon as the vows were finished and before they started signing papers. I was astonished by the view and atmosphere on nine occasions. One pair of shoes was ruined by the terrain.

Two people had an entire conversation about my breasts but I found this disconcerting and went and fetched my wrap. I ate three pastizzi style things, dipped two carrot sticks in the chocolate fountain, twice stuck my finger in the icing of a cake and fished nine raspberries out of the fruit platter. I had four glasses of wine, half a bottle of sangria, one fizzy lemon squash, two glasses of water and most of a coke. I left the wedding clutching an unopened bottle of champagne, the groom intended I should drink this in the car on the way home but I accidentally put it in the boot. I was not the designated driver.

I got to hold the munchkin on one occasion, just before the ceremony when she nearly leapt out of her grandmother's arms when she saw me. She's quite tall now and not really a baby anymore, this is very exciting because soon she will be old enough to draw pictures with. Creamboy sang four songs in the car, one on the way to the wedding in the style of Bert & Ernie, one on the way to the Hydro Majestic in the style of Frank Sinatra and two on the way down the mountain.

I used three different toilets, one portaloo, the normal inside toilet and a toilet downstairs at the Hydro Majestic. I drove from Newtown to East Kurrajong Section 2, from EK to Emu Plains to fetch Creamboy from a different wedding where he was playing piano, from Emu Plains back to EK for the rest of the wedding. I was the passenger in a car with Creamboy driving from EK to Medlow Bath via Mt Tomah to deposit the happy couple at the Hydro Majestic, a fascinating and grand old hotel Similar to The Overlook. Creamboy then drove me to my squalid sanctuary in Penno where we had two cups of tea, one each.

I felt fabulous on twelve occasions, forlorn twice, bereft once, happy six times and wished I was somebody else twice. I went to sleep with one heart.

Saturday, 29 September 2007

Curiouser and curiouser

Well then I've been to a wedding. I've spent several hours in a car, tripped around in the Hydro Majestic with Creamboy, me in a fancy dress him in a three piece suit. Narrowly avoided locking myself in a portaloo and seen the face of the future I narrowly avoided, it was short and in pigtails.

I have some things to think about. I have some things to avoid thinking about. I wish I had something to eat.

Friday, 28 September 2007

O mein papa

My Dad is the best aging rocker of them all. He's in Sydney for a few days so we agreed to meet after I finished work today. I hopped a train into Town Hall and waited near the steps but before I saw any sign of Dad a crowd converged, there were photographers, film crews, giant blue flags and suddenly everyone started jumping up and down dancing and yelling. Instant disco. I thought I'd better move away from the crowd but as I pushed past people my phone rang. It was Dad, he was right at the top of the steps in the midst of the pulsing crowd waving and pointing happily at the madness around him.

After we escaped from the crowd he marched me across to the Marble Bar in the Hilton where we sipped our drinks in heavy glasses. He'd gotten up early to go and see The Rogue Traders play in Martin Place for some inexplicable reason, after that he'd gone hat shopping and popped over to the zoo on a ferry wearing his new and excellent hat. He was pleased that the small brim prevents the hat from blowing off your head even when outside on a ferry.

His enthusiasm for the zoo was inspiring and soon enough we were discussing in depth the fantasticness of giraffes, elephants, tigers and gorillas. We sauntered over to Wagamama for divine duck and leek dumplings and some kind of curry after which Dad declared we would set out in search of hot chocolates.

Walking around a city with Dad is as interesting an experience as you're ever going to have. His knack for weaving anecdotes through spaces and his wide eyed wonder at the workings of everything from buildings to people is guaranteed to keep me spellbound for hours. We went to the old GPO and as we walked through the majestic building he pulled me back in time as he described with intricate fascination the smell and atmosphere of the place when he worked there briefly in the 60's, before his band made it big and he sailed for London.

My Dad is a strutting, complex and worldly man. He is all charm and captivating conversation. He is at once world weary and wide eyed. He is essential information for the mechanics of appreciation.

We met up with his wife and two of her four sons for drinks. I am a fan of his wife, she is wonderful. I am hoping to be a fan of her sons but this is proving more difficult than I had anticipated. Over the decade or so they have been together I have met them only a few times. The second eldest is my favourite. I had hoped that this time we might find something to talk about. He is something of a wroving writer himself with his digging for fire across Melbourne, but alas it was not to be.

The eldest one was there and though I like him immensely he is virtually impenetrable. My irrelevance to his life is astounding and once again I ended an evening feeling small and squashed, like I'd just run into Benito.

I can post this

Thursday, 27 September 2007

The mesmerising effect of hats or time limit fifteen minutes

I sat in my office staring at facebook and SMH online for close to an hour, painting my nails and smoking cigarettes. Soon enough it was time to launch so I checked the map one more time and headed out to The Last Bastion of Civilisation but as usual I was early. Happily enough I wandered about and found a $4 thai curry to munch on while I stared through the window of Mao & More listening to Mireille Mathieu on my mp3 player. Its like somebody put too many sugars in my world when I listen to her and her pink and gold swirls.

I was wearing a tie and was fairly confident that this would aid me no matter what occurred but I was wrong. A tall man in a sharp suit and a mesmerising hat came striding up the street and I thought who is that? He pointed at me and came straight over saying "You're Dale Slamma" and for an unexplained reason things went from shit to fuck in a hurry. It was Benito Di Fonzo and I don't know why but he took away my power of speech.

He invited me for a drink but it was like an afterthought or a nod to the gods of politeness. He bought me a drink and chuckled when I said "I'll have a shandy". I sat like a fucktard on a rock in a blanket of silence while journalists and short Romanian men came and went leaving trails of context glowing neon bright. My water had no fish in it and I didn't know what to do.

Time's up. More tomorrow, must sleep.

Kiss me fart

Coming soon to a blog near you.

There is a season

I declare it spaz season. Everything I do and say pushes me further into the spazosphere. I don't know when its going to end. I get the feeling its only just begun, lock and load people, lock and load.

Swing too many times and you'll have to take a walk

Benito Di Fonzo is a man that could wear eyeliner if he wanted to. There are details but I am drunk and tired. Creamboy brought a date along and I wanted to say she's lovely, Hubbell. But that would be inaccurate and unkind but still the words are sitting cross on my eyebrows. I will just go to sleep.

Wednesday, 26 September 2007

Going Down Swinging

Going Down Swinging, that's where I'm going, just as soon as my nailpolish dries and I find an ATM and get something to eat and then locate The Last Bastion of Civilization. Easy, in theory.

Wish me luck I'm walking the streets armed with a map and a refilled bottle of water.

Dale for a day or two

Once again I have two Dale For A Day contributors, both wish to remain anonymous.

Dale For A Day by Anon 1.

Part One: Him.

His heart skipped a beat.

It always did when her name appeared in the glowing electrons of his computer monitor. And there she was. Her IM avatar was a bright green car, and that was the image he associated with her. Every time he saw one on the street, she popped into his mind.

"This is bad," he thought. Very bad. It's becoming close to obsession, although "obsession" isn't quite the right word. Infatuation? Attraction? He'd never met her, and it was unlikely that he would in the near future. Still, he thought about her day and night (wasn't that a song? "Day and night... night and day..." Who was that? Cole Porter?). He looked for reasons to go online; to see if she was there.

He could only imagine her voice, for they had never spoken. He had a vague idea of what she looked like, from the many pictures she'd posted. Looks weren't important to him...not really. He'd dated all types of women, but she really was exceptionally beautiful in his eyes. He never told her this, of course. It seemed, well...kind of creepy. Besides, it didn't matter. They were having great conversations about life. Love. Art. Music. No subject was off limits, no secrets, no bullshit, no hidden agendas...

Well. That wasn't exactly true, was it now?

So what should he call this? A crush? Yeah. That was probably the best word for it. He had a crush on this amazing, intelligent woman that he'd never met. This was bad. Very bad. For a lot of very good reasons.

All this went through his head in the instant that it took for him to recognize that she was online again. His hands went to the keyboard. "Hey Sunshine!" he typed.

Part Two: Her.

"Hey Sunshine!"

The words appeared on her screen, and her heart skipped a beat. Just like it always did when he greeted her like that.

His avatar--a closeup photo of a rock on the sidewalk--always made her smile. Every time she kicked a stone, she thought of him. Not that she'd ever kick him, mind you. No, she had other things in mind for him that didn't involve kicking...

"No!" she suddenly yelled aloud. Her roommate shot her a glance. Shit. This was bad. Now she was talking to the voices in her head.

What was it about him that made her act like this? She'd never met him. She probably never would. And yet, they would IM each other for hours on end. At first, it was just cute. Then it became fun. Now, it was...well, it was something else.

He didn't appeal to her. For a lot of very, very, VERY good reasons, he wasn't her type. In fact, he was someone else's type, and for that matter, someone else's altogether. So they had an amazing friendship. A weird friendship, but a true one nonetheless.


Fuck. This can't become a crush. "You're smarter than this," she said aloud, as her fingers reached for the keyboard. Her roommate looked up from her book. "What did you say?" she asked.


She pecked out the words on the screen: "Hey Stoney!"


Dale For A Day by Anon 2.

And why won't I budge him? I think I've told myself that I'm scared. I think, and that's the cause of this paralysis/ I'm scared of the "I',- the "eye". the "I". -Twist of pronounciation and your meaning is too clear. It cuts. The "you" was hard enough to deal with,- they say it would have been easier if I'd "felt" rather than "dealt" but hey, they rhyme so they can't be that different. But put them in a poem, twist 'em round a bit, hell, they'll eventually say anything you almost think you want them to.
No, it's the "I", I ( I Claudius, I Heathcliff), I (the forgiven) take thee (the trapped) to be my lawfully wedded etcetera.
The truly stunning sunburst here is that you are (and always have been) unaware of my howl and roar, my tooth and fang.
This wail is the threnody of the woman who finds herself too late.

Tuesday, 25 September 2007

Kitten killing time

I'm waiting on a Dale For A Day post, its coming from America so it may take a while to arrive. In the meantime I can disappointingly report that The Chaser boys are all tiny and beautiful, like dolls, here ends my fantasy.

Excellent breakfast

Now this may be controversial, I am still struggling with this but... brownies are better than cupcakes. I am new to the world of brownies having always avoided them on the basis that they are American but now, oh now, I am smitten. The chocolate cake goodness is almost unsurpassed, some of them have nuts, I like to avoid those as nuts interrupt the chocolate in an almost violent fashion. I had a brownie on Sunday afternoon and another one today. I intend to continue eating brownies with increasing frequency until I am happily reaching for one first thing in the morning. Despite being sweet I suspect they might be excellent for breakfast.

I'm off to see The Chaser being filmed in mere moments, or an hour or so really. I am planning on kidnapping the chaser boys, Grizelda wants Chaz, I'll pop him in my handbag for her, I'll take the rest.

This has been a post completely devoid of quality and content brought to you by Dale Stupid Slamma.

Monday, 24 September 2007

Some kind of fool

Sitting alone in my loungeroom pathetically eating vegan lasagne I cried watching the ABC news. It wasn't the result of barefoot nuns and monks protesting for democracy, it wasn't the clear and shining affection of Tasmanian Myer employees lamenting the tearing down of the burnt and broken historic building. It was the ten second clip of Marcel Marceau moving his hands in an eloquent counterfeit of the sea.

He said his art was searching and speaking of man's struggle with love, life and death and I believe him. I long for higher purpose, I long to be a small light, a still and calling beacon for my own humanity. I wish for more than rattling around this city pulling the heavy need to be, even for moment, adored.

Dale for a day

Its that time again. Be Dale for a day, the topic is having an unwanted crush, email your post to

Ok the topic is optional, if you wish to remain anonymous just let me know. Come on, you know you want to be Dale for a day.

Sunday, 23 September 2007

Google my space and I'll come on your face book

I've got This Is Not Art envy. I've organised some people for a panel, sorted an odd thing or two to happen up there, commissioned an illustrator to make promotional things, all for work, yet I can't go to TINA. I chose to go to Ron & Rita's wedding instead. I will love being at the wedding, I will have a fabulous time. I am even going to wear a dress, the first dress I have ever bought myself but right now I am twisted little soul.

I am Lydia screaming "I want to go to Brighton" and I won't be satisfied until I have created uproar in every corner of the house. I am Dr Gonzo without his drugs, I am the Wonder Years boy staring at Winnie, I am Dale Slamma missing out on the best arts festival in Australia and I'm doing it on purpose.

If you can go to Newcastle next weekend for TINA then go. Wear your favourite jeans and best sneakers, encourage your hair to go mad and then take notes. I love you TINA, I love you.


There's a new man. He's not my new man but I am nonetheless wildly fascinated by him. He is not wildly fascinated by me but this is yet to dent my enthusiasm for entertaining wild fantasies and wonderful improbable hopes.

I will stalk him in my imagination until the fantasy runs dry. I will crest grassy waves of hills and lie side by side in the sunlight, I will bounce possibilities across time and space until reality catches the long shot and stacks it neatly with my other failed clown shaped dreams. This is something you can try at home.

Feeling experimental?

Votes are in and the winner was "Set up a stall selling sentences using words of the customer's choice". This is a lame experiment. Lame.

I will do the lame experiment but I am feeling a definite welling of wild. I want to storm down the street like I own this damn town. I am freewheeling, the urge to be the one with dustpan and a watch clattered out with the last pointed shard. Its my turn to be selfish and love it.

Saturday, 22 September 2007

Back in love with sanctuary

Despite the cratered seediness of my brain I can still see some value in it. There is a freedom in saying to yourself it is ok to be too tired to drive home tonight. It is ok to say tonight I will not fossick in this strange kitchen for inadequate dinner, I will buy something cheap and greasy to putty over the seedy craters.

In fact it is lovely to be abusing the excellent heater, smoking indoors and watching a lovely English show about barristers and judges getting all pondery about overarching notions of justice and the operation of the law. Lovely.

Tired of the sanctuary

Slightly seedy. Slightly seedy and despairing at the vileness of cheap chocolate. There is nothing I would like more than to sit with a friend this evening but I am alone here in this squalid place. I spent the morning shuffling around in Penrith Spotlight taking photos of the bizarre things they have for sale. There is a selection of different Elvis Presley polar fleece panels, I found this so astounding that I climbed onto a giant pile of fake fur to get a closer look. Climbing on fake fur is frowned upon in Penrith Spotlight.

I sewed things with my mother despite feeling turned inside out and back again, I think I'm going to leave rum to the pirates. We spent most of the day sewing and talking. Nothing was said, not a thing of consequence, she finds me a dull and disappointing person. I don't know what I could do to make myself more interesting for her. Maybe it would help if I was beautiful or rich, I suspect it might help if I walked through the corporate sliding doors and never came out.

I was unable to make the television go and so sat staring into space until Ron & Rita dropped by. Rita showed me how it all works but alas no ABC reception here, no Dr Who for me. I am only thinking uninteresting thoughts. There are secrets and dreams and wild improbable hopes but no interesting thoughts, not today.

Pass the medicated drinking foam

I don't feel too bad. I've been pottering a little, stepping over sailors on the floor and ignoring the one waiting in the hall for the bathroom, every lap of the house I have another glass of water. Everything will be just fine, peachy in fact, for sewing with mother.

Unless I am still drunk. How can I tell if I am still drunk? I couldn't make the stereo go a moment ago but it has no general mode of operation because we found it on the side of the road and so is not useful as a drunk indicator.

I have to drive all the way to my squalid sanctuary very soon, I should find some knickers.


Incrediblte drunkness. Lips actually numb. Played pass the icecube with sailors. Sailors! From the navy. Don't know what go into me. Went a bnt Rupert there for a minute.

Unbelievable have got to fet up eearlt to sew with mother. Waht's with seiwing? Sewing is definitely a bit floral.

Woulf like possible pizza but already had dinner at earlier occasion. Considering joining navy. Would be great to have shiny white pants with matching hat. What if everything was excellent and I had a grand piano? Then I could practice piano and be better than everybody if only had own piano. Would give recital and have excellent soiree style events and I would be just like Gertrude Stein only less drunk and gay or more drunk depending on lychees. Lady friends are ok but it is the man with the thing there that is more fun for a Dale lady but preferably not sailors.

I don't have any sisters but that is ok because they might steal my things and wear them like hats. If lips numb it is much easier to burn things. THis is not ideal.

What if I went to sleep and when I woke I was still wearing my pants? I'm not sure what would happen, this is not something I generally do. They are jeans ut they are black. I think that is ok. But what if you got squished. Jeans can squish if you are twisty when you are asleep. It might be better to have pyjama pants which do not squish but sometimes tangle. it is important that they are not too big. Mine are too big and so sometimes tangel but there is a pink ribbon that helps.

At my office they plat Thompson Twins very loudly and so all day there is singing Doctor doctor, can't you see I'm burning burning. This is not a usual office where singing is more diverse. Nobody outside the office knows about the Thompson Twins. Secret lives of authors and poets.
Taking computer inot part area for guest bloggong now.
pisssed sentence ibpostd
im over bread and milk, im onto fairy bread!!!!!!!!!! love grizelda!!! :O)h
hi i'm absolutley pised i'm having a great time!!! SunDanAdgi

ha! guest bloggers cannpt type sentences. WHat kind of people can't make sentencese> . people with more rum than soul. WE made a drink walled THE PEACH it is ruym and lycees and lychee juice and lycee liquoer and craberry juice only dorp of and pineapple juice .

One of the sailors said gay jiz then spatula said jiz not bad. Need papers for rolling more extra curricular breathing devices of the narcotic kind, also cigaretts good. Should phone Elliot and say HA! HA! You can't ban me from hanging out with Creamboy you dumbhead. What does he think he's playing at? Creamboy is good value and not to be banned.

Oh head no glasses so bye bow baileys that is mint because of lactase which you can chew and it comes in a tube.,

Thursday, 20 September 2007

What's with all the boring?

It was complete and so sudden that it can't be timed in heartbeats.

I was sitting and sipping at coffee, staring around at my piles of clean washing thinking this ain't so bad, when it happened. In less than a click my molecules realigned and I was free. I have lost the fear, I have lost the heartache, I stood up and shook out the last pointed shard and now I'm ready, for anything.

What I have been doing with this readiness is walking with it hidden under my clothes like a secret. I have been sitting in cafes alone and wondering at the structure of my bones. I've been walking the streets of Newtown feeling the footpath roll earth and time under my powerful feet. I've been cooking and laughing and poking at the jelly of my relaxation. I think the world needs to get ready for the whole Dale Slamma because the one stuck together and heavy with ancient sorrow cracked and vanished last Sunday as the fading day spun grace and lemon light through the small spaces of Newtown.

Have gone mental

Its official, my brain has gone mental and is currently undertaking a full scale rebellion. There are several options for counter attack. I have sent in a strike force, waiting for initial report.

Management apologises for the complete lack of interesting posts, vast team of dedicated writers are once again being horsewhipped and periodically injected with equine influenza as punishment.

Wednesday, 19 September 2007

Made of these

In my head while I was sleeping these are the facts as they rolled before my mind's eye.

Benito Di Fonzo (a man I have spied once but never met) invited me to his house. He did this by becoming insensibly drunk and leaving objects in my glass cube of a letterbox. He left trousers with notes in the pockets, the barrel of a lock but not the key, an empty bottle, the last two pages of a novel.

I would go to his house or his parties but he always ignored me. They sat on the floor, a great ring of men, all drunk, some of them tended to me fetching drinks in heavy glasses and offering up cigarettes and somewhere to lean my head. Benito continued to ignore me in person and leave objects in my cube by night. This is most curious.

Tuesday, 18 September 2007

Evil recurring thought and yet more evidence of compulsive typing disorder

If my brother is vanquished by a typhoon then I will eventually inherit everything.

Compulsive typing disorder

I had intended to hide here in splendid anonymity but it is not to be. I have lost my nerve and can't say tonight what it is that I really want to say. I can't say that my thoughts have rebelled against my instinct and if I had the chance tonight I would walk with a cheerful step into the flower ringed trap that at least one person would lay out for me.

I have a compulsive typing disorder, this much is clear.

Serial and news

The Dog Ate My Serial: Episode 9

I have decided to ignore myself. This will bring best results.

Imagining sensible

Let's take a sensible approach to this. My brother is in Shanghai and I am beginning to suspect that I am getting a tiny bit worried.

It does not feel like a sensible thing to to be doing, this worrying. It makes me feel floral and settled with a long stretch of history, this looming worry.

I sometimes feel that I remember Shanghai but the memories are not my own, they are merely family narrative winding through my bones humming words I have never heard to the slide show of photographs and the incredible miracle of silent film footage.

The Shanghai I do not remember has vanished, vanquished in the war and built over and over. I don't know what the air smells like or how sunset feels. There is no way of feeling the length of my stride, I am lost in that city even in the false remembering. It doesn't take a typhoon to vanish a brother from reality.

Typhoon Wipha

Typhoon approaching Shanghai, people being evacuated, people possibly including my stinky brother.

Monday, 17 September 2007

Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat

Help me decide on what my next experiment should be. I'm liking the idea of the torture one at the moment but at the same time suspecting that it could be a tad mental. I want to do something drastic, more drastic than eating like a vegan for two weeks and far more drastic than learning to juggle, which is coming along nicely thanks to the handy hints from Creamboy.

Please vote.

Letters of business

This email just popped into my inbox:
You asked me what I hope to achieve by talking to you and I can't find
an answer.
It was wrong of me to ask to meet you. I don't know what I can say
right now that would be of any use. I'm sorry to have bothered you.

What the hell? I have no idea what this email actually means and no way of finding out so I will use my excellent comprehension skills and divine my own meaning. Here is my version:

Your straight forward question caught me off guard and I have not the cognitive power to answer. It was stupid of me to assume that you would do what I say without question. I am stupid. I will go away again and wait for the giant hand of the universe to rescue me instead of attempting to be a normal person.
PS I am emo.

Sunday, 16 September 2007

Veganism and the eternal search for hazelnut based spreads

I did it. I did it with only the occasional and accidental slip. Two weeks of living as a vegan and it was fucked. I probably can't sensibly blame being a vegan for the nightmares but I might anyway. Veganism gave me nightmares.

Now that I have stopped being a vegan, thanks to Rita & Ron who supplied me with excellent cupcakes, pizza and red wine I can calmly say that I can't do it. It takes far too much planning ahead for my liking. I am a person who would rather eat three rice crackers, a squirt of toothpaste and half an orange than plan out something to cook. I am far too busy thinking to be bothered with cooking most of the time. Some people can manage to both think and cook, I am not one of them.

At one point I was in danger of becoming a permanent vegan despite the lack of nutino and milo. There is a certain romance to being other but considering I am already decidedly odd looking, a drastic smoker, a sexual spaz and generally determined to think my own way there is no need to add being a vegan to the list. I can adequately romance myself with all this other otherness and be content.

Now I will begin to think of my next experiment, one that lends itself to more frequent and interesting updates. I am having a little ponder about an experiment in tortures that do not cause actual bodily harm, I just need an accomplice.

As my attorney I advise myself to drink more rum


I want rum. Good dark rum. I want to drink it with ice and sit in some stinking shithole sweating and swearing out reams of cigarette smoke. I need to get to San Juan.

With cat like tread

Driving home I brushed away the scattered wide eyed escape hatch feeling and settled in to concentrate on not killing people on the freeway. An illicit hamburger, three cigarettes and much city traffic later I was five minutes from home and my phone miraculously rang. I thought the battery was dead, thought the battery had been dead for a whole day when it rang.

Artboy phoned like a tsunami. I told him I was driving and the phone died again. He called again when I got home. He wants to talk. He wants to meet up and talk. He thinks it will make things easier, make things better. I said what things, I said what do you hope to achieve, I said I need a frame of reference when thinking about whether or not I will agree to this.

I don't know what to do. Last night was the first night in two weeks that I didn't dream terrible nightmares about him. Driving east with my clean washing folded and piled on the back seat I was thinking this is alright, I'm heading home to The Peach where I have nested, thinking finally I am one of those people who notices the silence and the dark when I leave the city. Finally I am one of those people that knows for certain that where I am is where I want to be.


I was sitting squarely in the part of the world where all my troubles began. Oh Western Sydney how I despise you. I was stared at in the shops for my sunglasses and my normal going to the shops clothes. I later changed into trackpants and a t-shirt, I suspect this would allow me to travel the territory incognito.

People here wear clothes from the same shops, they have yesterday's hair and shiny cars of identity. They walk around confident in their absolute knowledge of every blemish on every blade of grass. Every person they have every known walks past them on the street and they give an inner nod and in the next step smile because their rank on the scale did not change.

People have extra bathrooms to block out the world.

I am trying to remember what it is I loved for so long in the Hawkesbury which is undeniably west. It was things, always things like the slow wave of the mountains, the horizon. Emerging from behind anything to find unexpected spaces. Open ground and the physical memory of being lost, McCubbin lost.

I am still in my squalid sanctuary, the last of my laundry in machines. Soon I'll make my way east and give in to the great tidal pull of that magnetic bitch Sydney.


A battalion of ridiculous unlikely possibilities are beating at my door. I want to shoo them away. They are phantoms of straws and I refuse them. There is no spell, no net, no electro magnets in operation here so why I am thinking what I am thinking?


Saturday, 15 September 2007

Happy Birthday

Gemma!!! I am sure glad to know you.

Ah now

Am just looking in street directory to find out how to drive to Creamboy's house. Picking him up for a sorbet mission of sorts. Should be interesting.

And it was. In a usual sort of way. It was of course a delight to be welcomed into Ron & Rita's lovely abode so often this weekend. It was good to be listened to and fed. It was remarkably wonderful to have a proper dinner two nights in a row. This is something I should attempt more often.

I think something I forgot to do was to say thank you to Creamboy for bringing over tea that I had never had before and serving it to me in a beautiful cup. It was a treat.


Inadvertently I have begun to wait. Creamboy was coming over to visit me in my squalid sanctuary armed with green tea but something or other occurred and he has to try and secure a vehicle in order to visit. I don't really mind, or I don't think I really mind, either way I have suddenly begun to wait. I have no idea what will happen.

The Love Boat, a flamingo and Nick Cave

I am sitting in squalid sanctuary. This is my brother's house, he is not here, he is in China but I have secured his spare keys and made my way out here to rim of the Sydney basin. I am sitting here in squalid sanctuary away from the city lights and the people who give a shit about any damn thing at all as long as they can look good doing it.

I am sitting here in squalid sanctuary eating microwave popcorn and wearing a t-shirt that says 'These are my bitches" with an arrow pointing to either side. This is not my t-shirt. I found it on the floor and thought I might as well wear it as not.

I used all the hot water, my washing is on the line, more in the machine and yet more in the drier. This house is disgusting, dirty pots on the stove, a plate of half eaten sausages in the fridge, trombones, tubas, darth vada helmets and ten gallon hats in the lounge room. This is my squalid sanctuary and I love it.

There is western suburbs sunshine and a long driveway between me and the world. My mobile phone is about to run out of battery but I don't want to phone anyone. I have wandered about naked smoking cigarettes and dancing to the Stones. I have watched Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, I have laid myself down and the floor and welcomed emptiness. This is my squalid sanctuary and I'm staying put. For now.

Friday, 14 September 2007


Nightmares continue unabated. Have just arrived in office after 10am. Am going to be murdered and fired, this is the third time this week. Urgently seeking someone to sit in my bed and hit me over head at first sign of nightmares. Person also responsible for waking me up in mornings. Must not be smelly or evil person.

Thursday, 13 September 2007

Something to do in order not to think about why I did not buy the apple slice

Here is how it works. Copy this list. Leave in the bands you've seen perform live. Delete the ones you haven't and add new ones that you have seen until you reach 25. An asterisk means the previous person had it on their list. Two asterisks means the last two people who did this before you had that band on their list, etc.

Oh dear. I've stolen this from Spencer and his list was quite excellent, mine will be lame.

1. Loene Carmen
2. Belles Will Ring
3. The Red Riders
4. The Holy Soul*
5. Eurythmics
6. Grimethorpe Colliery
7. SSO (I'm counting them, I don't care)
8. Ubercube
9. Sauerkraut Stompers
10. Reverend Jemima & The Future Ex-Wives
11. The Love Tones
12. Biftek
14. Blacktown Brass Band (they're really very good)
15. The Grand Union
16. Mark Lewis Five
17. Regina Spektor
18. Hawkesbury District Concert Band
19. Resin Dogs (this was not my fault, really not)
20. City of Sydney Band
21. Millennium Marching Band
22. Moon Patrol
23. Reverend Jemima with Madam Squeeze
24. Bird Yard Big Band
25. Buckley's

Ok so it looks like I can only remember the more embarrassing bands I have seen and also it seems that I am moving closer to confessing about marching bands, closer but not quite there yet.


I went to the bakery today determined to have apple slice and to hell with veganism but when I went to ask for I found that I couldn't. I left with a ginger beer and not a small dose of alarm.

I wanted that apple slice. I left the comfort of my office, walked down a back lane in Redfern went to the ATM. Now for those of you not familiar with Redfern this is a dangerous and scary mission. There was the usual bunch of ice cadets hanging out in front of the ATM but I walked around them and withdrew my money.

I'm not sure what happened, I'm thinking about it.

Wednesday, 12 September 2007


I am going to tackle sleep. I have been having a little problem with sleep lately. Usually I can go to sleep without any problems but what happens next is alarming. Every morning I have been waking up sobbing and shaking. Nightmares. All of them about Artboy.

Last night I couldn't sleep.

Tonight sleep is my bitch and I will calmly and wonderfully fall through the layers of consciousness to wake refreshed and attractive in a ruffled sort of way. This is my plan. I'm going to need pillows, doona, bed, cat, heater and a handy dandy lobotomy. Wish me luck.

Sydney Underground Film Festival

I have been Wroving. Have a look at Snuffbox Films to read my final verdict on the first Sydney Underground Film Festival .

My idea, so I don't forget

Photocopy maps. Enlarge maps to A3 size. Need at least ten maps.

Choose ten or so people in the same area. Draw one map per person of usual daily movements. Different colour for each person.

Make one large master map. This is going to be very interesting indeed.

Tuesday, 11 September 2007

What is this strange and beautiful thing?

Ah ha! So I have typed a thing about the Sydney Underground Film Festival. Hopefully it will appear on Snuffbox Films. It could well be rejected yet. I will wait and see. Oh yes I will wait. I am waiting right now. Already bored with waiting.

The film festival has taken a toll on me. I am wasted. I am soaked through with the visual ideas of the world. My eyes are sore from watching and bones aching from sitting night after night hour after hour in the freezing arctic cinema.

Some of the more abstract films felt almost generative in nature and this leads me squarely back to Artboy who frittered away years of his life coding generative artworks for projection or performance. Every morning I wake sobbing and shaking frightened by the powerful arcs of nightmare and the physical memories of sorrow. I think this is the final push. I am going over the top of this process. Soon it will be one year since I found myself alone and vomiting with shock on the floor. One year since I was loved. One year since I was airlifted into my own path in my own shoes carrying the expectant load of a room of one's own.

Its the sun rising.

The Dog Ate My Serial

Episode 8.

Monday, 10 September 2007

What makes the memory yours?

I can barely see to type. I am all the fountains. Tonight's program at the film festival sunk a bore right into my water. Humans are beautiful. Humanity is beautiful. I am overwhelmed in surround sound and lined with red velvet. This is a resolving walking talking nightmare. This is me shrunken into a matchbox and pushed silently onto the flat ocean. This paragraph lacks resolution. Live with your dissonance.

I want to be an airborne ranger

Live a life of fear and danger.

Need professional help

I have decided that it is time. Its time. Ha! Not to make me Prime Minister but time to seriously consider a new job. I like my current job, mostly. The people are super duper and its an organisation that truly only exists in order to do good things for creative folks.

The main problem is a creeping sense of boredom and repetition coupled with the need for cold hard cash. I work for a non-profit company and it shows. It shows in my bank account, you can see it my car that now admirably travels backwards when instructed to but is having problems with forwards. It shows in my inability to buy new shoes and to match my doona cover to my curtains but mostly it appears when I go to buy groceries and realise that I can't have both books and food.

Conundrum. Just what sort of job could I possibly do that will pay me enough money to have both books and food and not be boring enough to kill me until I die?

Sunday, 9 September 2007

I have a theme song

My friend Spencer drew a cartoon of me on Fspazbook with the caption "I am a complicated lady whose theme song is Moody Blue".

I rather like having a theme song again. I used to have one that went; Law talkin' Da-ale. You must acquit! repeat etc in any key you like. I had thought that Spencer wrote it but he insists that it was mostly Artboy and he just played it on guitar so I ditched it. Ditched it along with the rest of who I was when I was loved.

Now I have a new and exciting theme song. I just looked up the lyrics and am wondering many things. I wonder how it sounds. I've never been one for listening to Elvis Presley. I mostly listen to normal Elvis, Costello that is.

I want to marry all of you gorgeous taps

I have never seen so much Salad Fingers back to back before tonight. Oh what an abject joy, if such a thing is possible. This film mission is slowly turning from a chore into a wonder. During one gorgeous abstract animation the locked and unwritten part of my novel in progress came undone. I have lost the floating words temporarily but I have faith that brain will bring them back. What is most important is that it has been unlocked.

I did not make it to the end of this evening's program. My eyes hurt. It hurts to look so I beat a splendid retreat with the perfect intent of returning tomorrow for the final segment. Rumour has it that there will be food afterwards. I like food.

Learning from the error of my ways I packed a sandwich and popped it into my handbag to eat if I felt a bit peckish. Unfortunately I was not concentrating when I made it and cut it into little squares which are inferior to triangles. I told Elliot I was going to take a marmalade sandwich and he responded by saying "Go you Paddington fucker, go". I think he thought I was going to put it under my hat instead of in my handbag.

The man with the hat and the handbag was there again this evening. Some detective work revealed that his name is Ryan and he is a VJ, which is a shame, I don't like VJs but his handbag really is ever so lovely and if I see one just like it in a shop I would be very happy to buy it for myself.

I was intently fascinated by the electrical plug above the hand dryer in the toilets. I took a photo. I was given some odd looks for that but it was worth it. I haven't seen anything like it since I visited my rich uncle in his brand new house in 1989.

Detox is not what I am doing

This is an important distinction to make. I am not detoxing. I am eating many many things that are not suitable for a person that is detoxing as well drinking coke and shandies and coffee, not all at once obviously.

The Spatula, who I recently (ten minutes ago) told to fuck off, reckons that I am grumpy at her because I am detoxing. I am not grumpy with her. I am angry and I told her this but I can't sit here all day I have many things to do before I head back to the film festival.

All my clothes are dirty and I need to somehow wash them. The drier is broken and all the clothes racks are already taken up with other people's clothes. I need to shop for food, cook some sort of something to eat for dinner and take care of the litter tray of doom. Why oh why do cats not use toilets?

Actually I would much rather sit here all day. It would be much nicer to say plopped in front of the heater than have to do boring busy house things. I hate boring busy house things. Send me some staff someone. Oh yes, send in the staff. Tonight will look for millionaire to marry.

I have just noticed

Well it was Grizelda that noticed that my film festival taggy pass thing says Media Pass on it. Media Pass! I am media. This is exciting. I might put it on and walk around the house a little, just for a few minutes.

Words fatherfucker words

So here's a word. Are you ready? Woot! You have to say it with a really long ooo sound but its not a slow word so you need to practice it until you can do a long ooo sound very quickly. Its important to go up a bit at the end but not too much, just enough. The 't' should be a soft sound and there is always an exclamation point, always.

This word was first brought to my attention by Lerf the housemate that lived in The Peach before Grizelda arrived. Lerf is super fabulous, beyond lovely and I miss her. She buggered off back to WA to go to uni which I think was a terrible mistake. TERRIBLE MISTAKE. She should have stayed here in mindless jobs just to keep me company.

Woot! to the Lerf.


Am home from film festival. Sometimes I marvel at my good fortune in being able to live in the city. The festival went well over time yet here I am a mere half hour or so later sitting in my pyjamas with toast with jam on and a cup of hot milo (veganism can go fuck itself I am having a hot milo, there's no milk in it, only hot water but there is apparently some milk powder or some shit in milo that makes it not ok for vegans).

I am pondering pondering about this evening wondering what on earth I am going to write about it. There was a fascinating interlude where I followed around a man in a hat who had a lovely handbag but I think he saw me so it was time to retreat. Then there was the time that I realised what I was eating had cheese in it, this is why I have a belly ache and will most likely spend some quality time sitting on the toilet in the morning expelling liquid nastiness.

That was a bit graphic but its not phasing me after what I saw tonight and besides its not like its the first time I've made myself ill on cheese. I have a fair idea of what to expect. First comes the belly ache then much later blast like cramping followed by graphic toilet visit accompanied by turning fetchingly pale and getting cold shivery fever like feelings.

I don't think I should write about the part where I predict illness of the toilet variety. It may not happen. I don't know what kind of cheese it was and that is the crucial part. If it was a white and squishy cheese and I suspect it was then it is trouble. If it was a bit of cheddar or mozarella I should get out of it quite nicely. Only minimal pain and no real graphicness.

Oh dear. I am quite tired and my brain is whirring madly from seeing five hundred million films and thinking how the fuck I am supposed to think of something to say about all of this. I'll sleep on it and in the morning I might tell you the tale of the ghost fanta cup and how I ended up eating an entire packet of fantales. It was not ideal.

Saturday, 8 September 2007

The pointy finger of the universe

Walking down the street with Spencer I saw Tim Friedman three times. He stared right at me. I felt like walking up to him and slapping him but instead I turned around and stumbled weirdly into a man who said "Hey lady. Want to see something interesting?".

We interrupt this nothing for an important NEWS FLASH!

My Fspazbook friend, oh and person I actually know in the real world has declared herself to be The Vegan Cupcake Master. This is incredibly exciting news. I had no idea that she was a cupcake master let alone a vegan cupcake master.

Oh wait, the excitement is fading into jealousy. I wish to be a cupcake master and a drummer. She is both of these things, she is the new drummer in Spencer's band among other bands. Hang on the excitement is coming back. Woo hoo! There it is.

Psycho freak attack from the land of bad and nasty

Is what happened when I told The Spatula that Gemma said that Tim Friedman was not a nice man. Paul Keating was mentioned, I still don't know why. I guess The Spatula has a long and enduring love for the man that wants to blow up the pokies. I don't think I'll be mentioning his name again because I'm sitting in my room reattaching my head with super glue.

Sleepy. Simple.

I really should be sleeping. I have a big day tomorrow, I think. The plan is to wake up early enough to join the APEC protest then wander about a bit in downtown East Berlin Sydney wondering at the walls and the sudden spread of Jeffrey Smart aesthetic before coming home and having a disco nap. I need the disco nap in order to spend the entire evening at the Sydney Underground Film Festival as a secret Dale S Thompson style person. This is Plan A.

Plan B is more fluid and involves eating things whilst in pyjamas. Walking up King St to fetch the newspaper, having coffee and wishing for cakes (fecking veganism) buying a second hand copy of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas and walking around in aviators pretending to be Hunter S Thompson. Go to film festival.

Plan C. Stay in bed until feel like making coffee. Mooch about, wear aviators and pretend to be Hunter S Thompson. Walk to cafe and order fifty eight coffees and some toast. Feel slightly ill. Go to film festival.

Plan D. Go to cafe via newsagent. Buy paper and eat some sort of shite vegan cafe food wearing huge sunglasses and repeatedly saying "A dingo stole my baby" in a bad Meryl Streep voice. Go to film festival.

As you can see all plans involve going to the film festival. I am a very dedicated secret Dale S Thompson style of person. I have been given free reign to write whatever I like about the film festival and it will appear, as if by magic, on Snuffbox Films. Free reign is very exciting. It means that I can do whatever I like, that makes me The Captain of Snuffbox Films, sort of, in a small and temporary vicarious way. I could potentially write something only about my left sneaker, I'll have to wait and see what happens.

My name is going to be on the door. I love it when that happens. I don't care what it is if my name is on the door I'll be there. This is how I misspent much of my youth at dance parties, in clubs and at underground hip hop events. There was a time when all my friends were djs. I am well into rambling mode and may as well continue.

Newtown was a ghost town this evening. There was not one interesting thing to distract me from my dire tofu wrap at burgerlicious. It was a mean door of a slab of tofu, not in any way burgerlicious. The streets were cold and empty. I didn't even have any sorbet. The only redeeming feature was the toffee apple cocktail in Kulettos. My favourite part of that particular cocktail is to use two straws like chopsticks and extract the cherries from the bottom of the glass in a natty and dexterous way before sucking the delicious sticky drink from them, dropping them back in the glass and repeating the whole process.

The Spatula and I dropped in on a friend who excitingly live across the road from Tim Friedman. The exciting part is that The Spatula is gaga for him and has a tendency to go all funny and try to peer in his windows. I personally think that no matter what happens he will never ever be an aging rocker. She even went so far as to say that I would be better off marrying someone like him rather than an aging rocker which is clearly wrong and a little bit sick making. If The Spatula marries him then maybe I will visit once in a while and have a cup of tea but I wear a disguise and make sure that no one sees me.

Friday, 7 September 2007

Imminent death imminent

Unless am emergency delivered batch of cupcakes by pink shiny helicopter with glitter writing on it.

Almost entirely pleasant

There's something about a leisurely midday shower. It is almost entirely pleasant. I stood under the hot water having a bit of a sniff at all the lovely potions and soaps in the shower and watched the clouds through the regular slanted grid of the rain.

It is pissing down and gloomy outside, there is a cold and constant wind pushing the clouds from glower into menace and back again but this only makes the inside of The Peach appear more lovely than usual.

Rock n roll tears in beautiful black boots made from a beautiful black cow

She cast out a flat wave of blues inspired magic and a few of us tall ones fell. She built a golden whitewashed concave glory of rock and stood with a slow calm smile in the centre. She was still while the sound gathered behind her and gave only a nod of her head when it Hiroshimaed out all around her.

I think I'm going to buy your record Loene Carmen.

Thursday, 6 September 2007

Mission complete

Your next mission is an alphabet of book titles such as A for Andromeda, I for Isobel and Z for Zachariah but I think I will have a little break before launching into that one.

I have an official gig this weekend as a secret spy reporter for Rupert and I am of course very excited and the whole bizzo. I will be very busy and important as I am also working on something for my friend who is getting married, developing things for Wroving Writers and discovering what is in my cupboards. I had better go as I am in the office.

Hello to my boss if you are reading this from Paris. If you are reading this from Paris please immediately turn off the computer and go outside and do something more Parisian. Have some chocolate wrapped in pastry and dip it in a hot chocolate made only from melty chocolate, I hear they are fond of that sort of thing in Paris.

Tuesday, 4 September 2007


Bhumibol Adulyadej
iacocca (as in iacocca foundation)
Ngaliema Mountain

What's in its cupboards?

An electric typewriter, a collection of ribbons and rosettes from pony club, my Dad's resume from 1987, a camera that has the kind of flash that has four bulbs in it then you take the flash thing off and put a new one on, a red velvet Frente style of hat, a black bowler hat, an oversized purple crushed velvet beret and a baseball hat that is purple and aqua. This is what was in the one box I looked in in my cupboard.

Who is David Tilley?

And in other exciting happenings I seem to have caused eight people to join the Olympia Milk Bar Fspazbook group. I only wish I could have a celebratory cupcake but I can not because I am a fecking vegan. Fecking vegans can not eat $1 smiley face cupcakes with pink icing from the bakery near my office. This is a crime against my humanity.

Deciding to go ahead and be a temporary vegan for two weeks was a fucked idea and I mean fucked with a capital F. Fucked. Ever since I have been a vegan I have been craving plain chips. Salty, crunchy, oily, good. I can eat them, no problems there, I have had both crinkle cut (superior) and flat (only edible if kettle style of chip). I wake up in the middle of the night ready to DIE if I don't have a chip. I have not died but am surprised by this.

I wonder if the Olympia sells chips. The last time Spencer was there he asked for a chocolate bar and the diminished man said - not today. Spencer ended up with some chocolate but it took three goes.

I have also been craving vegemite. Salty, good. I have stuck my finger in the jar more than once this evening and may do so again. I am wondering if all vegans do this. Maybe they have secret vegan clubs where they sit around on the floor dipping chips into jars of vegemite and drinking elderflower water. I would join that club, if only temporarily, it sounds ideal.

Eliza Donnithorne's got nothing on me

Aeon, cereal, eye, gnome, hour, knife, pseudonym, xanadu. These are all words that sound like they start with a different letter. By the end of the evening I aim to have an entire alphabet. I should point out that I stole this idea, Robert was telling me that his brother was talking about it but hadn't yet done it. I am going to beat him. I will probably never meet him but I still want to beat him. My alphabet will be first.

Tim Rogers walked past Gemma today. This is clearly very unfair as she does not share my views on aging rockers. Boli sent me a text today saying that he is getting married in one month. It is a family only wedding. I am not invited and this makes me inexplicably teary. I do not wish to talk about it in fact I have not even phoned him.

I understand that it is his wedding and if he wants to have a very small family only wedding then I should be saying things like "That's fine. Its your wedding, you should do whatever you want". I am sick of saying that. It is a lie.

I want to go to Boli's wedding so much that I cried. This is unusual behaviour. Weddings are ordinarily very boring and you have to eat horrible things and wear stupid clothes and sit around in a room painted peach being polite to fucktards for hours on end. The only real benefit of weddings is wedding cake icing. You can generally smuggle several pieces over to your table and peel off the icing. The unwanted yucky cake can then be neatly wrapped in a napkin and placed on a dirty plate or in an extreme situation in a handily concealed plant.

I always lie about weddings and end up saying things like " I am happy to wear the maroon lace sack of crap and then pose for photographs" or "Why on earth would I mind that you invited my ex from high school to your wedding? I don't care at all that once he had non-consensual sex with me". Lies, lies and more lies. I am a compulsive wedding liar but worse than that is I plan to continue being a wedding liar. I can't see any way around it, people become odd about their weddings.

I know eight people that are getting married in the next few months. They are all younger than me. I am officially a spinster. Left on the shelf. Crazy cat lady. Reject of society. Wild, lonely and free.

I am spending the evening writing an alphabet of words that sound like they start with different letters than they do. Pneumatic.


I have just realised that the post below does not make much sense. It is a shame that I am not inclined to explain.

Monday, 3 September 2007

Arise Sir Rockin'

I declare Ben Mendelsohn to be an honorary Aging Rocker. Arise Ben Mendelsohn.

This is indeed a high honour and will not be bestowed often. Ben Mendelsohn is on the Not Instant No list. This is a very short list. So far it only has Ben Mendelsohn on it. Robert thought he might have found me a Not Instant No man on you tube the other day but he was wrong. It was instant no followed by a small period of reflection where I moved him up to the Ten Seconds list.


I have decided that I will meet my future husband at the Olympia Milkbar. I have joined the Olympia Milkbar group on Fspazbook. This will help.

I have decided that my future husband will already read my blog before he meets me, he will like my blog and not think that I am a pathetic loser. He will go to the Olympia because he is fascinated by it. He will maybe be a writer but definitely not an accountant, an astronaut would be ok if we did not have to live in Florida in America. I do not like the sound of Florida. Florid-a. Yucky.

He will be the pioneer of the Australian space exploration, he will be able to properly describe what it is like to be in space. He will not endorse any home exercise equipment. He will buy me a drink at the Olympia. He will be a very nice yet unboring man. He will be kind to The Spatula and Grizelda but secretly not like them very much because he is jealous that I spend so much time with them. This will gradually change over time because he is not usually jealous. He will not own any baseball hats, he will have a capsule wardrobe, he will put my books into a sensible order. I am going to call him Grieg, this name will change soon.


Just how boring can I get? Let's find out.

I will periodically update this post during the day as boring things pop into my head, I will do this in list form because that is a boring way to present things.
  • I might have another coffee. There is probably some in the plunger in the kitchen. I can reheat it in the microwave. I should try and work out the precise amount of seconds that it takes for the coffee to heat up and the handle to rotate back round to the front of the microwave. My Dad has worked this out for making hot chocolate in his microwave, he was very pleased when he was able to adjust the time slightly to make the handle appear at the most convenient angle. He was understandably upset when he had to buy a new microwave and all of his previous calculations went out the window.
  • There was no coffee left in the plunger. I managed to pour one third of a mouthful into my cup. I drank this cold. I ate four Iced Vovos in a row whilst reading the list of ingredients. The list is printed in a very tiny font and as I wasn't wearing my glasses I had finished four of them before I worked out that vegans can't eat Iced Vovos. This is a crime against my humanity.
  • Did you know that an international treaty such as the Human Rights convention thing has to be made into legislation within Australia or it is basically not enforceable. Oh and the USA is not a signatory to the Human Rights Convention. Article 14 is an interesting one and plays a role in how evidence in sexual assault cases are heard in Australia, well there was hefty debate about how the alleged victim is cross-examined based on this Article.
  • I like to say 'dessicated coconut' sometimes.
  • Max Keith, the head of the German Coca-Cola company during the Nazi years was not a Nazi. He refused to join the Nazi party. He invented Fanta. Conclusion. Fanta was not invented by Nazis.
  • I bought 1 panini, 1 mushroom, 1 avocado, 1 tomato. It was $3.40. The same price as a return off-peak train ticket from my house to the office. I did not use all of the ingredients to make my lunch. There is enough for tomorrow but on Wednesday there won't be any more mushroom. The bread roll was $1 but it was a superior bread roll.
  • I am wondering if milkbar is one word 'milkbar' or two 'milk bar'. I had thought it was one word but there is an article in wikipedia I am interested in that uses the two word version.
  • I am chewing two squares of chocolate at once.
  • My neck is stiff.
  • My left shoe is looser than my right shoe.
  • I am going to attempt to make a cup of coffee. This takes some time as the people in my office don't believe in instant coffee so if I want a coffee I have to go to all the bother of washing the plunger, boiling the kettle, measuring out the coffee blah etc. Whenever I push down on the plunger coffee shoots out and goes up the wall. It does not matter how I do it this is always the result.
  • I have added cupcake as an interest on my profile. There are 576 bloggers that list cupcake as an interest. I am surprised by this number.

Sunday, 2 September 2007

I nearly forgot

This weekend I have started the stupid two weeks as a vegan experiment. I have made several mistakes already. I will list them but don't panic NWJR I am not about to turn this blog into something weird and food-based. I am not a food writer. Here are the things I accidentally ate:

  1. Milo. I did not realise milo had milk powder in it until after I had already had one mug.
  2. Nutino. A superior hazelnut spread. I did not eat any but I often picked up the jar and a spoon and held them for a moment.
  3. Cold sausage. It was not until I had taken a bite out of the cold sausage and was happily chewing and swallowing thinking to myself that cold sausages in the fridge are indeed a blessing upon this house when I remembered that I was not supposed to be eating it. I put the rest of the sausage back in the fridge.
  4. Putty. The Spatula offered me a slice of grey putty substance that she swears is meant to be food. It is a vegetable sausagey thing. It was a mistake to eat something that looks, tastes and has the texture of half dried putty. I don't care what its made of I'm not eating any more of it.

I rearrangement servant

I swapped the positions of desk 1 and desk 2 in my room and this prompted a burst of wishing to sort things out. I opened the giant floor to ceiling cupboard that runs the length of my bedroom with a view to once and for all discovering what is actually in there. This lasted about three seconds. I closed the door and went and had a nice cup of tea and a little sit down. I didn't used to be the kind of person that does not know what is in their cupboards. I must be feeling better or getting over things or some other equally boring cliche because I have been thinking about the cupboards a lot.

The story is that when my ex (let's not name him and make it necessary to put a little label to say this post is about him) went mental and left screaming into the night never to return I pretty much sat down on the carpet and sobbed. I occasionally stood up to go and vomit in the toilet or feed the cat but mostly it was lying on the floor trying to stop sobbing long enough to take a breath every second minute or so. It was not ideal. During this time of sobbing I somehow, don't ask me how because I don't remember, managed to find a new house to move to, buy a car, keep my job and try to prevent Elliot from drinking himself to death and I do mean literally. I had my fingers poised to dial for an ambulance for approximately two months. This is before he went to rehab and became sober. Der. Anyway I'll get to crux of it soon.

After my landlord told me I had to move, three weeks after the screaming into the night incident, and I had found a new house I failed to be able to pack and move. I was moving from a four bedroom, three bathroom, several lounge room, dining rooms, double garage two linen cupboards, one in each hallway etc house into a sharehouse in the city where I would be the proud inhabitant of one bedroom. I chose to tackle this problem by moving my sobbing from the floor to the bed.

My friend Boli is the Captain of Amazing. He drove two hours out to my house after working all day in the city, he would bring dinner, he would stay up until two or three packing my things, getting rid of all the excess furniture, explaining how to hire a truck and other useful things. He did this until the whole house was empty. He bossed around all my friends and made them put things on the truck then drive two hours into city and take things off the truck and put them in my cupboard. This is why I have no idea of what might be in my cupboard. This was quite boring. Better luck next time. Maybe I'll have something more interesting to say than I don't know what is in my cupboards.

Saturday, 1 September 2007

Loser update

Failed to light cigarette but hair admirably on fire for small moment.

Fucking loser

I just hugged myself on Fspazbook, twice.


Out of the blue an opportunity presented itself yesterday. I was refreshing buoyant about the idea of it. Surprisingly positive. I thought, and I quote "Fuck yeah. I'm gonna jump on this one. I reckon I just might be able to do it. It would be super, I'll get it and it will be great". Then I started to think that's odd.

I was still thinking that's odd at 3am when I was trying to go to sleep. I'm still thinking it now. Is it possible that I've turned into one of those weirdly optimistic people who lack crippling self-doubt? Is it possible that I'm going to give this my best shot propelled by the force of belief in myself?

I hope not, but we'll see what happens.

Sitting duck?

This photo was emailed to me by bowb, the excellent author of Raging Yogurt. I think there is a resemblance bewtween me and this sitting duck named Dale.

The Holy Soul

No I have not gone mentally religious, it is the name of a band, the best band in the world ever. I declare it to be so but first let's talk about the nature of rock. It comes from within. That is all.

Anna's exhaustion, like a person who can't imagine the next step.

The dread weight of waiting in a tired state.

Sitting on a stool. the upstairs courtyard. the chocolate fountain. Explaining the flaneur as we rounded the corner of Glebe Point Rd onto Broadway. It was just outside the op shop that I believed it to be true.

Sudden look of horror on drunk British man's face when he looked into mine.

Spencer looks like a sudden Chris Isaak.

Arms raised, elbows bent, fists about head height. The catapulting man.

Petey-o. Chocolate was invented in Dapto in 1983. Sudden realisation that I am just there. Not adding value, I am the opposite of value adding.

Pink lemonade, clear lemonade, soy latte.

The rhythm of my existence. The crowd yelled out for more. This is a night in stop motion.

The best band in the world ever?


I was gonna stay up late and write a review but I'm fucked and I don't mean literally, thankfully. I would have to kick any stinky man out, I want my nice room and my nice pillows all to myself. I was going to write a review right now but all I can think is this one line. The rhythm of my existence. It isn't even a very good line. I'll sleep on it.

I think that the elusive Benito Di Fonzo was there tonight but I can't be sure. I've never met him. He's everywhere except where I'm at. Will I ever get to meet Benito? This might be a challenge.

The best band in the world ever is called The Holy Soul.