Friday, 30 November 2007

Welcome to pessary town

Wracked. I was a walking crash until I sat down. It hurts to breathe. All day at work I kept taking ibuprofen and it sort of helped until I got home and realised I couldn't take a full breath without incredible pain.

I woke up this morning and thought my ribs were broken but I ate breakfast took some panadol and went to work. Grizelda went up the street and came back with dinner for me. I ate it and took more ibuprofen, I thought it might be muscle pain so The Spatula got out her massage table and went to work, I was expecting it to be exceedingly painful but it didn't really hurt at all, this worries me a little. I think I might have some fluid on my lungs.

I am walking chemicals, you could tap me for medicines. There are pessaries and pain killers, two kinds, one for the lungs the other for my uterus, there is echinacea and vitamins, I've lost track of which pills I swallowed when and why. There is anti itching cream and face cream, lavendar head roll on stick and fuck knows what else. I am chewing nicotine gum.

In the morning I will go to the doctor and throw myself on her mercy. I need a remedy or I will travel to Zurich for a little euthanasia.

Thursday, 29 November 2007

People of Melbourne!

Get yourselves to The Old Bar in Fitzroy tomorrow night to see The Holy Soul. Spencer, the very famous and excellent friend of Dale Slamma, will be performing from 8pm.

Spencer has a way about him once he hits that stage, he's loose and magnetic, a tall streak of rock, this why year after year I stand in front of the stage mesmerised taking small sips out of my lemonade.

Wednesday, 28 November 2007

Pink mist

I zoomed in too close and this was my problem. Is my problem. Has always been my problem. I focus in until everything fogs then snap its the hard edges of someone else's pixels. I lost my glasses and exchanged them for his eyes or his eyes or his eyes but I pushed them all out of my head and rolled them until they gathered dust and my own dead fleas. Now I have sticky-taped Dale eyes into place and blue tacked back until I saw a clear path. Its my time to open the street directory and point with chipped pink polish to the centre of potatoes for dinner with my legs swinging over the arm of the chair and the cat the choosing the channels. I'm scratching but I'm here.

Tuesday, 27 November 2007

redrum

A constricting hallway madness with the same pattern rolling under my wheels. All work and no play makes Dale a dull girl. I am rearranging my tetris thinking.

International emergency!

I have fleas.

I'm walking around with itchy flea bites on me. Horrible. I've sprayed the fuckers but they're not dead yet.

There must be a way to kill fleas with some kind of trap. A tiny trap with flea bait in it. I will put it on the floor and all the fleas will jump into it. You won't be able to see into it because a jar of fleas is yucky. Please invent this trap now.

The cat is the only one not scratching, she is fleaproof thanks to the monthly tiny vial of poison that goes on the back of her neck. I considered trying some of that on me to see if it worked on humans but I read the label and it also does things like worms for cats and other cat related things. Its probably not a good idea if you are not a cat. I am not a cat. I wish I was a cat but it didn't say anything about that on the label.

Monday, 26 November 2007

Lovin' spoonful

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, there are people that you just can't warm to. I have tried and tried to like this person but I can't and I don't like it. They really haven't done anything wrong I just find them brittle.

Robert said there is no play in their brain and I think he's right. They think one thing and then the next thing never stopping to see what might lie sideways or up a little and just to the left. There is too much order and procession about thoughts for my comfort, a little dance of ceremony with every utterance. I'm beginning to secretly call them Mr Collins.

Oh good lord. I am trying to hide the gender of the person I am not getting along with, I might have achieved that but my sentence are bizarre. Bizarre.

Excitingly I watched an old episode of Friends and saw one of the people wearing hair jewels. I thought oooh, hair jewels tops idea that. I rummaged around in the bathroom and found three tubes of shiny jewels stuck in the ends of tiny spring things. It is very simple you just push the tiny spring onto some bits of hair and you instantly have hair jewels. Brilliant! I have not worn these since the 90's, the early to mid 90's. I'm bringing them back. Jewels Betty, jewels.

Sunday, 25 November 2007

Come on then

It has been some time since I have mentioned the sentence for a $1 using a word of the customer's choice market stall experiment. This is because the idea has expanded. I am working on getting together a production line. The customer will say a word, I will write a sentence using the word, someone (hopefully Spencer) will sing and play the sentence as a song, Madam Squeeze will reinterpret the song on her accordion whilst an interpretive dancer performs the sentence song as a dance. The customer can keep the paper on which I wrote the sentence.

Madam Squeeze has agreed to the plan, I am yet to ask Spencer, I might ask Boli to add a jazz clarinet segment before Madam Squeeze's part but after (hopefully) Spencer's. All I really need now is an interpretive dancer. Does anyone dance? If no dancer can be found then I will have to do the interpretive dancing and really, no one wants to see that.

Ah ha! A clue

My mother, her partner and my brother came over for a cup of tea this afternoon. Sitting out on the deck of The Peach my mother started talking about a Christmas dinner with her siblings and offspring. I assumed that I would not be invited to any dinner hosted by family. My mother said "What are you talking about? You are always invited, its just that I ease the pressure of having to attend family things by not telling you when they are on".

Saturday, 24 November 2007

Its time

I could not be more excited. I love voting. The new Prime Minister has just issued his first instruction to the people of Australia, he suggested that we all go and have a nice cup of tea and an Iced Vovo. I really could not be more excited.

Professor Points

So far Gemma is winning with 8 Professor Points. PeteyO, Spencer, The Brave Leader of the Beautiful Boys and The Library One are equal last on one point each.

I have not yet determined what any of this means.

You remind me of the babe

The fucking doctor is a shithead. I have been issued the following orders:
no exercise (not even walking)
no going out at night
no being in a crowd of people

Those are stupid orders. What kind of a person does not walk around at night in crowds, certainly not people who live in Newtown. So as a kind of vengeance I obeyed all orders by sitting in the house and watching a video whilst eating turkish bread with hommous and chilli followed by pizza, then chocolates with popcorn and some cola. Now I feel very sick indeed. Take that doctor. Following doctor's orders can sometimes make you feel very ill and sorry that you followed them.

The doctor informs me that my immune system is up the shit, he said he could give me more antibiotics (evil pills of doom) but they probably won't work as I just keep getting different viruses. He said I must rest, I must not exert myself, I must eat lots of garlic and ginger and take echinacea tablets. I just have to wait this one out. I am not known for my patience.

I am supposed to go to a film festival tomorrow, this would involve walking, being out at night and being in a crowd. I desperately want to go but I mustn't. All evening, in between rewinding the video to watch David Bowie sing the Dance Magic song one more time, I have been meaning to telephone Snuffbox Films and say that thank you very much for sorting out an invitation for me to go and being ever so nice to let me write something about it and put it on your excellent film blog but I can't go as my immune system is up the shit. I thought about it but I didn't do it. I'm trying to work out a devious plan for going.

I could wrap myself in foil and wear a helmet, I could wear a jumpsuit over a unitard, I could grind echinacea tablets into powder and perform circular breathing whilst wearing a shower cap. All of these are excellent ideas but their usefulness may be limited to novelty. I shall write an email and send it, it is too late for telephoning now. I feel quite awful and like a big pain for pulling out so close to the event. Minus ten professor points for me but just before I send the email I might watch this one more time.

Thursday, 22 November 2007

The Newtown Spaz

I navigated my heavy freedom up Enmore Rd then King St. It seems an age since I roamed the streets plugged into my mp3 player and people on streets. There are hydrangeas everywhere. On my street one house has two enormous bushes of pure white hydrangeas, I've never seen white ones before. There was red carpet outside the Enmore Theatre and men of rock standing in pointy toed groups smoking cigarettes and messing their hair delightfully.

As I arrived in Newtown I thought I heard drums but I was mistaken. In a beautiful synchronised moment planes, trains, traffic and people fell into a regular six eight beat. I bought Shaun Tan's The Arrival for my Dad for Chistmas but in a moment of panic I thought I might have given it to him last year so I phoned and asked if he'd already read it. He said "No but I'll look out for it".

Madam Squeeze was busking so I talked with her for while, I snuck up while she was playing and had the privilege of spying her alone with her music. I met Grizelda for dinner, as we made our way to Burgerlicious I kept setting off shop alarms by walking in through doorways. Surely alarms are only meant to go off if you are stealing something. I saw a window display of the worst shoes ever in the world. I yelled "UGLY SHOE ALERT" and dragged Grizelda over to look, unfortunately the shop man heard me and every time I walked past that shop (6 times) I had sneak and then dash.

I ran into Mr X, he seemed calm, happy and ugly, nothing at all like the handsome soul stealing vampire that I make him out to be. Grizelda was glad to meet him, I suspect she thought I was making him up. He was friendly and kind, I remarked on his new haircut and he stooped to point out the grey hair.

My burger wrap kept falling apart and I ended up with hamburger ingredients down my bra, my sleeves and in my handbag, that was not ideal. I stopped at the chemist to get some valerian. I am determined to sleep but the lady in the chemist talked me out of it. She kept telling me that I should get this aromatherapy roll on stick thing you apply to your head. She was oddly persuasive and had the same name as my cat. I was too tired to fight her so I bought the stupid $25 head roll on crap, luckily Grizelda dosed me with some night time cough syrup of some sort that is supposed to knock me out so that should work even the stupid head stick doesn't.

I feel odd after running into Mr X, I don't know if he knows about the Elliot thing, I suspect he might. I don't like people like him knowing things, coming as he does from a different camp but I suppose it doesn't really matter.

I am so pleased to have discovered that the rest of the world is still there and that I might have my very own small place in it, a place where transport, footsteps and heartbeats happily collide.

The awful perfume of decay

This the fifth night of insomnia. Its going round at the moment I hear. My throat hurts so much that its keeping me awake. I think the illness is coming back in a new form. I'm waiting for the painkillers to work their work. I wish I had a giant bottle of morphine. I wish I was on a rocking ship with creaking sails. I wish I had not painted my nails pink.

I can feel myself aging as I sit here. Sleeplessness is becoming my lover. I wish I had hot chips. I wish I had codeine. I wish for four extra hours so that I don't spend the whole day tomorrow in torturous exhaustion. I wish I had a thousand pillows. I wish I was a cat. I wish I knew everything so that all learning was done and I could spread my fingers wide and dispense wisdom like toothpaste.

Wednesday, 21 November 2007

Goondiwindi

I've been having the same dream every night for weeks. I'm walking down the street wearing white sunglasses and I love them. I own white sunglasses. This is my dream.

The other dream that visits on still nights is more vivid. I am small, the second shortest in the group. Its dark in the closed verandah of the queenslander and the air feels hot like living velvet. I am tired but unable to sleep zipped sweating into a sleeping bag on the wooden floor. All day I'd traipsed around holding the hand of my aunt or uncle or older cousin. We'd walked and walked along strange wide streets. I was dragging my heels and peering over gates into fantastical tropical gardens. Nobody wore hats though the sun bit with white intensity and sunscreen slid down and pooled with the sweat behind everybody's knees.

They walked me to church and sat me on the hard seat where I sweated and fidgeted and confusion swirled. I kept asking "Are we in Queensland?". I was pulled to my feet by eager cousins who walked me down the aisle then I sat like a dog while the priest fed me a biscuit and placed his hot hand on the top of my head. All day I pulled at my hair because I could feel his hand there large and wet as an egg. They laughed as I walked back down the aisle alone with my hands on top of my head feeling to see if something was there, my printed dress pulled higher by my lifted arms. "Are we in Queensland" I aksed?. "Just" they said, "just".

Eternity stinks my darling

So I have done the Dead vs Alive experiment and now I am facing the very real possibility that I could be here for quite a while. Its a novel experience this contemplating having a go at making the best of things. I always thought that I had a built in escape hatch, that if things were too much for too long I could just bail but now on the wise side of thirty I'm beginning to suspect that its just not my style.

I'm currently sitting in a cliche. Out on the patio I sit, breathing the humidity watching the lightning. Its rather nice, this Australia. I'm pondering the notion of learned expectations, learned expectations of experience about death and spaghetti. I'm think I'm onto something but like a lot of things its going to need some work.

Tuesday, 20 November 2007

Oh

I have just noticed that the Dead vs Alive experiment is finished. The final scores are:
Dead 10
Unsure 13
Alive 67

I guess that means the deal is done. Results are conclusive and therefore I must stay alive. Well, that was unexpected.

A slow day but the sun was beating like a god

Lack of exercise is opening doors for demons but I'm not sure what to do. I am still sick. My glands are hard and obvious, ragged exhaustion tops and tails my days. I am supposed to be taking it easy and so I am but its harder than I thought it would be.

I want to push myself until breathing and heartbeats become more obvious than weary thought and the endless stream of silent words. I want to travel happily on strong legs straight into the wind but I'm worried that I won't make it home again. I'm worried the low level dizziness and buzzing of virus in my veins will flare up and take me back to the ill creature that I was.

I'm not sure what to do. I've been driving to work every day. The walk to the station and then from the station to the office seems like a marathon effort I'm not capable of making. What if I make it there and all through the day but then sink to the floor unable to make the return journey. Its important to remember that there is no rescue here, just me.

When I think of how happily I laced my shoes and walked the four kilometres home from the office just a month or so ago it seems like a lie or a dream. It seemed such a short walk, just long enough to clear my mind and get me ready for evening activities. I fear I need to return to the doctor and take more expensive ill-making nasty pills. I am resentful and restless. I want to say fuck you virus of mystery and doom. Fuck you.

Monday, 19 November 2007

Jurisprudence on a Monday afternoon

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I lead a boring life. In keeping with this truth I have been reading about historical and conceptual issues of copyright beginning in 1709 with the Statute of Anne and the remarkable case of Donaldson v Beckett (1774) 4 Burr 2408, 98 Eng Rep 257 and finding it very interesting.

I did of course study intellectual property as part of my law degree but study however was often a matter of cramming my head with as much information and understanding as possible in order to pass exams. I was denied a leisurely and personal reflection on many aspects of the law. I did from time to time stop and reflect, much more often than the other students, but much less than I should have.

I won't do the law the injustice of attempting to summarise my pondering at this point.

Pressing my intellect against the stone face of the law out of mere curiousity poses a new problem. I have been here before and knelt and wept at the tiny printed summed up and stitched through idol of human reasoning. I have stood at the bottom of it all and thrown year after year until half a decade later I came to, still at the bottom, wearing a mortar board and gown. I don't what the law is and this worries me. It is system of rules certainly but it is great and terrible and capable of filling the whole sky. It is interwoven through all meaning and thought. I will chase it.

Sunday, 18 November 2007

That Ron and other possibilities

That Ron has suggested that I leave a drawing of a condom on The Cowboy's front door and see if he sticks it back on my gate with a big tick. I don't think I'll be doing that Ron but thanks for the suggestion.

Its looking like I might need to put on my wroving shoes and go off on assignment very soon. I am excited about the possibility.

Well

The cowboy was late but apologetic. He ate the last cucumber sandwich. We'd given up on him arriving and had tucked into the cucumber sandwiches in a less than delicate manner. He seemed quite thrilled to be eating his first ever cucumber sandwich, I guess they're not big on cowboy menus. He seemed slightly surprised to find himself sitting on the deck of The Peach sipping tea from a tiny yellow teacup with a tiny sandwich in his other hand.

He has a bold way of being. His calm and friendly manner only partially cloaks the mechanics of his media machine intellect. I see in him the confident striding shadow person that I drag along behind myself wishing to push into action but never do. I lack almost all of his qualities.

When he stands his feet are slightly too wide apart, he carries his centre of gravity low, I don't think he wishes for greater height. If there was a way to take my chisel and break off pieces of him I would do it. I would reassemble myself using his parts for my strong foundations. It is not often that I meet someone so sure that they want to be.

Conversation was stilted between the four of us at times, none of us sure what picture we were supposed to be making. I would like to have a go at talking to the cowboy by myself but that will have to wait until I find a way to be more sure of everything from the air I'm breathing to the path I'm walking. My hesitant and inarticulate way is no conversational match for a man like that. He seems whole and well and full of light.

Saturday, 17 November 2007

Intriguing
















I ran into The Cowboy on Enmore Rd, we had a little chat, he was wearing a baseball hat very high on his head.

When I got home I decided to take decisive action so I commissioned The Spatula to sketch me a teacup with a question mark on it. I stuck this to the Cowboy's front door.

Some four hours later The Spatula noticed a note stuck to the front gate of The Peach. It was my note with a big red tick on it and "That's a tick by the way" written down the side. Surely the best thing would have been if he had just knocked on the door instead of leaving another note. I am pondering my next move.

Exciting Friday evening pondering

How many dances are named after things you can eat?

I have three so far.
The watusi (I'm no farmer but its a type of cow)
The macaroni
Hot potato
Chicken dance
Dutty wine
Salsa
The alligator


The macaroni is a dance named in a song, the same song that says "do the watusi" I believe. I don't know what the song is.

Thursday, 15 November 2007

Right into the fucking GPO

It doesn't matter where I live its always western fucking sydney. Right now its the inner west but that's west alright. Not even last night's salt breeze is enough to shift cardinal points. I was talking Robert through my strange list of connectedness and he shook his head and said "Oh that's just the inner west". He said that aren't that many of us who live here and love it but how can that be true?

Almost every hearbeat I am grateful to be living here. From the graceful arc of the Anzac Bridge out my kitchen window to the crazy shoving of King St, I love it. How could anyone not love this? How could there only be this small village of people who know people? There are so many people here. A year after moving to the city I am still astonished by the sheer mass of us all.

Every corner holds an opportunity and there's one corner in particular that I've got my eye on the corner of City Rd and Cleveland St. I'm harbouring a strong desire to take ballet classes. Now if you actually know me this is a good time to get your laughing over and done with. Graceful I am not. I can't dance, I can't even walk in an elegant manner but I am quite determined. Just don't expect to rock up in a tutu.

Its not fibonacci but it might be triangular or Dr Theeth and the Electric Mayhem

Something's connecting the dots. The cowboy, Mr X, Loene Carmen, Mark Mordue, The beautiful boys, work, Meanjin, Artboy, experiments, Spencer's band. Tonight they all converge and its getting curious.

There's no clear beginning but I'll start here. I began talking to a woman on the phone, at work, who was after some advice. She was starting a poetry journal. My work helped her out and I was invited to the launch party. I collected my free copy of the journal and stayed to hear the poets do their thing. I liked it so much that I go every month now.

Earlier during one of my experiments I met a girl in a pub, she was doing her own experiment asking people to pose wearing the same pair of sunglasses.

The next night I was invited to a party thrown by a member of the artist's collective Artboy and I belonged to. At the party I met a bunch of beautiful boys who were thinking about starting their own literary journal. We got to talking, their brave leader invited me for coffee to further discuss his ideas. The next time I saw him was at the poetry thing, he goes every month.

Some months ago the postman delivered my copy of Meanjin, the rock'n'roll issue.

I developed a keen interest in befriending the cowboy next door.

At one of Spencer's gigs the bass player invited me to the album launch of another band he is in, he plays bass for Loene Carmen. I spied the cowboy at the back of the crowd.

On the weekend I caught up with Spencer and he mentioned that he knows Loene Carmen's husband.

Earlier I was invited to a party at the beautiful boys' house where their brave leader introduced me to his excellent girlfriend, it was the girl I met at the pub, the one with her experiment.

Much earlier I was in a pub talking to the dreaded Mr X about rock'n'roll and writing about it. We talked about Mark Mordue.

Tonight the brave leader of the beautiful boys sent me a message to see if I was going to the poetry thing. I wasn't going to as I am still somewhat tired and ill but I changed my mind and ordered two coffees as soon as I set foot in the door. The beautiful boys were there, so was the excellent girlfriend. We sat and listened to the guest poet, Mark Mordue. The poetry journal woman introduced him and talked about his work in her journal and his guest editing spot in an issue of Meanjin, the rock'n'roll issue.

Mark Mordue was fucking spectacular. On the way home I ran into the cowboy, turns out he is Loene Carmen's brother in law. As soon as I got home I dug out my as yet unread Meanjin and poetry journal. I flipped open Meanjin and the first article I read was written by Loene Carmen.

I don't know if all these tenuous connections amount to anything tangible but it sure feels like I'm being woven into a bright tapestry I can call my own.

Wednesday, 14 November 2007

Plugs help us hold water

SeeSee Miscellany. I am submitting work, I'm submitting many things, I don't really care if they are all rejected. I just want to support the beautiful boys in their excellent endeavour.

This cheesecake city*

Poets, contrary to popular belief are not known for their style and tonight was no exception. Sometimes a night at the open mic is like a night at an open sore but not tonight, not all of it. I do object to the ones who perform in wavering structures of artificial rhythm, I do object to the political without a trace of the personal but never could I object to the words that float like a miracle salt breeze blown all the way through my front door. My island home.


* A line from a poem by Matt More.

Tuesday, 13 November 2007

Clutter clatter

Desire for surfaces and a smooth rearranging has taken over. This small illness of mine still has me exhausted by day's end. I lie here in my aching suit planning and replanning the dismemberment of things. I feel I have stepped into perspective and a small important freeing of dust but my cupboards and shelves tell stories of struggle and unwilling nomadic shifts. I am dreaming of a shedding dervish where I stumble at last into ordered clean spaces. This is my new revolution.

Discovery

I have discovered Book Mooch. It took me a while to come across this but I think it is my new best friend.

Monday, 12 November 2007

Depth charge

I intend to find out what it is that makes some days pulse with calm aquatic echoes. The kind of day where I am only tired, that is all. The kind of day where I cease kicking and listen for the happy slap of my own footsteps.

If I could live here, in this day, where I worked and cooked and washed things. If I could live here stepping easily around love shaped holes and uncertain futures then I am sure it would be alright but chasing me is the imaginary one with a banner spelling respite.

I've got my new shoes on and I filed all my papers, I've got a feeling that it'll take more than the imaginary, with his old sheets tied to broom handles, it'll take more than that. Oh yes.

A small afternoon suggestion

Pop over to digging for fire and see Neil playing a song or two, he seems like a nice man with clean hair.

Sunday, 11 November 2007

There was a festival

Madam Squeeze declared Gary Numan to be the Iced Vovo of popular music, I bought a hat and ran over a man with a pram, there's more to this story than meets the eye.

Saturday, 10 November 2007

Out of The Peach and into the blue

The Amazing Mystery Illness of Not Yet Death loves me. It doesn't want to leave me but it can get stuffed. I'm out of here. I'm leaving The Peach and heading into the blue, just for tonight.

It wasn't the Illness, it was mould. I ate mould! That was unexpected.

I had toast for dinner last night and when I could finally crawl out of bed into the kitchen this afternoon I discovered that the bread was mouldy.

Friday, 9 November 2007

Science

Reverse the polarities, pull this inside out and sprinkle it with glitter. I've got my very own recipe for napalm. 26 ingredients, a b c d, continue in a shuffle of outbursts then sit small in a cave while they run around waving their burning flesh screaming how dare you, a b c d, think about me without talking and talking right into my face. Don't you know you the shut down codes for when we walk away all turned backs and hard heels, you're not supposed to think about us if we're not here with heart monitors and bulldozers and the ships of science. Well fuck you. I'm making a comeback. I've got my alphabet and I'm not afraid to use it.

Cowboy ahoy

For some time now I have been on a mission to make friends with a cowboy, not just any cowboy, the cowboy next door. He seems like a nice man and I'm quite taken with how he sits in his backyard in old jeans and a straw cowboy hat playing country music on his guitar. He has a way of putting his bottle on the ground then swinging back in his chair as though he can see the horizon. Once I spent an entire afternoon lying down on the deck smoking cigarettes and eating mulberries as they fell off the tree just so that I could hear him play. He has many intriguing backyard habits. He likes to listen to the Dixie Chicks while he hangs out his washing. He walks clockwise around the clothesline when he talks on his mobile phone, never anti-clockwise, sometimes up and down the right hand wall but never the left. He only sings after dark.

The other weekend I saw him outside my house late at night. I was in my pyjamas and staring wild eyed at a tupperware container with a spider in it. He didn't seem to mind, I said you must come over for a cup of tea and explained that I have several teapots. The next weekend I saw him on King St, marched right up and said when are you coming over for that cup of tea. His excellent reply was that I had to send down a special invitation from my birds eye back deck to his back door.

Last night coming home he was again outside the house, this time he was standing between two parked cars in the dark night, his guitar and amp on the footpath. This time I discovered where he worked, what he did and just what he was doing standing on the road like that. My interest in this cowboy tripled in an instant, not because of his job but because of the way he described it. He suggested I use a paper aeroplane to send down that invitation to tea.

Thursday, 8 November 2007

Impending tantrum

I feel like my blog has been infiltrated which is of course ridiculous because it is a public space that anyone can access. However I still feel that I have been forced into unwanted censorship. I did not anticipate that people in my life would read my blog. Gemma said that the danger of blogging is that it's so silent and she's right. There is only me and the good flow of words through my fingers. The gap between blogger and blog reader could not be broader. It is the inside reversed and made manifest. The words at the top of my bog are not meaningless. This is not a revenge narrative. There are no secret codes or misdirected letters. I do not write what I would rather speak.

For now I will submit to the unwanted censorship but I am not comfortable. I feel squashed and watched instead of bold and free but like all things this feeling is temporally bound and will pass so for right now let us all think about the excellent properties of lovely flowers. Nice and neutral like a lighter shade of beige.

Gaaah bad photo today

I was trying to take a photo of my new fringe which was excitingly free. I went to my hairdresser and said I can't see, my fringe is too long, please can you just cut the fringe. They said yes and it was free! I had no idea that this was something you could do. Brilliant.

I am spending the evening reading up on a course in financial reporting for tomorrow. Right so accrual accounting is similar to cash accounting in that in both cases you must write numbers in columns, no worries.

Wednesday, 7 November 2007

Goddamnitmaverick

I am anti antibiotics right now. After three courses of the hateful cure I have been cursed. I am suffering the full range of unwanted side effects, apart obviously from weird instant death which I understand is a problem for some poor souls.

I have had marvellous dioarrhea, the kind that is surprisingly like having a handy internal fire hose that pumps fluid out your anus at high speed, no lumps. Fortunately the probiotic tablets seem to have helped not only with the fire hose but with the excellent urge to vomit. However the plague then continued with lady issues of the itchy variety and at first I wasn't too fussed because I have always wanted to try taking one tablet once just to see if it worked but have not had the opportunity to until now.

My excitement at taking one tablet once enabled me to march straight up to the pharmacist and tell him my problem directly. I am sure he has people coming up to him and declaring all sorts of horrid and personal malfunctions on a daily basis but for me it was a novel experience. What I was not expecting was the very high price of the one tablet, seeing as I had just filled a prescription for stupidly expensive antibiotics, the third one, and paid fifty eight million dollars for the only available probiotic I was a little dismayed. My last trip to the chemist was $80, that was on Saturday and I have been operating on $1 a day since then. Tomorrow is pay day and if I felt well enough I would do a little dance.

I was meant to go back to the doctor if lump 1 hadn't entirely disappeared by yesterday but I didn't go. I think the lump has gone, its a bit hard to tell, it seems if you poke your fingers into your neck that there are lots of things in there. So I'm not entirely sure if the lump is gone but I am very sure that I'm not taking anymore stinky sick-making tablets.

Cupcakes

Oh I wish I had a cupcake because now is that beautiful terrible moment before they fall. Its time to move on, cupcakes are over but I'll let them have a last hoorah.

http://cupcakestakethecake.blogspot.com/

Tuesday, 6 November 2007

Ok

Now is the time to shut up and think things through properly. This is what I will do. I will shut up and think things through.

There it is

Its not the cold weight of sorrow but something quite like it. I woke up with a headache and sore teeth from clenching my jaw all night in my sleep. I went to sleep sobbing but determined. There's bound to be a few problems with my decision to walk away from Elliot, him being one of them. Turns out he's being reading this blog all along but not telling me so imagine my surprise when I sat down with a nice cup of tea and feeling generally cheery about things to discover an email from Elliot equating my decision to walk away from him with one of the numerous times he got fired from a great job for being drunk. I really don't see the connection.

I have sent an email off to a chosen few for sensible feedback. Boli's response has just arrived, it is very short, he said that I have been a fucktard where Elliot is concerned, for a year or so, I really should listen to Boli more often. He told me more than a year ago that nothing good will come of this. I don't how he's always right but he is, the bastard.

I will now wait on more responses. It is time to be a collective. Oh, I better go to work actually. Its getting close to 9 and I'm not yet dressed, thankfully the sobbing has stopped.

Monday, 5 November 2007

Is anybody out there?

65% of people say yes. That is very encouraging.

What kind of magic spell to use?

Surprise! Well well, I have been dreading, ever since my tired eyes opened themselves this morning, the cold weight of sorrow but it hasn't arrived. Maybe it won't. It has suddenly occurred to me that I am not locked into a trajectory of torment. I don't have to wait and wait for Elliot to break my heart good and proper. I'm The Captain of What I Do and I can just fuck him off. Its a choice, I can pine and pine and wish until I fall in a heap (again) that things were different or I can go fuck that and set a course for happy town.

I don't know why but in my head it was inevitable that I would wait for Elliot then die of heartache when it came time for him to love and he didn't choose me. I really am a fucktard. This might be easier than I thought. It might be possible that one day I will find myself loved, by someone unexpected. Put on your happy hats kids and wish me well. Not once in my adult life have I not had someone to pine over, its the final frontier.

Actually

I'm beginning to feel a bit unshackled.

Sunday, 4 November 2007

I'm a fucktard or I'm so lonely I could die or how do you accidentally fall in love it doesn't seem very sensible to do that sort of thing

And so is Elliot. I have no idea what I'm doing most of the time, the other bits of time I am determinedly doing the wrong thing, on purpose, whilst telling myself it will all be fine in the end so this time I have deleted all of Elliot's phone numbers and no, I don't remember them, not even a little bit.

I'm still sick. I'm not getting much better, hardly better at all and I've made the decision that if it turns out that I am after all suffering from something terrible then I will just let it kill me. Elliot says that the Dale he knows will simply rise to any challenge and find yet more reserves of strength but like I said, Elliot is a fucktard.

Elliot feels bad about the shagging, says it won't happen again. Says that its just not working for him because it doesn't fit with his choice to be sober and celibate.

My problem is a very simple one. I accidentally love him. I like the way he stands when he chops vegetables and I want to have him chopping vegetables in my kitchen every day I until I die. He lives in rehab, he is literally living the one day at a time dream, he is determined right down to his last molecule to do whatever it takes to live sober. Whatever it takes is living one day at a time and keeping things simple. Having a relationship is complicated so its just not on his list of options. This is the simple problem.

The cure is more complicated. Whenever I imagine growing older and living in a different house it is with Elliot. My imagined future is Elliot-based or its white void and I couldn't be angrier about it if I tried.

I am the person who has imagined, for my whole life, living and writing and working and doing things all by myself or with a cat. Not once did I dream of a big white wedding. I only dreamed of my book launch parties and how fabulous I would be at my book launch parties but now I have this clouded vision of an emptiness and a meaninglessness.

I have developed a tangible need to be loved. I am now a person who needs to be loved but I am not loved. My family is not a close family, my friends are not the kind that will just come and be with me. I have become lonely and isolated. I did try and fill my life with interesting things and people but the very moment I became ill it all fell away and I lay for days and days without signs of love or care from the people in my life. It is all a construct. When Artboy went mental Boli told me to keep busy, so I did. I enrolled in my community college, went to yoga classes, took guitar lessons, went to poetry things and gigs and arranged to meet friends as often as possible but it was all so constructed. Infrastructure will collapse.

I'm not imagining the possibility of a lonely future because it has already begun. It does not matter if I wear my nicest outfit and feel very happy and throw myself into life. Its like my universe has run out of people to offer me and finally finally I get it. Elliot will not be chopping vegetables in my kitchen and it doesn't matter how I feel about it, its not going to happen.

I can't get no

A day of activities pushed out the corners of my sick and shrunken world, just a little. I wandered up to the framing shop and chose mat and frame for my Shaun Tan print. The wander home nearly did me in but I made it. Four blocks all by myself, my how I've grown. This is the new size of my universe. Four blocks. It took three hours to recover from that walk.

All day I felt an oven cranking heat through my veins. I am hot to the touch, a kettle with no water in. The Spatula left for Melbourne while I sat on the front step and watched her pull her suitcase on wheels down the street. Flying to another city seems an impossible dream in my ever shrinking world. This illness pulls down blinds and blocks out vistas.

Ron & Rita came and took me to dinner and the movies. We saw Control and from the first spare beautiful scene I flinched in my chair. It was all Artboy all the time but it shifted gears and I fell inside that isolation. When he finally does it I nearly went with him. I thought yes, you lucky bastard, I should have done that years ago. Lord knows I've tried but Sylvia was right, dying is an art and like everything else I don't do it well. These days I stand and fight.

Control is stunning. Miracle of moving stills and the focus of gaps and spaces. An astonishing tidal movement into the separate cell of self. How entranced I am by the mirrors we make of humanity.

Friday, 2 November 2007

See saw

It all just feels like a pointless exercise in waiting to die. What is the point of this battle. Every day coaching myself to be happy, doing all of these things to push away that curtain and break through into existence. I need more than shelter. Mazlow was a fucktard.

Thursday, 1 November 2007

I would like to go to Sweden

Where the snow is crisp and even and one soul replaces another in a steady cycle of life. At first this alarmed me and the lightning cycles of life flashed hope and sorrow in a paralysing nightmare discotheque and I thought what it is for, what is for, what is it all for if we can account for it in neutrals with flashes and pings. But now I sit calmly navigating populations and listening to the simulated sound of the orb exhaling. I am not locked and tortured, there is no need to conjur the strength of Ivan Denisovich for my daily rounds. I have bread, I am warm, let us breathe.

Professors professors everywhere

I was in the office this morning for a bit talking to Robert about something I call Professor Points and academic publishers. If you are an academic you need to have a certain amount of stuff published, particularly stuff that has been peer reviewed, this earns you points or something that you need if you want to be a professor and who doesn't want to be a professor. The exact system is a little obscure so I generally just call the whole thing Professor Points.

Its not a bad idea this Professor Points system, I like systems. I also like filling in forms but don't tell anyone. For some years now I have joked about having an annual friend cull, in fact I do generally have a little period of reflection about who is in my life and how my relationships are going. Unfortunately the end result is that I often feel neglected and somewhat angry about things. This year I'm flipping the process. I am going to rate my friends, not with a view to culling friends or feeling disappointed but more as a rewards system. Being endlessly unimaginative I call the scheme Professor Points. The scheme starts now and will last until I become bored with it, it chases all my friends away or I am well enough to recommence more active experimentation.

I only wish I knew some kind of genius to set up an interesting interface, I guess I'll just have to manage. You can find the Professor Points running tally just above Dead vs Alive in the side column.