Thursday, 31 July 2008

He wasn't all that but he took everything he could steal

Yeah I'm reeling but sometimes the best way to tell if you are drunk is to wee. If you find you are leaning against the cubicle wall while you are weeing then you are probably drunk, either that or you're Elvis.

My head's hurting like a freight train so I'm shutting this shit down with its arctic glare, its glowing eye and forward thrust of elbows and arms. I'm shutting this shit down and rolling into oblivion while Spencer walks down the street with his single red rose and his dashboard Jesus. If it was up to me I'd be shutting all the shit down.

Tuesday, 29 July 2008

People on streets or telephones

Sunday night I found myself seated in a house surrounded by strangers. I was drinking wine and rolling cigarettes, I was eavesdropping, eating vegetables and wishing the music was different.

I was at Foto's house with its mad Escher staircases and forbidden pianos. Foto was wrapping his wounds with his friends and keeping his walking sticks invisible. Foto wears a deliberate charm like its mascara but I don't mind, its not like he's masked in false lashes. He's hard to sit next to cause he's radiating heartbreak and the instructions clearly say duck and cover but I'm always trying to be a brick in other people's walls.

Foto is Superman's friend and I felt at first obvious and invasive, the way the women sat in a row across the room from me and the men wandered around arranging food and pouring wine. A skirted woman scoffed while Foto played his trumpet and Superman played the guitar.

I infiltrated a conversation about lipstick, I have a lipstick. I have a red lipstick in a metal tube. I tacked myself onto the end of the Grand Tour and played a single note on a forbidden piano. I told flat and irrelevant stories about nobody. I talked about guitars and nobody cared enough to ask me about anything like myself or the reason I was tap dancing alone.

By the end of the night I was drinking Superman's port out of his glass because I'd finished my own. I was trying hard not to sway to Tom Waits and I was reminded that there are people out there, people on streets or telephones.

Monday, 28 July 2008

Hey Creamboy! The verb is implied, this has nothing to do with this post.

I didn't steal the gloves so much as forget to remind Superman that he had left them out the front of The Peach, on my hands. I was at first skeptical about the goodness of fingerless gloves that come in a packet from Big W. When Superman told me over the phone that he was deriving great pleasure from making a fist wearing the gloves then looking at the fist I thought I might like to have a go at that until I heard his mother say in the background "they look like something an eight year old girl might wear". Superman's mother gives me lemons from her tree, I wonder if she has any plastic combs. Last weekend I discovered plastic combs.

Plastic combs can come in a packet containing many combs. Combs can be left on The Peach Deck for a week then admirably comb your hair in the same way they did when you took the comb outside to show everybody at Pie Day your new plastic comb. Plastic combs are not very expensive. I bought five plastic combs, one of them tortoiseshell look, for less than three dollars. It is interesting to note that Superman does not wish to hang a picture of himself on the spare picture hook in Janet's pie shop in Newtown, this has nothing to do with plastic combs.

Combs can sometimes get stuck in your hair if your hair is tangly, this is why there are several combs in one packet. If a comb becomes stuck in your hair simply pick up a different comb and comb another part of your head, the stuck comb will eventually fall out, if the stuck comb falls into a toilet in the cafe you can retrieve the comb then wash both hands and comb using something a bit germ killy. It is best to do this before returning to your banana bread and coffee.

I like plastic combs. A plastic comb can fit in your wallet for handy storage. A plastic comb can be used to comb both your hair and your cat. Ah now, I was talking about fingerless gloves. I was skeptical about them until Superman demonstrated the usefulness of them. Superman can eat food, brush his teeth, roll a cigarette, play the guitar, comb his hair, make a nice cup of tea, pat the cat, play a game with zombies in it, toast an english muffin, tell me to stop being stupid, buy a tube of pawpaw ointment, look at pies, watch a band, chase a rat, dance in a dangerous fashion, wear my glasses, pose for a photo and type emails whilst wearing fingerless gloves. It was a fantastic demonstration of the goodness of gloves. Unfortunately for Superman I am now wearing his gloves. I like to wear them while I stash my plastic combs in handy locations around the house. Superman does not like plastic combs.


I'm not making sense but I'm alright with that, for now.

Sunday, 27 July 2008

Dirty Echo Spark

I took down all the clocks. Nobody had a fucking clock in there. I wanted to rub my face across a man's moustache but my photographer was accused of gyrating on the floor. I swallowed two mouthfuls of vodka then told them he was just dedicated while he slid on his back across the floor in front of the crowd, in front of the band.

Aidan Roberts has no arse and the accordion player needs a dancectomy. Pip Smith later told me she thought the crowd was lovely. Pip wraps her youth around her as a mantle but that's not important. The crowd was just making each day of the year while I swallowed mouthfuls of vodka and filled my dress pockets with slithers of lime rind. Somebody called out "Judas!" over the clicking alignment of my spine. It was a joke about electric guitars and they laughed but I glanced down to where the top pocket of my denim jacket would usually be. I can't explain why I wasn't wearing it, I'm sure you wouldn't believe me if I told you Bob Dylan lives in there.

Someone called Judas over the clicking alignment of my spine and it didn't feel wrong, this has nothing to do with anything but slow motion moments, sometimes music is a substitute for tears. Listening to their album feels like a swing. Implausible apex pausing of time.

I ended up chasing a rat down the street past The Hollywood at three in the morning. I saw it running in the gutter, I told Superman I was going to chase it then I ran but Superman soon overtook me and the rat, in a bold move, crossed the road. Rats and Superman can both run faster than me, this doesn't change the sound of The Maple Trail which is excellent. In case I wasn't being clear go and buy the album Dirty Echo Spark.

Thursday, 24 July 2008

A free man feels afraid

I recognise myself only in old men or men that were once young. I have poured myself into the remnants of them one syllable at a time. Words escape me or rather I have escaped them. I was walking under that mobile sentence cloud thinking I know what it is to be a dairy cow. Its like letting down milk when the words funnel through from cloud to fingers. Its impossible to be your own farmer opening gates and burying yourself in soil so I became someone else.

I'm Neil Young live at Massey Hall in 1971, I'm Bob Dylan in London, I'm Keith Richards on the floor, I'm my own personal Judas staring down sound and burning books to keep the cat warm. Words have escaped me so I'll plug your headphones in. This is the reverse miracle osmosis of music.

Wednesday, 23 July 2008


Dale Slamma has discovered five new kinds of science, her submarine is trapped underneath the world's biggest iceberg. Dale is melting ice core samples and making them into cups of tea, this is one of the new kinds of science.

Monday, 21 July 2008

Call for the Captain ashore

I'm navigating now. Periscope, peninsula, parallelogram. I see the fish in my belly squalling into a rolling silver flash, bottomless blue visible between them, nothing can obscure that. I want them to leap for words but they roll past the glass clockwise, liquid herded plunging.

I have maps and model ships, there are miniature metal men on metal horses. Engines drone as my red arrow drags from latitude to latitude.

Thursday, 17 July 2008

.... .- -. --. / --- -. / - --- / -- . / .--. . --- .--. .-.. . --..-- / .-- . .----. .-. . / --. --- .. -. .----. / -.. --- .-- -.

-.. --- .-- -. / .- -- --- -. --. / - .... . / ..-. .. ... .... . ... / .. -. / .- -. / .- -... ... . -. -.-. . / --- ..-. / ... --- ..- -. -.. .-.-.- / - .... .- - / ... --- -. .- .-. / .--. .. -. --. / .... ..- -- ... / .-.. --- .-- / .- -.-. .-. --- ... ... / -- -.-- / ... --- ..- -. -.. ... -.-. .- .--. . .-.-.- / .. .----. -- / ... - . . .-. .. -. --. / - .... .-. --- ..- --. .... / .. -.-. . -.. / .. -. . .-. - .. .- / .-- .. - .... --- ..- - / .- -. -.-- / --- ..-. / - .... --- ... . / -.. .- -. -.-. .. -. --. / --- -... .--- . -.-. - ... .-.-.- / - .... . / ... ..- -... -- .- .-. .. -. . / -... .-.. . . -.. ... / .- ... / - .... --- ..- --. .... / .. - / .- -.-. .... . ... .-.-.- / ... --- / ..-. .- .-. / -... . .-.. --- .-- .-.-.-

Wednesday, 16 July 2008

There goes a mariner

I am breaking radio silence from my antarctic submarine, risking the lives of my crew, to bring you this essential communication. Its not yet 8am and I am awake, my hair is mysteriously tidy. Something is happening here but I don't know what it is.

Friday, 11 July 2008

You think its cold now do you Sunboy?

Dale Slamma left this morning on a secret mission to The Australian Antarctic Division. Dale wishes to advise you that she packed warm socks, a harpoon and three muesli bars. Dale will return in time to make pies for Pie Day.

There ain't nothing like

A genuine murder mystery to keep a girl fascinated.

Thursday, 10 July 2008

Ave Slamma

I've got my god pills in my left hand. Pilgrims can't stop me. I'll swallow this miracle opposite of creation.

Tell me why

I keep doing that. Then tell me how to stop. You might also want to bring me something to eat, something salty.

Tuesday, 8 July 2008

I like pie

Superman's mother gave me a bag of lemons from her tree, I stuck my head all the way inside the bag because of the smell.

Empowered by a muesli bar I made lemon meringue pie and lemonade. I didn't make the muesli bar, it seems important to point that out.

Monday, 7 July 2008

I don't want your money (Danish-waisted-mid-century burden)

Honey I need to be portable and new like shoes or a small bag capable of carrying a notebook, some money and a muesli bar.

I've been fucked into an eBay state of mind.

There used to be a safe place; sleep instead of typewriters. I can't be more than I can carry or drag or push with the soles of my feet. I've lost impulse control along with flat chested motivation. I was left holding up one end of a pink tallboy with green cut glass handles. I filled everywhere with trinkets and pamphlets and word molecules until I was squirrel-handed and fatigued.

Now I find I've been fucked into an eBay state of mind.

Sunday, 6 July 2008

Big heavy stuff(ed) sofa

The urge overtook me suddenly. I woke from a dream straight into a level ten urge for home improvement. I measured things then set out for the hardware shop but I didn't get far. Outside The Peach was a sofa, its old, faded and overstuffed and precisely the kind of thing I have been dreaming of. I knocked on The Cowboy's door and asked if he had a moment to help me carry it inside. I was worse than useless at handling the logistics of the operation so in the end Grizelda and The Cowboy were the ones cursing, puffing and sweating their way down the hall and into the library.

The Cowboy said he was playing at The Annandale tonight and ordinarily I would have gone but I'm resting my bruised and stupid self this evening on my new sofa in the library. I think its best if I stay in for the foreseeable future. I've decided I can't be trusted outside, in the real world, except for hardware shops, they seem to be ok.

Yeah that photo is a bit shit but do I look like I care?

Saturday, 5 July 2008

Jon Wah - the funeral, the bruises, the discovery of us

I'm half way through this arduous organisation. It won't wash off. I'm trailing the stink of it behind me. It fills this room despite all the scented candles I could muster, the all day open windows and the arduous organisation. I'm swinging between the urge to vomit and an uncontrolled alphabetisation of all that I own. In a pause I phoned Superman but I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud, this thing that I've done. I told him I was bruised but I didn't tell him about the skin missing off my red raw face or that my teeth feel like they're swinging loose inside my head.

I'm swaddled in high necked long legged pants to hide the twenty separate bruises, my face is caked in Grizelda's makeup to hide my tomato red face. The lip that I thought was split has melded itself back together and the taste of blood is not continuous anymore.

It was ordinary enough, the day, the long drive out to Emu but then Superman emerged in his funeral blacks and I looked down and noticed my own. The drive was ridiculous, I had no idea how most to operate most of the controls on the mercedes dashboard. Superman managed to simultaneously lay his seat down flat and jam open a back window while I wound through clouds and the necessary tangible breath of cigarettes. By the time we arrived at the funeral it was raining and the Chapel was full so we stood outside blowing out frosted breaths and shivering in the mountain air.

It was ordinary enough, the music, the poetry, the crack split in talking voices until the service was over and we stood like cattle in a cloud. Collective grief pushed my head down and all I saw was shoes. I couldn't look at their faces. They stood uneasy as plastic flamingos around the spectacle of parents and grandparents folding their years around new grief while I stared at shoes and was grateful for the bottom of Superman's long coat hanging into my field of vision.

I walked from person to person looking at their shoes and catching glimpses of how we might all look set in stone with our long jaws shut tight and our shivering arms hung about one another unconsciously touching the people we don't ordinarily dare to touch. It felt serpentine and incorrect like an undone sum.

Spencer's shut mouth plumbed open and he rolled out the word 'us', making a low sweep across everybody with his left hand. I was caught in the movement, sibilant 's' ringing in my ears. Marcus Westbury would have ushered forward his recording mind cause I was standing thick in the undergrowth of this city. Not all of us have mastered our craft but I was shoulder to shoulder with artists, musicians and writers, we've hatched out of our university caves. It came clear to me then, it might not be grand and most of us will pass unnoticed, ashes, I'm not claiming we're all the best of friends but that small word 'us' should have scorched a mark across the sky.

Sperm in the gutter, love in the sink

The worst thing I could think of, that's what I did last night.

Thursday, 3 July 2008

In my teeth

I've lost depth or altitude or both. I issued myself a compass but it only ever points to the bath, true magnetic north submerged. I've been thinking that my head sloshes as it tips. Grey water. I have become desperate for clean sheets on a broad bed in a clean room. My thirst for surfaces would be unstoppable if it didn't require motion.

There are too many metal surfaces in this room. I can feel them in my teeth. This should be a reason to go home. I need to feel sunlight through my windows. The Peach has become a cave. I leave in lemon weak early light and return first to the dark hall. I move from switch to switch. I am switch restricted, only able to be in a room with a source of light and heat. I can throw words out across the world but I'm bound by light and heat as though at the radiant edges nothing exists.

Winter used to be only blessed relief from Western Sydney's oven daze summer but in the city its a cave switch ritual holding my arms across my chest. I can feel these metal surfaces in my teeth. It is a strange currency. I trade you this day for the right to carry vegetables or the reliable turning of the hot tap in my shower. I trade you endurance of the metal feeling in my teeth for a night sleeping in clean sheets.

Wednesday, 2 July 2008

Epiphenomena #1

It pushes the world forward in a somersault motion cresting in roller coaster abandonment but by the end I'm clawing through earth and that's why I'm playing it on repeat. I used to be able to think or feel or think but I felt harder then, when music stopped time instead of rolling it underneath me.

Tuesday, 1 July 2008


I found this:
Photo of Jon Wah in the SMH.
Article on ABC arts.
Typical reaction after seeing The Bloody Cunts.

Management apologises for this post but she needs to have things in simple order right now

I have pondered to a standstill. It is a gentle way to be, pondered to a standstill, there is no cause for alarm.
  • Jon Wah died. Artboy phoned me when I was standing in the supermarket looking at soup to tell me.
  • I telephoned Superman because I found I was standing in the middle of the kitchen and didn't know what else to do. He said he would come over, I told him not to because it was too far but he said he was coming anyway. I asked him to bring a teabag from his cupboard.
  • Grizelda made me dinner, then she made me eat it.
  • There was a knock at the door. Superman and Artboy arrived at precisely the same moment.
  • Superman went to the shops for teabags.
  • Artboy took my hand and told me that he loved me.
  • Superman returned with teabags, timtams and marshmallows.
  • Artboy talked about marketing, sneakers and the worst song in the world.
  • Artboy left.
  • Superman lit a fire, made hot chocolate then made up a song about life being flopsy and not making sense.
  • I made Superman look at all the photos on my computer. I could not stop myself. I don't know why I did that.
  • I toasted some marshmallows over the fire by stabbing them with really big matchsticks and holding them close enough to toast but not close enough to burn my hands. I used the non-match end of the big match sticks.
  • Superman showed me bad photos of himself. I thought he looked fine, he disagreed.
  • Drying myself after a shower I noticed that my feet were pink from being in the hot water.
  • Climbing underneath my excellent doona Superman announced that he was downloading the entire Rolling Stones discography and that in the morning he would put it on my computer.
  • I said "That is the best thing that has ever happened, ever". He said "I thought you'd like that".
  • I woke late, people in my office were kind when I said I would not be in this morning.
  • Superman, Spencer and I sat in the Island Cafe all morning talking and taking turns to give the idiot from the music channel death stares as she sat at a neighbouring table blabbering gabble at the camera.
  • We ate pies in the pie shop. I stood nine hot chips up in my pie before eating them, they were tall chips. There were only ever three chips at a time in my pie.
  • Spencer went to work, I phoned my office and once again they were very kind when I said I would not be in this afternoon.
  • Superman and I went to the movies. We saw Mongol, I wanted a pony, I ate maltesers, Superman ate some too.
  • Back in The Peach there was tea, Superman decided to trim his beard. I don't know what he used to trim his beard. I do not have any beard trimming devices. Perhaps he brought his own beard trimming thing but why would he do that? It is true that he sometimes has muesli in his bag. I wonder what else he has in his bag.
  • Superman left to go to his yoga class. He came all the way from Emu to The Peach because Jon Wah died and I was standing in my kitchen not knowing what to do. I was standing two steps away from the bench, two steps away from the pantry and two steps from the metal border thing that divides the lounge room from the kitchen. I like Superman.

Yesterday Jon Wah overdosed and died, there's no elegant way to say that

He was entirely reprehensible in almost every way.
It was generally acknowledged that he was a bit of a cunt.
His art was abject and difficult to see most of the time.
He had a band called The Bloody Cunts that was so terrible no one could listen to them.
Jon Wah, you reprehensible bastard, I wish you hadn't died.