Friday, 26 December 2008

Fair thee

Dear 2008,

Licence (the blame sits squarely with luxury on this one, you know what I mean stupid mercedes).

Perchance now you will be satisfied? I should bid you an unfond farewell, tomorrow I'm leaving the state, we all know the year officially ends when I am thrust with jets into the sky. There is, as always, a song spinning in my head, "I'm drunk, I'm tired and I fucked my shit up" but this time I'm not entirely sure that its all my fault.

What I am learning is to become undone, not from myself, not from the power of that internal vortex but from the larger shoving hand of something else. It is possible that I will remain and by that I mean I will walk with words in my head and pens in my hands. This isn't a great trial of me versus all things like volcanoes and canoes and omnipotent everything. I can build rhythms with footsteps. I'll laugh at the dusting off and the dusting off and the standing and falling and breathing. One day, strapped in great pain, I saw faces look down on me with something quite like love.

I have dozed now in both my parents' houses. Sat with my back against cushions, heavy lead dropped my eyelids and listened. I heard who I am with the sounds of peeling potatoes, stacking plates, kitchen chatter and clatter and the stepped in parts of other lives. I'm weaving something over here, if you look closely at only one part it is lumpen with errors but when I stretch out my arms and hold it aloft the dropped stitches let in the light. And that right there was the moment in which I allowed myself to be twee. I'm planning on dropping a lot more stitches 2008, you better brief 2009 cause there's no separating Dale from Slamma.


Wednesday, 24 December 2008

Monday, 22 December 2008

Improbable impromtu partakings

Gemma came to stay at The Peach so we made with the merry. The first night we saw Spencer play us some rock which was grand but the second night The Peach threw open its doors for an impromptu party of unreasonable excellence. Retro from The Hive made a special guest appearance for dinner which was super but perhaps the real star of The Peach was the frozen cocktail machine that was improbably produced out of thin air for our drinking pleasure. There is photographic evidence but it is inside The Spatula's camera.

At one point in the evening Gemma took an extensive photographic survey of The Peach Bathroom, this was before we sensibly decided that what Superman does in the shower, besides washing, is practice Elvis karate.

The impromptu party was wildly succesful. We took turns at singing songs using a cheese encyclopedia to supply alternative lyrics. Spencer played themes from 80's television shows on Superman's guitar, Gemma knew all the words. The police snuck down into The Cowboy's backyard and shone torches up at The Peach Deck. We weren't sure what they wanted so we just sat very still until Gemma jumped up and said hello. They wanted us to be quiet which is exciting, we've never been shut down by the police before.

This evening, reflecting on the weekend's events, I became so happy that I invented a new kind of dance.

Friday, 19 December 2008

Cheap regret

I regretted my decision to buy the cheapest paper towels, just as soon as the toilet paper ran out.

Thursday, 18 December 2008

Don't float

I almost walked over the Harbour Bridge in the dying light. I stood at the bottom of the steps sniffing the expensive north side breeze, rubbing my arms to get the corporate stink off them. I phoned Spencer and he said he was getting drunk for free so I turned around and walked into the station.

I didn't like where I'd been. I sat in a room with fifteen other applicants listening to the managing director rant about his personal excellence and the standard of excellence he expects in everything from fruit to shoes. The recruiting assistant scanned the room and made notes every time somebody breathed, like a robot surprised to be confronted with the living. I filled in the form like I was supposed to, listened like I was supposed to, sat there in my ironed clothes with my brushed hair but I was considering throwing myself under a ferry and featuring on the late news as a floater. The harbour is more beautiful than I can imagine. I let slip every opportunity for splendid rebellion.

Spencer was drinking in the County Clare so I navigated south, using the trains, buses and the soles of my shoes. I found him jammed in a filthy courtyard sitting on an empty beer keg bouncing up and down with excitement over something or other. He only bounces when he's drunk. I rammed myself into the crowd as an antidote to everything but in the end I found I needed to walk so I left the County Clare and wandered up Broadway and City Rd sucking down the city air. I stumbled and turned my ankle on nothing at all.

I was carrying no cash, not a dollar, I sat at the bust stop while my ankle throbbed and swelled, wondering what to do until I remembered about taxis and paying for things with credit cards. Mona found me five minutes later, bought me a bus ticket then a beer. We sat in The Townie swapping sorrows and cigarettes, wondering at the usefulness of friends until Spencer started sending me text messages about how excellent a time he was having at the party, far superior to The Townie. I imagined he was drunker than even I had anticipated but then he stuck his head around the corner holding out his long arms and laughing like a loon.

Spencer spoke about the time he was working in a factory in Bowral putting books in boxes. He said they kept playing the Youth Group* song Someone Else's Dream, the lyrics go something like 'let's go see The Holy Soul in some soulless hole where the restless people go' [The Holy Soul is Spencer's band]. Spencer was bending his back and numbing his mind, stacking books in boxes from 6 in the morning, listening to the factory radio sing out the name of his band. That's when he thought he might move to the city.

Spencer walked when he moved to the city, missing the horizon, mapping out the lack of spaces but that's another story.

* You probably know this Youth Group song if not the one I'm talking about.

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

Mild today isn't it

1am. First radio contact with Siberian step-mother. She is on the Trans-Siberian Railway three nights and two days out of Moscow. She said it is quite mild in Siberia, there has been no snow, yesterday I went dog sledding. Is it possible to sled without snow?

People in extreme situations, such as the Australian Antarctic Division or Siberia, display tendencies towards resourcefulness and eating things out of tins. Perhaps they have invented something. Hover sled? Sled with wheels attached? Sled on top of dogs? One continuous carpet of rolling logs or ball bearings? Digital sled simulator on hydraulic lifts?

Wednesday, 10 December 2008

Dorothy Porter 1954-2008


fun fun fun

I'm a mono Beach Boys record
my heart breaks

like surf.

- Dorothy Porter, from 'El Dorado'


By Robert (Poet Laureate of Slammatown)

My legs are longer than my arms. But
my ankles are twice the diameter
of half my wrist's circumference.
How old is my father? Who
is my father? Where is my daddy?

I've seen all good people

Turn your head this way.

Dear People of The World

You bore me.
You've driven me to this.
Do something interesting.

And remember,

don't surround yourself with yourself.

Monday, 8 December 2008

Held without question

I feel sick Captain. The hot chocolate made more sense than it ought. I saw a video or a film or a piece or a work. It has been following me but don't think I didn't want this to be a shorter sentence.

We sat at the bus stop in Glebe smoking cigarettes like school children and kicking our feet at catabatic things. There was never an intention to board a bus. I rolled a cigarette for Grizelda but Spencer rolled his own while he bent forwards over his crossed leg complaining that my complaining was sending him deaf. I had been slouched in a parody of drunk but that was inside where they tag you with numbers and pour sugar on plates.

Today was larger than me. It pressed on the windows. I turned my head away. After the telephoned things I had no interest in anything save for the texture of stasis in silence. An unexpected letter, with tiny beautiful gifts, could not raise so much as an eyebrow. I've had The Maple Trail** on repeat since Saturday, always preferring Radio Twilight Lost to Dirty Echo Spark.

Nothing will push back the memory of Held Without Question. Jon Wah moved on screen, hauling pixels from the grave, wrapped in the arms of his mother. Held without question. I stood in silence while the crowd moved around me. I suspended headphones with my hands while the longing formed, don't think I didn't want this sentence to be longer.

* Held Without Question (I think this is what it is called) by Jon Wah at Serial Space until 18th of December.
** More about The Maple Trail here.

Sunday, 7 December 2008

178, 190, same thing, precisely the same thing

Superman is wider than he is high, I can assure you this is entirely scientific, if you measure the span of his arms. The same is true of Spencer. Madam Squeeze and I are both taller than the span of our arms.

Now for a list of names in height order with the difference in height between the person listed and the person above in parentheses, Spencer is 199 centimetres wide from fingertip to fingertip.
Superman (2cm)
Slamma (0cm)
Madam Squeeze (8cm)