I am magnificently lazy with my lion sized hair thinking London happens as far South as Sydney*. I've never been one for cardinal points but its here now despite my longing for bigger windows to better picture the wild juxtaposition of rain, fire and the small round cat at my feet.
I've been pushing things into my head feeling the lock down click pointing North away from empty. If there were halos mine would be garamond narrow 3. Hunger is sudden so I am longing like the cat for Grizelda's roasting chicken. She's calling back to the timer on the oven. I'm not sure what she's using but it sounds like a spoon cousin, not to cut out your heart but to baste it.
I am need of something, a day, a sleep, a rest, tea on a tray or adrenalin straight to the heart. I am exhausted despite my epic magnificent lazing on the floor by the fire. I am exhausted and it is all my fault. Friday night Superman and I went to hear Shaun Tan in conversation at Gleebooks and in his quiet way he informed my footsteps. I stood in line to have my book signed chatting ridiculously to Superman until it was my turn, he dipped his finger in ink and fingerprinted my book and I told him I threw a mandarin, he smiled up at me as he signed his name, I said I didn't mean to throw the mandarin.
Superman drove us across town to see Holly Throsby at The Factory and in her quiet way she informed my footsteps. We drank wine by the fire until it was impossibly late and slept until midday. The icy wind of death followed us from street, to cafe to street, through two movies, one delivered dinner and a drive across perimeters to Superman's house for supplies. We sat by the fire until it was impossibly late then we slept until midday and Superman sat in stern silence over his work. I began my epic sprawling, organising my wagon circle of books, papers and thought. I usually work alone because ribbons of thought pop and unfurl, they are easily tangled by the presence of people but lately I've been writing next to Superman while he sits silent and stern over his work. My mad ribbons are exploding everywhere but float easily around him and I don't mind reading out the occasional sentence or consulting on word choice or putting down my pen or book to take up one of his papers or thoughts.
This afternoon Superman suggested a sentence, I accepted it with unusual easiness and stared as it made miraculous sense out of a struggling infant paragraph. Nobody has ever offered me words before and I'm sure that if anyone had ever asked the question I would have stomped my foot and said I would never take words from another, if anybody dared to offer them. I would have stamped and blown out quick air like a horse. I am becoming increasingly aware that I am often wrong, about myself.
*"London happens as far South as Sydney" is a line I stole from one of The Beautiful Boys, it is in one of his poems, I don't remember what it is called but it is good.
Showing posts with label The Beautiful Boys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Beautiful Boys. Show all posts
Brilliant
I have thought this through and nothing could possibly go wrong. I will walk to Glebe and go the poetry at Sappho's as though nothing even happened. I will surprise even myself with my general good cheer, fortitude and lack of doom. I will sit at my usual table and stir my coffee in an unconcerned way. I will pull faces at Superman when the poetry is bad, I will tell The Beautiful Boy that his poem was excellent, because his poems are always excellent. I will leave early if I am tired. I will purchase a tiny chocolate cake, tinier than the palm of my small hand, I will eat it with the same tea spoon I use to stir my coffee. Superman might be late but I will not worry, I will sit happily by myself and make notes in my notebook because he always shows up in the end. When he arrives I will annoy him for five whole minutes by communicating to him my sense of empowerment using badly drawn sketches and sachets of sugar.
I will sit happily stirring my coffee and thinking how excellent it is that I have sewn this time into a useful shape because Superman is right. I am not the same person anymore and its been some time since Artboy had any power over me. I am not imagining the power slip, it is almost tangible. So you see, I've thought this through and nothing could possibly go wrong, that's why I agreed to meet Artboy for coffee. This is my year for holding up signs for other people to read and tomorrow I'm going to tell Artboy that I'm fine.
I will sit happily stirring my coffee and thinking how excellent it is that I have sewn this time into a useful shape because Superman is right. I am not the same person anymore and its been some time since Artboy had any power over me. I am not imagining the power slip, it is almost tangible. So you see, I've thought this through and nothing could possibly go wrong, that's why I agreed to meet Artboy for coffee. This is my year for holding up signs for other people to read and tomorrow I'm going to tell Artboy that I'm fine.
If I try sometimes or Miahi Sora brings chaos with words or I got stuck in my head again or I have powerful, loving, glorious, valorous eggs
Bless Tug Dumbly and his breathing unpronounceable god. I was stuck in my office, not like The Spatula was stuck in hers, I was stuck in a vacuum of thought. I sat for two hours staring blindly at the computer after everyone had gone home willing myself to make a move, one way or the other but I couldn't. So I sat in my indecision unable to move or breathe or leave until suddenly it lifted and I knotted my scarf and turned the key in the lock.
Half an hour later I thought I don't care what happens next. I walked from Redfern to to Glebe with Can't Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones on repeat waiting for the guitar that scatterguns my heart. I wasn't hungry so I stopped at Oportos, sliding chilli dressed with chicken down my throat and reading a short story. I photocopied it for Superman because he needs these words for his chaos. I've anointed it in coffee rings and chilli oil. I've carried it kilometres and read it out loud cause I need these words for my chaos.
I got lost somewhere in Glebe and had to phone The Peach for internet navigation assistance. I wound up at Friend in Hand and sat down next to the one of The Beautiful Boys, a man practically scrambled over me to get the corner seat. I was going to elbow him in the head then I noticed he was the man in a hat that I followed around at the Sydney Underground Film Festival. He's obnoxious and quaint like a typewriter or a rock in my shoe.
Tug Dumbly featured and I remembered words I wrote about him once before. This time the chilli or the words or the vodka are jumping at me from the inside. I want to be clear about this but not right now. Right now I'm toxic with oncoming sleep and the absence of portents. Right now I'm spinning sentences in my hands about Mihai Sora and his beautiful chaos. Right now I'm thinking if it wasn't for the words there wouldn't be a reason.
Half an hour later I thought I don't care what happens next. I walked from Redfern to to Glebe with Can't Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones on repeat waiting for the guitar that scatterguns my heart. I wasn't hungry so I stopped at Oportos, sliding chilli dressed with chicken down my throat and reading a short story. I photocopied it for Superman because he needs these words for his chaos. I've anointed it in coffee rings and chilli oil. I've carried it kilometres and read it out loud cause I need these words for my chaos.
I got lost somewhere in Glebe and had to phone The Peach for internet navigation assistance. I wound up at Friend in Hand and sat down next to the one of The Beautiful Boys, a man practically scrambled over me to get the corner seat. I was going to elbow him in the head then I noticed he was the man in a hat that I followed around at the Sydney Underground Film Festival. He's obnoxious and quaint like a typewriter or a rock in my shoe.
Tug Dumbly featured and I remembered words I wrote about him once before. This time the chilli or the words or the vodka are jumping at me from the inside. I want to be clear about this but not right now. Right now I'm toxic with oncoming sleep and the absence of portents. Right now I'm spinning sentences in my hands about Mihai Sora and his beautiful chaos. Right now I'm thinking if it wasn't for the words there wouldn't be a reason.
Psychic shower tiles and German surfing Professors of Literature
Ah ha! I thought, followed later by Oh no! This had nothing to do with the fact that I was standing in the middle of the road it was more shower related than that.
Grizelda and I walked to the end of the road to pick a mango, on the way home we swung by the IGA because I was desperate for a frozen dim sim, the kind you bring home from the shop then put in a pot of hot water. I haven't had one for ages but Rita was talking about them on the telephone and that's what set the whole thing rolling.
I walked with Grizelda because I wanted a dim sim; I cared not a fig for a mango. After mango picking we continued to the IGA but the IGA was closed. Most people say I G A but I prefer to pronounce it as a word that sounds like tiger. We plodded on with me grumbling incoherently about frozen things and pots of water while Grizelda held her mango as though it was a grenade. Out the front of the backpackers I stopped to cross the road. This is where the Ah ha! happened.
Across the road sitting in the driver's seat of an unusually small and decrepit red car was one of The Beautiful Boys. I've only met this one a few times. He looked up in surprise and called out to me. I walked straight into the middle of the road. I asked him if he was lost but he shook his head and pointed at his mobile phone. It was an odd conversation in that it wasn't really a conversation at all. We exchanged few words but inside my head went technicolour. I have no idea what I was thinking beyond Ah ha! until I had a shower.
In the shower I was thinking of a way to describe him, that and wishing I had shouted "Come to The Annandale on Friday night". He is like a German literary professor that surfs and then dries off and puts on tweeds is what I was thinking as I turned in the shower and placed my right palm flat against the glass of the shower screen. I thought that's odd, usually I turn left and put my right palm on the second tile down. I turned and placed my hand on the tile. Immediately I remembered the last time I had stood like that feeling at once that I had better move my hand or be overcome. I removed my hand, waited a moment then once again placed it on that tile. It is the tile of sorrow, memories hardened and sharpened their points. Feeling experimental I turned right and tested the spot on the glass screen. Happy spot, all Zissou, fuzzy cats, fig sorbet and German Surfing Professors of Literature.
The only sensible conclusion I can come to is that I have psychic shower tiles, that and I'm thinking odd thoughts about German Surfing Professors of Literature in small decrepit cars. Oh no!
Grizelda and I walked to the end of the road to pick a mango, on the way home we swung by the IGA because I was desperate for a frozen dim sim, the kind you bring home from the shop then put in a pot of hot water. I haven't had one for ages but Rita was talking about them on the telephone and that's what set the whole thing rolling.
I walked with Grizelda because I wanted a dim sim; I cared not a fig for a mango. After mango picking we continued to the IGA but the IGA was closed. Most people say I G A but I prefer to pronounce it as a word that sounds like tiger. We plodded on with me grumbling incoherently about frozen things and pots of water while Grizelda held her mango as though it was a grenade. Out the front of the backpackers I stopped to cross the road. This is where the Ah ha! happened.
Across the road sitting in the driver's seat of an unusually small and decrepit red car was one of The Beautiful Boys. I've only met this one a few times. He looked up in surprise and called out to me. I walked straight into the middle of the road. I asked him if he was lost but he shook his head and pointed at his mobile phone. It was an odd conversation in that it wasn't really a conversation at all. We exchanged few words but inside my head went technicolour. I have no idea what I was thinking beyond Ah ha! until I had a shower.
In the shower I was thinking of a way to describe him, that and wishing I had shouted "Come to The Annandale on Friday night". He is like a German literary professor that surfs and then dries off and puts on tweeds is what I was thinking as I turned in the shower and placed my right palm flat against the glass of the shower screen. I thought that's odd, usually I turn left and put my right palm on the second tile down. I turned and placed my hand on the tile. Immediately I remembered the last time I had stood like that feeling at once that I had better move my hand or be overcome. I removed my hand, waited a moment then once again placed it on that tile. It is the tile of sorrow, memories hardened and sharpened their points. Feeling experimental I turned right and tested the spot on the glass screen. Happy spot, all Zissou, fuzzy cats, fig sorbet and German Surfing Professors of Literature.
The only sensible conclusion I can come to is that I have psychic shower tiles, that and I'm thinking odd thoughts about German Surfing Professors of Literature in small decrepit cars. Oh no!
Definitive
Special request. A definitions list for the cast of characters in Slammatown. Easy. This I can do. Much simpler than trying to define just how exactly that snorkeling makes me happy or why today when I sat on the edge of this continent with the lemon light behind me and nothing, oh nothing but that ocean, that I felt stitches pull tighter and empty places pop and vanish. I used to be scared of the edge of this land.
Not in any order.
Foto: Superman's friend. I like him, he lives near me, he seems kind and the verge of something, I'm not sure what but I'll stick around to find out.
Gemma:
Author of Gempires, owner of Cooper the small poodle. Gemma lives in Melbourne and visits Sydney occasionally. Gemma is super in all possible ways. Gemma is an honourary Peachette.
The Peachettes:
The Peachettes are residents or ex-residents of The Peach (my house).
The Spatula:
My friend for almost twenty years and a current Peachette. She is small. We met on the first day of high school. The Spatula sings, paints, massages and designs my zine "Ocarina". The Spatula is a necessary part of my context.
Leurf:
Cousin to The Spatula Leurf abandoned The Peach (she is still a Peachette) to pursue her studies in Perth which is a fucking long way away. Leurf is unpredictable, fantastic and stunning inside and out.
Grizelda:
Younger sister (8 years younger) of The Spatula and a current Peachette. Grizelda is an excellent chef but does not like to have hobbies. Grizelda is rapidly becoming a good friend.
Ron:
I like Ron, he's pretty tops.
My brother:
No explanation necessary. He is tall plays trombone professionally and has an unnatural love for all things flamingo.
Spencer:
Spencer is the walking talking home of rock. He fronts the band The Holy Soul. He sometimes wears a cowboy hat. Spencer went to university with my brother and Boli. His main squeeze is Madam Squeeze.
Madam Squeeze:
Madam Squeeze can often be found busking with her accordion on King St. She is a source of light.
Robert:
He is a poet. He often eats toast during the day, he has a plant on his desk called Sylvester the Abject Plant. He is quite excellent.
Boli:
I shared a house with Boli at university. He is a music therapist. He plays all the instruments to an excellent standard. He likes hats is recently married and is the man I phone to ask if I am being a spaz or not. He always tells me if I am being a spaz.
Mr X:
A friend of Elliot's. I don't see him very often. Sometimes I see him on King St, he does not appear to like me very much.
The Cowboy:
Lives next door. He sometimes sits out the back in a cowboy hat playing cowboy songs on his guitar.
Creamboy:
Author of More Boring Rants from Anonymous Eccentrics. Creamboy is Superman's brother.
Superman:
This is what I used to think about Superman: I high three Superman, he is excellent. He has a way of not letting me panic, the best way to describe is that he makes me stand on a platform which is higher than where I normally stand and I can see more, further forward, further back and with some clarity. He is immensely silly and quite possibly the most stubborn person I have ever met. When he makes a decision you can hear the clang of an iron gate dropping somewhere in the distance. We wrote a song. Superman is Creamboy's brother.
Now I don't think about Superman at all, I do sometimes think about Superman movies but that is not the same thing.
Elliot:
I once thought I loved Elliot. I fucked him more than once with little sexual success. He used to be an excellent friend. I haven't heard from him since I told him I wouldn't see him if he's drunk. He's back in rehab.
Artboy:
The ex. After seven odd years of living together he developed a major mental illness. He had a manic episode and literally went screaming out into the night. He did not come back. This is how our relationship ended. This is how my heart fractured. I sank to the floor and it took me a while to stand back up.
Benito Di Fonzo:
A man that I can not talk to because every time I see him my head empties of all words and I stand there like a fucktard. Once I went to a party with him and set my hair on fire in the bathroom. This was not on purpose. Benito is the author of Benito Di Fonzo Jr & The Loneliness of the Long Distance Writer.
Slammas:
My family.
Mum, her partner (I don't have a name for her on this blog), my brother, Dad, his wife (I don't have a name for her on this blog). Various relatives occasionally pop up, very occasionally.
Sylvia:
Gemma reminded me that I have not written a definition for her. Initially I did not use the cat's name in order to protect her privacy however I have since realised that this is ridiculous. The cat does not have any friends with the internet. Sylvia is a Norwegian Forest Cat, she is four years old.
Zissou:
I met him at a party, at my house on new year's eve, he stayed the night. We met for drinks, he stayed the night. He said "are we going to do this again?" I said "call me sometime" he said "I will". He called, we met another two times. He is a good man. He moved interstate for work, this made me sad.
The Beautiful Boys:
A bunch of beautiful boys of a literary bent. I admire them greatly for their verve, intellect, joy and youth.
Failed Ant Farmers:
Members are Superman, Spencer and Madam Squeeze and me.
There is more but really today I cannot be bothered.
I think this is all. I should make links but oh I am lazy, so lazy. I am tired from swimming in Clovelly Bay for hours on end. The ocean is battering this continent so a sheltered beach was necessary but still, it was the edge of things.
Not in any order.
Foto: Superman's friend. I like him, he lives near me, he seems kind and the verge of something, I'm not sure what but I'll stick around to find out.
Gemma:
Author of Gempires, owner of Cooper the small poodle. Gemma lives in Melbourne and visits Sydney occasionally. Gemma is super in all possible ways. Gemma is an honourary Peachette.
The Peachettes:
The Peachettes are residents or ex-residents of The Peach (my house).
The Spatula:
My friend for almost twenty years and a current Peachette. She is small. We met on the first day of high school. The Spatula sings, paints, massages and designs my zine "Ocarina". The Spatula is a necessary part of my context.
Leurf:
Cousin to The Spatula Leurf abandoned The Peach (she is still a Peachette) to pursue her studies in Perth which is a fucking long way away. Leurf is unpredictable, fantastic and stunning inside and out.
Grizelda:
Younger sister (8 years younger) of The Spatula and a current Peachette. Grizelda is an excellent chef but does not like to have hobbies. Grizelda is rapidly becoming a good friend.
Ron:
I like Ron, he's pretty tops.
My brother:
No explanation necessary. He is tall plays trombone professionally and has an unnatural love for all things flamingo.
Spencer:
Spencer is the walking talking home of rock. He fronts the band The Holy Soul. He sometimes wears a cowboy hat. Spencer went to university with my brother and Boli. His main squeeze is Madam Squeeze.
Madam Squeeze:
Madam Squeeze can often be found busking with her accordion on King St. She is a source of light.
Robert:
He is a poet. He often eats toast during the day, he has a plant on his desk called Sylvester the Abject Plant. He is quite excellent.
Boli:
I shared a house with Boli at university. He is a music therapist. He plays all the instruments to an excellent standard. He likes hats is recently married and is the man I phone to ask if I am being a spaz or not. He always tells me if I am being a spaz.
Mr X:
A friend of Elliot's. I don't see him very often. Sometimes I see him on King St, he does not appear to like me very much.
The Cowboy:
Lives next door. He sometimes sits out the back in a cowboy hat playing cowboy songs on his guitar.
Creamboy:
Author of More Boring Rants from Anonymous Eccentrics. Creamboy is Superman's brother.
Superman:
This is what I used to think about Superman: I high three Superman, he is excellent. He has a way of not letting me panic, the best way to describe is that he makes me stand on a platform which is higher than where I normally stand and I can see more, further forward, further back and with some clarity. He is immensely silly and quite possibly the most stubborn person I have ever met. When he makes a decision you can hear the clang of an iron gate dropping somewhere in the distance. We wrote a song. Superman is Creamboy's brother.
Now I don't think about Superman at all, I do sometimes think about Superman movies but that is not the same thing.
Elliot:
I once thought I loved Elliot. I fucked him more than once with little sexual success. He used to be an excellent friend. I haven't heard from him since I told him I wouldn't see him if he's drunk. He's back in rehab.
Artboy:
The ex. After seven odd years of living together he developed a major mental illness. He had a manic episode and literally went screaming out into the night. He did not come back. This is how our relationship ended. This is how my heart fractured. I sank to the floor and it took me a while to stand back up.
Benito Di Fonzo:
A man that I can not talk to because every time I see him my head empties of all words and I stand there like a fucktard. Once I went to a party with him and set my hair on fire in the bathroom. This was not on purpose. Benito is the author of Benito Di Fonzo Jr & The Loneliness of the Long Distance Writer.
Slammas:
My family.
Mum, her partner (I don't have a name for her on this blog), my brother, Dad, his wife (I don't have a name for her on this blog). Various relatives occasionally pop up, very occasionally.
Sylvia:
Gemma reminded me that I have not written a definition for her. Initially I did not use the cat's name in order to protect her privacy however I have since realised that this is ridiculous. The cat does not have any friends with the internet. Sylvia is a Norwegian Forest Cat, she is four years old.
Zissou:
I met him at a party, at my house on new year's eve, he stayed the night. We met for drinks, he stayed the night. He said "are we going to do this again?" I said "call me sometime" he said "I will". He called, we met another two times. He is a good man. He moved interstate for work, this made me sad.
The Beautiful Boys:
A bunch of beautiful boys of a literary bent. I admire them greatly for their verve, intellect, joy and youth.
Failed Ant Farmers:
Members are Superman, Spencer and Madam Squeeze and me.
There is more but really today I cannot be bothered.
I think this is all. I should make links but oh I am lazy, so lazy. I am tired from swimming in Clovelly Bay for hours on end. The ocean is battering this continent so a sheltered beach was necessary but still, it was the edge of things.
9:46 am
I've had approximately three and a half hours sleep, some of that on the couch; seedy is not an adequate word.
I've started this year in an unexpected manner. Walking between parties we found ourselves opting to view the fireworks from Stanmore Station. At the end of the platform you can see the city skyline and the Harbour Bridge. So there we stood with our bottles of drink, cigarettes and one small poodle.
Gemma is asleep in The Spatula's office, Cooper the small poodle occasionally wanders about then goes back in the office for more sleep. One person has left already, I feel slightly guilty about this. Last night when we ran out of spare beds I kindly offered him half my bed but in the morning after two hours sleep and feeling like hell on skates I woke up and spent a momemnt wishing that I had not done that. I transferred to the lounge for some alone time which caused him to wake up and go home so that I could have my bed back. I feel slightly guilty but on the other hand I have my bed back.
Yesterday was fantastic. Gemma, Spencer, Madam Squeeze, two Spatula friends, one Grizelda friend and The Peachettes ate and drank our way through all manner of things until almost sunrise. We walked over to visit The Beautiful Boys for an hour or two then wandered back to The Peach for general merriment.
I have realised that I have not written one thing worth reading since Christmas Eve. For a week now this has been the blog of the uninteresting, the skimming of my surface. It is an example of telling without showing but I don't think I mind too much. There is a time to delve and time also to breathe and just be, there are no obligations here.
In a way, last night, I temporarily opened my arms to the unexpected. I took tentative steps down a new path, while it was not unpleasant I find I might need to backtrack, just a little, until I recognise the foliage and can spot in the distance my ordinary orb of context.
This will be my year of holding up signs for others to read.
I've started this year in an unexpected manner. Walking between parties we found ourselves opting to view the fireworks from Stanmore Station. At the end of the platform you can see the city skyline and the Harbour Bridge. So there we stood with our bottles of drink, cigarettes and one small poodle.
Gemma is asleep in The Spatula's office, Cooper the small poodle occasionally wanders about then goes back in the office for more sleep. One person has left already, I feel slightly guilty about this. Last night when we ran out of spare beds I kindly offered him half my bed but in the morning after two hours sleep and feeling like hell on skates I woke up and spent a momemnt wishing that I had not done that. I transferred to the lounge for some alone time which caused him to wake up and go home so that I could have my bed back. I feel slightly guilty but on the other hand I have my bed back.
Yesterday was fantastic. Gemma, Spencer, Madam Squeeze, two Spatula friends, one Grizelda friend and The Peachettes ate and drank our way through all manner of things until almost sunrise. We walked over to visit The Beautiful Boys for an hour or two then wandered back to The Peach for general merriment.
I have realised that I have not written one thing worth reading since Christmas Eve. For a week now this has been the blog of the uninteresting, the skimming of my surface. It is an example of telling without showing but I don't think I mind too much. There is a time to delve and time also to breathe and just be, there are no obligations here.
In a way, last night, I temporarily opened my arms to the unexpected. I took tentative steps down a new path, while it was not unpleasant I find I might need to backtrack, just a little, until I recognise the foliage and can spot in the distance my ordinary orb of context.
This will be my year of holding up signs for others to read.
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.
I have not yet determined what any of this means.
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.
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.
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.
3:05am
Baaah! Ha ha ha. Lovely boys. Just lovely. There is one called Lexi that is interesting. There is one called Tom that is practicing aloofness and of course Mr SeeSee himself, their brave leader. There are others, a swarthy one, a short one and more. They are young and beautiful and not afraid to think. The Spatula and I went to the party with the intention of observing the younger generation and chuckling quietly at their youthful enthusiasm, which we did, but we also ended up squarely in the middle of it all. Look how good I spelling whilst drunk. Admirable!
We could walk there, so we did. We drank beer on the way, once there I opened and admittedly drank a bottle of red wine, something or other from SA left over from my fucking awful 30th birthday party which I viewed as though looking through a telescope the wrong way round, such is the power of a broken heart. I happily puffed away on joints offered by random strangers, stole yellow clothes pegs from their tweedy jackets, experimented freely with cherry advocaat in the kitchen and made off with seven water crackers from a packet I found on top of the microwave. At one point I was dancing by myself in the loungeroom by the light of a disco ball but I was soon joined by several Degrassi High type young things that bounced far too enthusiastically for me and if you are going to do the Molly Ringwald Breakfast Club dance you should at least do it accurately.
One of the lovely boys said that I summed his friend precisely in two words, better than he thought anyone ever could, which was nice. Looks like I should definitely go ahead with the Black Flamingo Productions idea. Gemma, we're on, let's be weird business partners in the world's craziest business, at least as an experiment. But oh dear look at the time. I've just had some chocolate and also ryvitas with vegemite on.
I stole a slice of The Spatula's plastic cheese. It comes in individually wrapped slices and is made of some sort of cheese-based plastic. Not undelicious when taken drunk on a ryvita with vegemite. Let's hope there was no actual milk in it or its instant death in my pants in the morning for me. My left foot is itchy now. I might try and have a glass of water.
We could walk there, so we did. We drank beer on the way, once there I opened and admittedly drank a bottle of red wine, something or other from SA left over from my fucking awful 30th birthday party which I viewed as though looking through a telescope the wrong way round, such is the power of a broken heart. I happily puffed away on joints offered by random strangers, stole yellow clothes pegs from their tweedy jackets, experimented freely with cherry advocaat in the kitchen and made off with seven water crackers from a packet I found on top of the microwave. At one point I was dancing by myself in the loungeroom by the light of a disco ball but I was soon joined by several Degrassi High type young things that bounced far too enthusiastically for me and if you are going to do the Molly Ringwald Breakfast Club dance you should at least do it accurately.
One of the lovely boys said that I summed his friend precisely in two words, better than he thought anyone ever could, which was nice. Looks like I should definitely go ahead with the Black Flamingo Productions idea. Gemma, we're on, let's be weird business partners in the world's craziest business, at least as an experiment. But oh dear look at the time. I've just had some chocolate and also ryvitas with vegemite on.
I stole a slice of The Spatula's plastic cheese. It comes in individually wrapped slices and is made of some sort of cheese-based plastic. Not undelicious when taken drunk on a ryvita with vegemite. Let's hope there was no actual milk in it or its instant death in my pants in the morning for me. My left foot is itchy now. I might try and have a glass of water.
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