Gumshoe
Yesterday I photographed a public umbrella drying machine then tried on wedding dresses and diamonds. I told the man in the shop that I invented the all-in-one cat worming tablet. He believed me.
Tissues - made from trees - a renewable sustainable resource (when managed correctly)
Walking around The Peach purposefully in ugg boots and my Grandfather's dressing gown has permanently altered my perspective on life. If it is cold I dress in warm things. I am allowed to do this. Oh yes. I will not be defeated by a combination of snot, rain and temperature.
Travelogue
I've been hauling this phrase around Australia. It describes everything. Flat, wide and blue.
Glass hammers and the pleasures and perils of time travel
Returning from 1952 I hit a touch of turbulence and made a pit stop outside Nuremberg. It was decided amongst the locals that their cheese was in all ways superior to all French cheeses. I declined to taste the cheese and was cast out of space and time, I did not know the German word for lactose. Fortunately Spencer, Madam Squeeze and I had already made plans to visit Penrith which exists outside of space and time. My brother was there in a tuxedo playing the trombone with a glass bottle of cola at his feet. The band leader, noticing they were outside of space and time, had instructed them to remove jackets and ties. It was a casual affair. Shops with literal names were visible from all windows. Spencer was momentarily relieved. Last week he walked in Thaitanic expecting a pleasant ocean cruise but came away with chilli and lime stuck between his front teeth. It is important to note that Gareth Liddiard plays an important part in this tale.
I reconfigured the flux capacitor by wiring it directly to the Eye of Harmony. We reappeared at The Annandale where Gareth Liddiard sat perched on a stool. He began strumming at an acoustic guitar. The room fell silent and the crowd tilted their heads and set back their shoulders. You need to brace for this music or you will come undone. I tilted and braced but the onslaught was thorough. We all know he works with the geography of sound but I wasn't expecting such a terrible revelation. I've been hitting things with glass hammers.
I reconfigured the flux capacitor by wiring it directly to the Eye of Harmony. We reappeared at The Annandale where Gareth Liddiard sat perched on a stool. He began strumming at an acoustic guitar. The room fell silent and the crowd tilted their heads and set back their shoulders. You need to brace for this music or you will come undone. I tilted and braced but the onslaught was thorough. We all know he works with the geography of sound but I wasn't expecting such a terrible revelation. I've been hitting things with glass hammers.
He was also wearing a paper hat on his head and one over each shoe
He said "this might be easier if I take off my gown". I paused to let him take off his gown but I wish he'd left it on. It felt like it had a really high thread count.
Drink until your gums bleed and the cake rises
I didn't think it would be a problem until the fourth long swallow hit the back of my throat in a poisonous wave. I stood frozen to the spot, bottle of gin vertical and clamped between my lips. I had a vague notion to tip myself upside down and run the clear contents back into the bottle but gravity and handstand peristalsis are in constant opposition.
I walked past a bottle of gin while I was baking a chocolate cake. I got the notion to pour it down my throat so I did, not all of it, but enough to make a difference to the appearance of my shampoo. I'd never noticed that the moment before I mash the handful of shampoo onto the top of my head is a beautiful one. My shampoo is opaque and iridescent. A melted handful of mother-of -pearl more lovely for being unexpected.
The gin still tastes like poison, after the potatoes, after the cake so I washed my sheets and washed my hair. I brushed my teeth until my gums bled like Mary but my eyes remained dry. Tomorrow I'll try something different.
I walked past a bottle of gin while I was baking a chocolate cake. I got the notion to pour it down my throat so I did, not all of it, but enough to make a difference to the appearance of my shampoo. I'd never noticed that the moment before I mash the handful of shampoo onto the top of my head is a beautiful one. My shampoo is opaque and iridescent. A melted handful of mother-of -pearl more lovely for being unexpected.
The gin still tastes like poison, after the potatoes, after the cake so I washed my sheets and washed my hair. I brushed my teeth until my gums bled like Mary but my eyes remained dry. Tomorrow I'll try something different.
Ms
I have lost all faith but this. It will hold blind corridors, scratches and evidence of fumbling and stumbles into beasts become tall and obvious, when someone turns the lights back on. It will be a small weight hauling down that folded obfuscation. In a corner to the left of my eye I will see something other than that sucking whirligig nothing. When I finish it three bricks will fall and my right arm will push through into something else. When I finish it bones and shattered things will need to be swept away.
When it is done I will pile its pages on the floor and step from them to the next thing, the weight of my step compressing it into sighing perspective. I will nail it to my wall next to the other diminishing monumental things drying like flowers upside down and curious. The second one will rise with the yeast of the first.
When it is done I will pile its pages on the floor and step from them to the next thing, the weight of my step compressing it into sighing perspective. I will nail it to my wall next to the other diminishing monumental things drying like flowers upside down and curious. The second one will rise with the yeast of the first.
Phoenixing
It should come on wings. Or should it have wings? This is what happens when the edit switch turns off. It should fly in welcome as chocolate cake or hail but I want it to come unbidden and wild as a horse. I want the edges cut off and nothing but meaning to remain. This is why I eat wedding cake icing. The same old problem tempts one to keep a zombie in the garden shed. It can't remember but my face remains the same.
Throw over the tyranny of paragraphs
Tip Penrith Plaza on its side. Seal the entrances and pour in undiluted alcohol, shake. Pour the human contents onto the midnight streets. Congratulations. You have just made Kings Cross after dark. I'm thinking of conducting walking tours for the curious and the insane.
Prison Guy shall now be known as Tyre Guy
I was sitting in a boardroom with ten other people. Our task was to write individual lists of uses for paper clips other than clipping paper together. The first item on my list was "stick in powerpoint and use as suicide machine". The facilitator wrote 'powerpoint' on the whiteboard in big orange letters and asked me to continue reading out my list until I came to item seventeen "microwave paperclip to create beautiful light sculpture in kitchen". She objected strongly to the idea that metal be microwaved on purpose and refused to write it on the whiteboard.
Prison Guy had his usual arguments with Architect Guy. Death Metal Guy complained bitterly about the lack of biscuits to go with his tea. PR Lady flicked her hair, reapplied pink lipstick and twice squirted herself with an enormous bottle of hideously expensive perfume. All of this was business as usual until Prison Guy made a sudden and moving speech about his deep love for car tyres. The speech turned into a lecture on the history and development of the tyre and the correct PSI for all makes and models of cars in differing weather situations. He finished with a wink and nod saying that in his opinion its best to keep the PSI down by 5 on any car driven by the missus, know what I mean.
I did not know what he meant and was about to say so until Financial Planner Lady shot me a look that plainly said 'if you encourage him to say one word about tyres I am going to kill you'. The faciliatator wrote tyres on the whiteboard in big green letters.
Prison Guy had his usual arguments with Architect Guy. Death Metal Guy complained bitterly about the lack of biscuits to go with his tea. PR Lady flicked her hair, reapplied pink lipstick and twice squirted herself with an enormous bottle of hideously expensive perfume. All of this was business as usual until Prison Guy made a sudden and moving speech about his deep love for car tyres. The speech turned into a lecture on the history and development of the tyre and the correct PSI for all makes and models of cars in differing weather situations. He finished with a wink and nod saying that in his opinion its best to keep the PSI down by 5 on any car driven by the missus, know what I mean.
I did not know what he meant and was about to say so until Financial Planner Lady shot me a look that plainly said 'if you encourage him to say one word about tyres I am going to kill you'. The faciliatator wrote tyres on the whiteboard in big green letters.
Bats with cats
I love Bats Magazine! Not only do the young women in question make zines for me to read but also this excellent and educational film about washing cats.
Fairytale factor
I keep reading and watching Romeo & Juliet. I keep reading and watching Romeo & Juliet with a sense of hope that this time it will be different and everything will work out fine. I suspect I am developing a new and unusual problem.
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