The cat caught a bird, I don't recall ever doing this before, maybe once when she was a kitten, but not in all the long adult years of her life has the cat subjected me to the horror of having to chases her up and down the hallway while a dying bird feebly flaps in her clenched jaw.
It was Grizelda who first heard the flutter-thump. I followed her out onto The Peach Deck to see what was wrong, this was our first mistake. The cat, seeing we were interested in her catch, ran into the house at top speed and headed straight for my bedroom at the other end of the long hall. Armed with brooms we chased the cat up and down the hallway, around the kitchen, under the dining table and then finally back out onto The Peach Deck.
Mercifully the bird was dead by this time, the poor thing must have expired from shock quite quickly. I did not have an opportunity to inspect the injuries to the bird because the cat ate it, the whole dead and feathered thing, except for the flight feathers and one foot.
I'm not talking to the cat right now but I am thinking about how much cheaper it would be if I could catch my own food in a similar manner, watch out fruit bats, here I come.
On a small tray place one teapot and one cup, carry to the best room for light
I think I've had my fill of people, for the year. So many parties, so many people, so much loud chatter and falling about drinking and dancing with each other. I think I've had enough of anything more than tete-a-tete. Since New Year's Eve I have not spoken to more than one person at once, I'm not counting The Peachettes because it doesn't count as a social outing to walk down the hall and make a cup of tea in the kitchen.
I have telephoned people, people have telephoned me, I have sat at my drums while Robert instructs me in the art of deliberately moving my limbs in careful order but I have not attended one cafe, one party, one dinner or tea. I have slept late every morning and then done exactly as I liked, sometimes keeping the affairs of PAN in order, sometimes writing columns but mostly undertaking those minute to minute intrigues like examining a seashell, placing coloured pencils in spectrum order, drawing one blue line on ivory paper. These kinds of things are best done now, before proper work begins, before February drops its heavy blanket of super-heated atmosphere, before all traces of celebration have vanished and I get dragged up under the wheel arches of ordinary motion and my new desk becomes old.
This afternoon I might examine a translucent plastic cassette case, listen to the slide of plastic dragging before the satisfying clack of closure. A cassette case is more pleasing than a cd case, better to hold in the palm of the hand, proportions more similar to a book, feels more open when opened with that slim exposure of plastic return holding fast the album art. It is almost as good as sliding a key into a post office box.
I have telephoned people, people have telephoned me, I have sat at my drums while Robert instructs me in the art of deliberately moving my limbs in careful order but I have not attended one cafe, one party, one dinner or tea. I have slept late every morning and then done exactly as I liked, sometimes keeping the affairs of PAN in order, sometimes writing columns but mostly undertaking those minute to minute intrigues like examining a seashell, placing coloured pencils in spectrum order, drawing one blue line on ivory paper. These kinds of things are best done now, before proper work begins, before February drops its heavy blanket of super-heated atmosphere, before all traces of celebration have vanished and I get dragged up under the wheel arches of ordinary motion and my new desk becomes old.
This afternoon I might examine a translucent plastic cassette case, listen to the slide of plastic dragging before the satisfying clack of closure. A cassette case is more pleasing than a cd case, better to hold in the palm of the hand, proportions more similar to a book, feels more open when opened with that slim exposure of plastic return holding fast the album art. It is almost as good as sliding a key into a post office box.
SLAMMATOWN - Travel, Fight, Write
Continue reading on RHUM...
A most interviewed year
I hate interviews, hate interviewing people and hate being interviewed by other people so it's a little mysterious how I managed to be interviewed so much in the one year. I like mysteries so to balance out things out I will now solve the mystery of the interviews.*
Interview 1 - Cleo Magazine
At the time I agreed to this interview it seemed too ridiculous to be true. I am not a fan of this kind of magazine, broader cultural harms and that sort of thing, but in this instance I knew the journalist to be a good one, a woman of integrity with genuine journalistic intent and also the topic was about being independent and happy despite being terribly old. Too weird a chance to pass up, almost like being an anti-girl-mag topic. Take them down from the inside. I think it was the April one, can't really remember.
Interviews 2 - 5 million - Newspapers, Blogs, Websites & Radio
These interviews were all about PAN magazine. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a magazine editor will subject themselves to multiple interviews for the good of the magazine.
It did feel a tad awkward when I had to interview myself but fortunately my friend Spencer came over and pretended to be me, the interviewer me, so that I could answer myself. None of us, not me, Spencer, Spencer pretending to me or the other way around uttered the words 'Willy Wonka' but they did somehow end up being in the title of the interview. You can read it here if you can be bothered...
Interview 5 million and 1 - ABC Radio National
I am terribly fond of the Olympia Milkbar on Parramatta Rd but that alone is insufficient to convince me to go on the radio. I am petrified of going on the radio. Every single time I go slightly odd with fear on the walk there and nearly get run over or walk into large objects like buildings and public sculptures.
There are two reasons I recently agreed to risk being run over and head down to the ABC. The first was the radio man informing me that the 'V' in the middle of his email address was for his middle name, Vince. The second reason was that he sounded kind and slightly amused rather than annoyed by my phone call demanding to know if this was in fact a strange prank.
I had planned to say all sorts of things about the importance of the geography of sound, my larger project of map making through public memory and the texture of this city. Instead I blurted my usual mixture of incomprehensible prattle interspersed with statements surprising to both the interviewer and myself which is one of the reasons I have decided to become sophisticated next year but more of that later.
The very best part of the interview was when Radio Man Middle Name of Vince first sat me down in one of those tiny rooms full of strange electrical equipment. He produced several pieces of paper on which he had written responses to my ponderings about why he wanted to interview me. I can now reliably inform you that he is not secretly in love with Vanessa Berry, he does not want to yell in my face, bring back the dinosaurs and is not the illegitimate love child of Milkbar Man. Nor had he heard about my imaginary submarine but he does now want to blow it up with imaginary battle ships.
It is a great shame that he does not live in Newtown. I have the feeling that if he was walking down King St I would not only nod hello but also raise a hand and wave. It is probably best if I did not attempt to speak with him because who the hell knows what is likely to come out of my mouth, it could be anything from 'Happy Christmas' to 'Your shoes are peculiar why are you wearing them?' or even worse, of course it wouldn't be on purpose but not everybody understands that.
Despite my input I will encourage everybody to listen to the Radio National documentary about the Olympia Milkbar when it goes to air next year. You never know, they might edit me out entirely.
* I am only solving the mystery of why I was interviewed and not the mystery of why I interviewed other people. It is safe to assume I interviewed people when an editor told me to and not for any other reason, except maybe the Quaoub interview. I think I had a small urge to try and share his good music with the world. I've done my part, the rest is up to him really. Can't make people listen to a record that doesn't exist yet.
Interview 1 - Cleo Magazine
At the time I agreed to this interview it seemed too ridiculous to be true. I am not a fan of this kind of magazine, broader cultural harms and that sort of thing, but in this instance I knew the journalist to be a good one, a woman of integrity with genuine journalistic intent and also the topic was about being independent and happy despite being terribly old. Too weird a chance to pass up, almost like being an anti-girl-mag topic. Take them down from the inside. I think it was the April one, can't really remember.
Interviews 2 - 5 million - Newspapers, Blogs, Websites & Radio
These interviews were all about PAN magazine. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a magazine editor will subject themselves to multiple interviews for the good of the magazine.
It did feel a tad awkward when I had to interview myself but fortunately my friend Spencer came over and pretended to be me, the interviewer me, so that I could answer myself. None of us, not me, Spencer, Spencer pretending to me or the other way around uttered the words 'Willy Wonka' but they did somehow end up being in the title of the interview. You can read it here if you can be bothered...
Interview 5 million and 1 - ABC Radio National
I am terribly fond of the Olympia Milkbar on Parramatta Rd but that alone is insufficient to convince me to go on the radio. I am petrified of going on the radio. Every single time I go slightly odd with fear on the walk there and nearly get run over or walk into large objects like buildings and public sculptures.
There are two reasons I recently agreed to risk being run over and head down to the ABC. The first was the radio man informing me that the 'V' in the middle of his email address was for his middle name, Vince. The second reason was that he sounded kind and slightly amused rather than annoyed by my phone call demanding to know if this was in fact a strange prank.
I had planned to say all sorts of things about the importance of the geography of sound, my larger project of map making through public memory and the texture of this city. Instead I blurted my usual mixture of incomprehensible prattle interspersed with statements surprising to both the interviewer and myself which is one of the reasons I have decided to become sophisticated next year but more of that later.
The very best part of the interview was when Radio Man Middle Name of Vince first sat me down in one of those tiny rooms full of strange electrical equipment. He produced several pieces of paper on which he had written responses to my ponderings about why he wanted to interview me. I can now reliably inform you that he is not secretly in love with Vanessa Berry, he does not want to yell in my face, bring back the dinosaurs and is not the illegitimate love child of Milkbar Man. Nor had he heard about my imaginary submarine but he does now want to blow it up with imaginary battle ships.
It is a great shame that he does not live in Newtown. I have the feeling that if he was walking down King St I would not only nod hello but also raise a hand and wave. It is probably best if I did not attempt to speak with him because who the hell knows what is likely to come out of my mouth, it could be anything from 'Happy Christmas' to 'Your shoes are peculiar why are you wearing them?' or even worse, of course it wouldn't be on purpose but not everybody understands that.
Despite my input I will encourage everybody to listen to the Radio National documentary about the Olympia Milkbar when it goes to air next year. You never know, they might edit me out entirely.
* I am only solving the mystery of why I was interviewed and not the mystery of why I interviewed other people. It is safe to assume I interviewed people when an editor told me to and not for any other reason, except maybe the Quaoub interview. I think I had a small urge to try and share his good music with the world. I've done my part, the rest is up to him really. Can't make people listen to a record that doesn't exist yet.
SLAMMATOWN - Up your charts
There’s a new man soaring up my Tex Perkins chart. His name isBen Corbett from Gentle Ben and His Sensitive Side and the infamous Six Ft Hick. Watch out Tex Perkins Gentle Ben is coming up fast but just to be clear I’m not sure there’s anything gentle about this man at all.
Continue reading on RHUM...
I knew it
I knew this blog would come in handy one day. I am currently researching myself or more specifically things I have thought about the Olympia Milkbar using the handy dandy search function. My thoughts about the Olympia Milkbar have been wildly inadequate but at least I can read them.
Tomorrow I have to go to the ABC to be interviewed about the Olympia. I am wondering why the ABC man wants to interview me of all people. I suppose it is because I have mentioned it a few times and maybe not everybody does, either that or one of these possible reasons;
- he wants to bring back the dinosaurs and has heard about my plan to do it first so he has concocted an elaborate story in order to meet and murder me,
- he does not like my writing and wants to yell that at my face,
- he is secretly in love with Vanessa Berry and is hoping I can perform the necessary introductions,
- he is the illegitimate love child of Olympia Milkbar Man and wants to talk to people who have met his father,
- he has heard about my imaginary submarine and wants to have a go at sinking it with his imaginary fleet of battleships.
Any one of the above reasons could be the mysterious truth. Only time will tell.
Tomorrow I have to go to the ABC to be interviewed about the Olympia. I am wondering why the ABC man wants to interview me of all people. I suppose it is because I have mentioned it a few times and maybe not everybody does, either that or one of these possible reasons;
- he wants to bring back the dinosaurs and has heard about my plan to do it first so he has concocted an elaborate story in order to meet and murder me,
- he does not like my writing and wants to yell that at my face,
- he is secretly in love with Vanessa Berry and is hoping I can perform the necessary introductions,
- he is the illegitimate love child of Olympia Milkbar Man and wants to talk to people who have met his father,
- he has heard about my imaginary submarine and wants to have a go at sinking it with his imaginary fleet of battleships.
Any one of the above reasons could be the mysterious truth. Only time will tell.
SLAMMATOWN - So you want to be a temporary contemporary bohemian?
SLAMMATOWN REGULATORY DEPT.
This week’s SLAMMATOWN features the style of document formatting favoured by the Baltimore Police Dept.
Ever wanted to become a temporary contemporary bohemian? Well now you can. Follow these six easy steps and just like that you're in.
1. DOUBLE BAG IT
You know what I’m talking about. Those hideously drunk yet intriguingly beautiful boys are riddled with diseases, all kinds. If they don’t ever wash their jeans then how much attention do you think they’re paying to what’s running around in their bloodstream? Double bag it ladies, double bag it.
Stick with the union?
It was interesting to note that the Australian Society of Authors was not a signatory on the recent open letter to Julia Gillard re Julian Assange.
If I'm wrong I'm happy to be corrected but if in fact the ASA was not a signatory then I want to know why the fuck not.
In the past the ASA has been the go to place for help, just like a union, but these days I'm not sure they're really doing anything at all over there apart from offering mentorships and professional development courses. This is not the fault of the hard working staff who spend their days grinding out office tasks just like most everyone else.
Click here to read the admirable open letter...
If I'm wrong I'm happy to be corrected but if in fact the ASA was not a signatory then I want to know why the fuck not.
In the past the ASA has been the go to place for help, just like a union, but these days I'm not sure they're really doing anything at all over there apart from offering mentorships and professional development courses. This is not the fault of the hard working staff who spend their days grinding out office tasks just like most everyone else.
Click here to read the admirable open letter...
After The Fall
After The Fall we all stood about in the laneway and on the street being vaguely herded about like kittens. I hate that part of things, when it's clear that there are at least a few people who want to sit down together and have a drink or two but nobody knows where to go. It was a little like that last night, until Abdullah's friend Manometer declared that he owned a bar. He said it wasn't open on a Tuesday night but he'd open up just for us.
The bar was high on a hill, at the top of a skyscraper. I suppose it was a penthouse though I am unsure if that term is strictly residential. A gaggle of us walked seven city blocks from The Metro down through China Town and towards the water. Spencer became temporarily lost after he stopped to photograph Christmas lights but in the end all of us crammed into one of those incredibly fast marble-clad lifts. I clutched the rail as we soared skywards, I don't trust those infernal stair-replacement machines. There's something not quite right about the whole idea.
Once we were inside it soon became clear that we were in for one hell of an evening. Free drinks, a cavernous empty bar, illegal indoor smoking of cigarettes and no one to enforce the wearing of shoes. If there's one thing that makes me happy it's taking off my shoes in a bar with free drinks.
Towards the end of the evening, after Spencer and I admirably demonstrated the full range of our best dance moves, I invented a new dance called The Soggy Noodle, a mystery began to develop. Unfortunately the mystery remains unsolved, much like my headache and my sincere fatigue.
In other news, there is nothing to report, unless you count the time I got my head stuck in a bucket of water for ten seconds, Insensible Pie Day on The Peach Deck, the ongoing mystery of the sunflower seed thief and my newfound desire to become a Baltimore gangsta.
The bar was high on a hill, at the top of a skyscraper. I suppose it was a penthouse though I am unsure if that term is strictly residential. A gaggle of us walked seven city blocks from The Metro down through China Town and towards the water. Spencer became temporarily lost after he stopped to photograph Christmas lights but in the end all of us crammed into one of those incredibly fast marble-clad lifts. I clutched the rail as we soared skywards, I don't trust those infernal stair-replacement machines. There's something not quite right about the whole idea.
Once we were inside it soon became clear that we were in for one hell of an evening. Free drinks, a cavernous empty bar, illegal indoor smoking of cigarettes and no one to enforce the wearing of shoes. If there's one thing that makes me happy it's taking off my shoes in a bar with free drinks.
Towards the end of the evening, after Spencer and I admirably demonstrated the full range of our best dance moves, I invented a new dance called The Soggy Noodle, a mystery began to develop. Unfortunately the mystery remains unsolved, much like my headache and my sincere fatigue.
In other news, there is nothing to report, unless you count the time I got my head stuck in a bucket of water for ten seconds, Insensible Pie Day on The Peach Deck, the ongoing mystery of the sunflower seed thief and my newfound desire to become a Baltimore gangsta.
Fall
Continue reading on RHUM...
Sings pretty good for a dead man
The Holy Soul have recorded a live album with him thanks to Repressed Records.
You should read my review on RHUM.
Get your hand off my imaginary box
I just had an almost argument with a colleague from RHUM, whom I've never met, on Fspazbook. He was getting all gloaty about a positive review I wrote about an album. He even put in a 'told you so'. Naturally I told him to fuck off and then he appeared to genuinely engage and try to resolve the issue, which mysteriously annoyed me further.
I'm trying to pinpoint the exact reason why I became immediately and completely infuriated with him. I think the best way to proceed might be to write a little list.
A little list:
- He did not at any point either before or during the reviewing process tell me that I would like the album.
- I did not at any point either before or during the reviewing process indicate that I did not like the album.
- I actually requested the album to review from a list of albums that desperately need reviewing due to time constraints.
- I began to suspect that the man in question had made a decision about the kinds of things I did and did not like, which is stupid and also impossible as nobody knows what I do and don't like.
- I had just walked from The Lansdowne to The Peach and was overly warm.
- My left ankle hurts.
- I began to suspect the man in question had built an imaginary box around my presumed tastes.
- I began to imagine the box was large, made of reinforced glass and visible to a large number of strangers.
- The box began to suffocate me.
- I hate the imaginary box.
- I forgot to buy cat food and will need to defrost a sausage to feed the cat something for breakfast.
- I like to say 'fuck off' to people I do not know and sometimes to people I do know, like Spencer or a distant relative.
It might be best to admit that sometimes a list is not helpful or even interesting.
The argument seems to have been resolved. The man in question apologised despite being baffled, I made a peace offering of 'I Hate You' by The Monks, because it is a good song. 'Bla Bla Bla' by Toots and the Maytals was posted on my Fspazbook wall in return. It was a strange encounter but there is a lesson to be drawn from this, I hope. Let me know if you figure out what it is.
I'm trying to pinpoint the exact reason why I became immediately and completely infuriated with him. I think the best way to proceed might be to write a little list.
A little list:
- He did not at any point either before or during the reviewing process tell me that I would like the album.
- I did not at any point either before or during the reviewing process indicate that I did not like the album.
- I actually requested the album to review from a list of albums that desperately need reviewing due to time constraints.
- I began to suspect that the man in question had made a decision about the kinds of things I did and did not like, which is stupid and also impossible as nobody knows what I do and don't like.
- I had just walked from The Lansdowne to The Peach and was overly warm.
- My left ankle hurts.
- I began to suspect the man in question had built an imaginary box around my presumed tastes.
- I began to imagine the box was large, made of reinforced glass and visible to a large number of strangers.
- The box began to suffocate me.
- I hate the imaginary box.
- I forgot to buy cat food and will need to defrost a sausage to feed the cat something for breakfast.
- I like to say 'fuck off' to people I do not know and sometimes to people I do know, like Spencer or a distant relative.
It might be best to admit that sometimes a list is not helpful or even interesting.
The argument seems to have been resolved. The man in question apologised despite being baffled, I made a peace offering of 'I Hate You' by The Monks, because it is a good song. 'Bla Bla Bla' by Toots and the Maytals was posted on my Fspazbook wall in return. It was a strange encounter but there is a lesson to be drawn from this, I hope. Let me know if you figure out what it is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)