Need assistance of evil super genius
I'm keeping score. Starting yesterday I am going to keep a tally of days I am glad to be alive vs days I would rather not experience (a big thumbs up on the dodo's mode). What I need is an evil super genius to make me a button that I can just click, thus avoiding all troublesome bother with score keeping.
Death crash explosion time
Spencer laid out his spectacular death crash explosion time plans this evening. Today is his birthday, he has exactly one year to die at the age of 27 like all good rock stars should. His imagined death scene starts with him in driving around in a cadillac in a spacesuit wearing enormous sunglasses and smoking a cigarette and culminates in a car chase with his cadillac going over a cliff stuffed with explosives and fireworks witnessed by cheering crowds and watched on television by millions. The cadillac has pirate broadcasting technology that takes over all television and radio stations so the world can witness his spectacular end. Nice one Spencer.
Madam Squeeze on the other hand will end up an old Welsh man in a wheelchair who eats his final pastizzi in quiet content staring out over his valley before gently falling asleep never to wake again. I'm guessing she's going to need to save up for a sex change between now and old age.
Madam Squeeze on the other hand will end up an old Welsh man in a wheelchair who eats his final pastizzi in quiet content staring out over his valley before gently falling asleep never to wake again. I'm guessing she's going to need to save up for a sex change between now and old age.
With cat-like tread
Burgled! Again! This is the second Monday in a row that I have come to the office to discover some idiots have broken in over the weekend only this Monday morning I am the only one here and now I am unaccountably just a tiny bit scared. Its broad daylight and one or another of my colleagues is sure to arrive soon, hopefully. Meanwhile I am not touching anything the thieves might have touched and not going out for cigarettes in case the police arrive and bust me smoking.
Who's a fucktard?
Me. Der. That really goes without saying. Elliot managed to spend a night away from rehab, with me and now I'm a fucktard or possibly an emotard but most certainly some kind of tard. This morning he woke up before me and popped out to the kitchen and came back with cups of tea which was of course lovely. The whole thing was lovely from start to finish and this is why I'm now having problems.
He's too lovely. So lovely that when he goes away instead of spending the rest of the day thinking that was great I have a tendency to sit on the floor and notice how the air in my room seems thinner now. I have an overwhelming need to peer into the future and find out what happens. I'm done with patience and understanding. Is this man going to stay on his feet in this world? Is he going to walk out of rehab and down the street and bump into someone amazing and marry her? Am I going to end up crying, the wedding invitation in my hands?
What possible courses of action are there, cause I'm nothing if not a woman of action. I don't think there are any unless I can somehow hire a team of invisible people to.... To do what? Fast forward time to where he is living in a normal house and... and what? Oh for fuck's sake this is all getting highly irritating maybe I should just murder him and solve the whole situation once and for all. I could ask Creamboy for some tips on undetectable murdering techniques (this is because he is a Dr Creamboy and not because he is a murdering Creamboy). Or I could race down the street and grab any man and marry him and then Elliot would get my wedding invitation and then he would die of some sort of something and everything would be great. I could try and turn into a lesbian and then I could marry Gemma (if she was also a lesbian) and then Elliot would die and everything would be great. Or I could marry Jesus and get bad shoes and be a nun or I could go and live in Siberia and die slowly from parts of me freezing and then going black and squishy and squishing off. Or how about plan F? Yes. Hang on let me do that one.
Ok its done. I'm meeting Mr X in the pub tomorrow night, that ought to do it at least for a day or two.
He's too lovely. So lovely that when he goes away instead of spending the rest of the day thinking that was great I have a tendency to sit on the floor and notice how the air in my room seems thinner now. I have an overwhelming need to peer into the future and find out what happens. I'm done with patience and understanding. Is this man going to stay on his feet in this world? Is he going to walk out of rehab and down the street and bump into someone amazing and marry her? Am I going to end up crying, the wedding invitation in my hands?
What possible courses of action are there, cause I'm nothing if not a woman of action. I don't think there are any unless I can somehow hire a team of invisible people to.... To do what? Fast forward time to where he is living in a normal house and... and what? Oh for fuck's sake this is all getting highly irritating maybe I should just murder him and solve the whole situation once and for all. I could ask Creamboy for some tips on undetectable murdering techniques (this is because he is a Dr Creamboy and not because he is a murdering Creamboy). Or I could race down the street and grab any man and marry him and then Elliot would get my wedding invitation and then he would die of some sort of something and everything would be great. I could try and turn into a lesbian and then I could marry Gemma (if she was also a lesbian) and then Elliot would die and everything would be great. Or I could marry Jesus and get bad shoes and be a nun or I could go and live in Siberia and die slowly from parts of me freezing and then going black and squishy and squishing off. Or how about plan F? Yes. Hang on let me do that one.
Ok its done. I'm meeting Mr X in the pub tomorrow night, that ought to do it at least for a day or two.
Newtown, oh how I love you
Walking to Newtown station to meet Creamboy I ran into Mr X. He asked me where I was going. I told him to get some sorbet, he said just come to the pub and kerplunk. That was the final straw being pulled out and my marbles rolling around on Enmore Rd right outside the Starr-Bowkett Co-op. This weekend I have been inundated with invitations and offers of kindness and company, secret imaginings have been popping up real as the caterpillars on my lemon tree. Real as Mr X standing in front of me and smoking one of my cigarettes. I reluctantly left Mr X and headed for the station, I cranked the volume on my mp3 player and found a moment of rhythm inside The Who as I crossed the road. Creamboy was there and waiting. He wasn't wearing any music, he was wearing a tie.
We walked and it was not awkward, in his presence I felt firmly my own sense of self and didn't waver or wait for direction. He pauses at the edge of crowds, he waits while people go through doors, he keeps his hands still and his knees together but his mind is looping mine every second heartbeat. This is a man with a head full of everything.
There was no fig sorbet so I settled for blueberry, Creamboy offered a taste of his lychee and for the first time I liked it. He asks questions this Creamboy, people don't usually ask me questions. People usually lie back in wait for the all dancing Dale entertainment conversation that costs them nothing. They walk away laughing and satisfied while I slip down in my chair and wonder at their lack of sense and purpose. Creamboy was all curiousity and direct questions. He is a sit forward and pay attention conversationalist, he is the opposite of vacuous, he navigates thought like a reef pilot.
All evening there was a pervasive lightness. There being no need to simplify, justify or seduce freedom opened in unexpected places and I sat on a low round stool squashed into the corner of Madam Fling Flong's drinking a martini and merrily playing Connect 4. There were crowds and I fell into them childlike and happy in the bustle. We ate burritos in Guzman Y Gomez at the long communal table sharing a can of vile pineapple drink, we wandered down King St and perused the wares in a sex shop. We continued down King St talking of movies and nothing and everything. I stopped on the corner of King St and Brown to show him a poem inspired by that corner. He read it aloud without a hint of self consciousness. He showed me the book he is reading and I showed him mine. He described himself as charmless but I found him utterly charming. He has a clumsy grace and freewheeling confidence. He twirled twice in the Hopetoun saying 'I like The Jackson Five' while Spencer's band were bumping in.
Thank you Creamboy for travelling all the way in from The Riff to The Town. Thank you for your conversation and willingness to walk the streets of Newtown as I do. Thank you for your questions and answers, thank you for being both silly and earnest and letting me have a go at your stethoscope.
I think I might like to have another go at talking to Creamboy, I think its my turn to ask questions but of course Creamboy might have an entirely different opinion.
We walked and it was not awkward, in his presence I felt firmly my own sense of self and didn't waver or wait for direction. He pauses at the edge of crowds, he waits while people go through doors, he keeps his hands still and his knees together but his mind is looping mine every second heartbeat. This is a man with a head full of everything.
There was no fig sorbet so I settled for blueberry, Creamboy offered a taste of his lychee and for the first time I liked it. He asks questions this Creamboy, people don't usually ask me questions. People usually lie back in wait for the all dancing Dale entertainment conversation that costs them nothing. They walk away laughing and satisfied while I slip down in my chair and wonder at their lack of sense and purpose. Creamboy was all curiousity and direct questions. He is a sit forward and pay attention conversationalist, he is the opposite of vacuous, he navigates thought like a reef pilot.
All evening there was a pervasive lightness. There being no need to simplify, justify or seduce freedom opened in unexpected places and I sat on a low round stool squashed into the corner of Madam Fling Flong's drinking a martini and merrily playing Connect 4. There were crowds and I fell into them childlike and happy in the bustle. We ate burritos in Guzman Y Gomez at the long communal table sharing a can of vile pineapple drink, we wandered down King St and perused the wares in a sex shop. We continued down King St talking of movies and nothing and everything. I stopped on the corner of King St and Brown to show him a poem inspired by that corner. He read it aloud without a hint of self consciousness. He showed me the book he is reading and I showed him mine. He described himself as charmless but I found him utterly charming. He has a clumsy grace and freewheeling confidence. He twirled twice in the Hopetoun saying 'I like The Jackson Five' while Spencer's band were bumping in.
Thank you Creamboy for travelling all the way in from The Riff to The Town. Thank you for your conversation and willingness to walk the streets of Newtown as I do. Thank you for your questions and answers, thank you for being both silly and earnest and letting me have a go at your stethoscope.
I think I might like to have another go at talking to Creamboy, I think its my turn to ask questions but of course Creamboy might have an entirely different opinion.
While you were sleeping
I painted my toenails electric blue and tap danced on top of my mattress. I roamed the hallway seven times then pressed my face against the front door to check the world was still there. I rolled a cigarette, smoked it through a mouthful of pirate chocolate and wondered what I would say if you were here right now. I might say Don't turn off the light, don't cover yourself in blankets, don't push away that hollow place. I like to sit here in silent wonder at the crossed wires of my imagination. It is a necessary torture I might say with a sweeping hand and a downward glance. But all of you are sleeping while I sit and dance and paint so I have pulled out the stops of imagining and all of it is just for me.
Woo hoo! Good lord that's a terrible photo
Bring it on. Tonight! and you have to imagine I am saying tonight just like those metal dudes who kind of scream it. Let's try that again. Tonight! I had a fabulous time with Creamboy. We tripped the Newtown fantastic, we had sorbet (alas! no fig) ate burritos, sipped martinis and played connect four in Madam Fling Flong's then sauntered very casually up to the sex shop for some jovial perusing of things on offer. I pointed out the kind of vibrator I have, which was nice of me and Creamboy took a photo of me trying on a spiffy hat that came with some sort of taxi driving rubber outfit.
I like Creamboy's style, he has a way of asking direct and difficult questions. He has a way of walking around Newtown wearing a tie that doesn't make me cringe, this might be a rare skill. I want to talk to the Creamboy some more. He valiantly jumped in a cab with me as I headed over to the Hopetoun to catch a band but this I'm afraid is all I have the enthusiasm for writing this evening I am tipsy and tired and in need of a good wash.
Both popular and boring
I am both popular and boring today. This is an excellent combination and I hope to repeat it as often as possible. I have to admit I am a tiny bit excited about meeting up with Creamboy tomorrow evening. I'm just hoping I don't do anything too monumentally stupid or ridiculous. I am planning on having my sensible hat pulled firmly down around my ears. Now must dash am on a strict sleeping schedule.
Fire in the hole
The cat is slipping, she should be maintaining constant vigilance for we are at war but she is curled asleep on the mohair blanket. She may be paw shocked.
The mean cat once again breached our defences yesterday. There were no casualties but the cat herself fought valiantly paw to paw in the hallway while I covered her with steady water pistol fire from Grizelda's bedroom.
Morale is at an all time low and we are keeping the back door firmly shut against attack from the rear. 10:27 and as yet no sign of the mean cat this morning. I am beginning to fear the worst. I believe an alliance has been formed between the mean cat and the bad cat and its only a matter of time before we suffer the blow of a double attack.
We are running low on ammunition, the dams are at less than 50% and the trigger on the water spray bottle in the bathroom is starting to stick. I am arguing to send to the mountains for urgent reinforcements but The Spatula maintains that we can hold our ground without the devastating and reprehensible use of Horatio the Great Dane. It is my firm belief that he could lay a secure a perimeter by marking the fence line but the others are reluctant to agree to such a course of action. They do not believe that residual dog wee will prevent another attack. I am worried that Horatio might try and eat the cat but what choice do we have? Our situation is becoming desperate. I must maintain an appearance of strength, I must be resolute. The cat needs a show of leadership now more than ever.
Faster forwards future soldiers, the end is not yet in sight.
The mean cat once again breached our defences yesterday. There were no casualties but the cat herself fought valiantly paw to paw in the hallway while I covered her with steady water pistol fire from Grizelda's bedroom.
Morale is at an all time low and we are keeping the back door firmly shut against attack from the rear. 10:27 and as yet no sign of the mean cat this morning. I am beginning to fear the worst. I believe an alliance has been formed between the mean cat and the bad cat and its only a matter of time before we suffer the blow of a double attack.
We are running low on ammunition, the dams are at less than 50% and the trigger on the water spray bottle in the bathroom is starting to stick. I am arguing to send to the mountains for urgent reinforcements but The Spatula maintains that we can hold our ground without the devastating and reprehensible use of Horatio the Great Dane. It is my firm belief that he could lay a secure a perimeter by marking the fence line but the others are reluctant to agree to such a course of action. They do not believe that residual dog wee will prevent another attack. I am worried that Horatio might try and eat the cat but what choice do we have? Our situation is becoming desperate. I must maintain an appearance of strength, I must be resolute. The cat needs a show of leadership now more than ever.
Faster forwards future soldiers, the end is not yet in sight.
A big warm welcome for my friend the migraine
Actually I don't think I get migraines but this whatever it is doing a wonderful impression. The inside of my skull is electric blue with a crush force that is attempting to push my top teeth down and out of my head. I'm getting under the doona and I'm not coming out until it stops, I sure wish I'd changed the sheets earlier in the day like I thought I might.
There's a fraction too much pressure
Oh wait I'm mixing my songs up. Take the friction down. The best cure for the inability to write a book is to fly your kite. Everyone already knows this but first I need to shake off sleep like a dog.
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