No I have not gone mentally religious, it is the name of a band, the best band in the world ever. I declare it to be so but first let's talk about the nature of rock. It comes from within. That is all.
Anna's exhaustion, like a person who can't imagine the next step.
The dread weight of waiting in a tired state.
Sitting on a stool. the upstairs courtyard. the chocolate fountain. Explaining the flaneur as we rounded the corner of Glebe Point Rd onto Broadway. It was just outside the op shop that I believed it to be true.
Sudden look of horror on drunk British man's face when he looked into mine.
Spencer looks like a sudden Chris Isaak.
Arms raised, elbows bent, fists about head height. The catapulting man.
Petey-o. Chocolate was invented in Dapto in 1983. Sudden realisation that I am just there. Not adding value, I am the opposite of value adding.
Pink lemonade, clear lemonade, soy latte.
The rhythm of my existence. The crowd yelled out for more. This is a night in stop motion.
The best band in the world ever?
Yep.
I was gonna stay up late and write a review but I'm fucked and I don't mean literally, thankfully. I would have to kick any stinky man out, I want my nice room and my nice pillows all to myself. I was going to write a review right now but all I can think is this one line. The rhythm of my existence. It isn't even a very good line. I'll sleep on it.
I think that the elusive Benito Di Fonzo was there tonight but I can't be sure. I've never met him. He's everywhere except where I'm at. Will I ever get to meet Benito? This might be a challenge.
The best band in the world ever is called The Holy Soul.
I was gonna stay up late and write a review but I'm fucked and I don't mean literally, thankfully. I would have to kick any stinky man out, I want my nice room and my nice pillows all to myself. I was going to write a review right now but all I can think is this one line. The rhythm of my existence. It isn't even a very good line. I'll sleep on it.
I think that the elusive Benito Di Fonzo was there tonight but I can't be sure. I've never met him. He's everywhere except where I'm at. Will I ever get to meet Benito? This might be a challenge.
The best band in the world ever is called The Holy Soul.
Orinoco? Are you out there?
He was light and air, synchronised dust motes in real time on his skateboard. Fred Astaire in spray-on black jeans and a Rolling Stone t-shirt but my reverie was interrupted by the shocking fact that Grizelda has no idea what a womble is. Who doesn't know about The Wombles?
I think I'm in rondo form. I need a constant rotation of activity and feeling and I don't mean A B A B. I'm all over the alphabet with the need sometimes to be tacet in the aftermath of hemidemisemi. All I require is a conductor.
I think I'm in rondo form. I need a constant rotation of activity and feeling and I don't mean A B A B. I'm all over the alphabet with the need sometimes to be tacet in the aftermath of hemidemisemi. All I require is a conductor.
How did it get in there?
I have listerine whitening in my left eye. Nobody talk to me about anything right now or I might just have a Field Attack.
The listerine somehow got in my eye while I was swooshing it around in my mouth and washing the conditioner out of my hair. I thought I was being very clever and multi-tasking but no, it turned out the badness of constant partial attention follows you into the shower.
The listerine somehow got in my eye while I was swooshing it around in my mouth and washing the conditioner out of my hair. I thought I was being very clever and multi-tasking but no, it turned out the badness of constant partial attention follows you into the shower.
Trying to think with avocado will only lead to heatache unless you're just waiting for the train
The older man was holding his hands around an invisible accordion, his fingers straight, held together, slicing the air with downward thrusts. I moved closer, as close as I could without looking like I a crazy lady. He was singing, singing and talking to the young man next to him wearing a heavy backpack. I could barely hear the words but I could hear the singing. Mozart, it was most definitely Mozart. I was transported. His voice was ordinary, plain like noname weet-bix but across the platform I could see the rhythms he was weaving, pitch perfect in la, da, di's. I have never heard anything like it.
His legs were slightly apart, chest open, arms swooping and stabbing, his eyes were bright and stern, staring straight into the eyes of the young man. They took turns repeating phrases, changing intonation and varying dynamics.
I stepped closer and closer, leaning in towards them. It was centrifugal. I could have fallen into the net of their music but instead I boarded the train.
His legs were slightly apart, chest open, arms swooping and stabbing, his eyes were bright and stern, staring straight into the eyes of the young man. They took turns repeating phrases, changing intonation and varying dynamics.
I stepped closer and closer, leaning in towards them. It was centrifugal. I could have fallen into the net of their music but instead I boarded the train.
I am getting very excited
About:
The alpaca in Melbourne - Gemma has handy updates on the alpaca's movements
Wroving Writers
Cupcakes
Being alive
The alpaca in Melbourne - Gemma has handy updates on the alpaca's movements
Wroving Writers
Cupcakes
Being alive
It has been several years now
Since I originally thought that pine green was due for a decent run. I understand that there was a brief moment of wall colours, wallpapers and cushions being pine green but that is not nearly enough. Bring back the pine green I say. Bring it back.
In a strange twist of events I was really looking forward to coming to the office today and being busy and in company but I am the only one here. I am spending my lunch break staring at photos of Tim Rogers, writing this blog post and answering the telephone. Could be worse.
I am very excited about the new enterprise I am undertaking in partnership with the excellent Gemma. We are going to start an organised hobby under the name of Wroving Writers. We are going to attend things and write about them. This is not journalism you understand but something quite different. You can think of us as portrait painters of an occasion or moment using words instead of the more traditional oil paints. We will flex our writerly muscles and produce pieces that are as excellent as they are unique. We both have some formal education in the whole writing/editing area so theoretically that combined with our avid interest in writing about everything from avocado on toast to the stretchiness of our socks will stand us in good stead.
I intend to continue my experimenting on Ron & Rita as they are handily doing things that lend themselves to the Wroving Writer concept. They might object but until that happens I declare them my official guinea pigs. Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh dear best go and make a cup of tea its time to get back to work.
In a strange twist of events I was really looking forward to coming to the office today and being busy and in company but I am the only one here. I am spending my lunch break staring at photos of Tim Rogers, writing this blog post and answering the telephone. Could be worse.
I am very excited about the new enterprise I am undertaking in partnership with the excellent Gemma. We are going to start an organised hobby under the name of Wroving Writers. We are going to attend things and write about them. This is not journalism you understand but something quite different. You can think of us as portrait painters of an occasion or moment using words instead of the more traditional oil paints. We will flex our writerly muscles and produce pieces that are as excellent as they are unique. We both have some formal education in the whole writing/editing area so theoretically that combined with our avid interest in writing about everything from avocado on toast to the stretchiness of our socks will stand us in good stead.
I intend to continue my experimenting on Ron & Rita as they are handily doing things that lend themselves to the Wroving Writer concept. They might object but until that happens I declare them my official guinea pigs. Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh dear best go and make a cup of tea its time to get back to work.
Update on life and death
It looks like Team Life is doing rather well. I am a little surprised, but there is still five months left to tally results. Team Death might make a valiant comeback.
I also felt like crying
Lessons learned this weekend?
Securely knot your tie before repeated rolling in lavender bushes, you can't pick a lock with tweezers if there is no lock because the door handle fell off, plastic cheese is still cheese with dairy in it, berets the exact same colour as your hair are rather fetching when worn jauntily.
Oh. I am a dickhead. Who is the most inappropriate person to phone and confess all things imbibed whilst at party? Elliot. He said, You are a dickhead but I have always known that you were a dickhead and it hasn't stopped me liking you yet. He has been rather forthcoming with the I like yous (how do I make that plural, blah head stupid) lately which I am finding odd but not unpleasant. Oh good lord now I am getting all Elizabeth Bennett, that is never a good sign. But this is about me and not Elliot.
I had a marvellous time at the party. It was in fact a marvellous party. I've been to a marvellous party, we played a wonderful game: Maureen disappeared and came back in a beard and we all had to guess her name. Cecil arrived wearing armour, some shells and a black feather boa. Poor Millicent wore a surrealist comb made of bits of mosaic from St Peter's in Rome. Oh go on. Surely everybody loves The Divine Comedy? I can't wait until Neil Hannon is an aging rocker.
I did have something to say but it has escaped my head and gone whizzing off somewhere stupid like Paddington. I hate Paddington. There was a man on Australian Idol that looked like he was from Paddo and I thought Yucky. It is sometimes hard to hear when people are singing on Australian Idol because The Spatula sings along with the telly. I don't really mind this because she is an excellent singer, usually much better than the telly itself. If I was a man I would marry Myf Warhurst but then we would get a divorce quite soon afterwards which would be sad and of course disruptive for the family. Oh my cigarettes are in the kitchen and I am sitting in bed under the doona. Time for a mission.
Right, am back. Cat was yelling like banshee asking for second dinner but I am very mean and never give in to what is clearly an ambit sort of claim. Do you know I have never had a pedicure. I have suddenly begun to think of Elliot as my own personal minotaur, perhaps I should lock him in the Marrickville Metro.
I have not cleaned my teeth. Maybe I did earlier in the evening? Before dinner? I am not going to get up again. All teeth will fall out and I will have to start business operating from other side of glory hole. Disgusting! Will clean teeth twice in the morning. It is midnight and clearly I must try and go to sleep or will be zombie all day tomorrow. I wish I could press pause and have a lovely little type and then read some of my book and then get fifty million hours sleep before morning when I would have time to wander about and have two cups of tea and some toast before showering and dressing for the office. Instead I will do my usual one hour delay day in bed before racing around spending seven minutes getting ready for work and bolting out the door with only an avocado and no bread to put it on.
Securely knot your tie before repeated rolling in lavender bushes, you can't pick a lock with tweezers if there is no lock because the door handle fell off, plastic cheese is still cheese with dairy in it, berets the exact same colour as your hair are rather fetching when worn jauntily.
Oh. I am a dickhead. Who is the most inappropriate person to phone and confess all things imbibed whilst at party? Elliot. He said, You are a dickhead but I have always known that you were a dickhead and it hasn't stopped me liking you yet. He has been rather forthcoming with the I like yous (how do I make that plural, blah head stupid) lately which I am finding odd but not unpleasant. Oh good lord now I am getting all Elizabeth Bennett, that is never a good sign. But this is about me and not Elliot.
I had a marvellous time at the party. It was in fact a marvellous party. I've been to a marvellous party, we played a wonderful game: Maureen disappeared and came back in a beard and we all had to guess her name. Cecil arrived wearing armour, some shells and a black feather boa. Poor Millicent wore a surrealist comb made of bits of mosaic from St Peter's in Rome. Oh go on. Surely everybody loves The Divine Comedy? I can't wait until Neil Hannon is an aging rocker.
I did have something to say but it has escaped my head and gone whizzing off somewhere stupid like Paddington. I hate Paddington. There was a man on Australian Idol that looked like he was from Paddo and I thought Yucky. It is sometimes hard to hear when people are singing on Australian Idol because The Spatula sings along with the telly. I don't really mind this because she is an excellent singer, usually much better than the telly itself. If I was a man I would marry Myf Warhurst but then we would get a divorce quite soon afterwards which would be sad and of course disruptive for the family. Oh my cigarettes are in the kitchen and I am sitting in bed under the doona. Time for a mission.
Right, am back. Cat was yelling like banshee asking for second dinner but I am very mean and never give in to what is clearly an ambit sort of claim. Do you know I have never had a pedicure. I have suddenly begun to think of Elliot as my own personal minotaur, perhaps I should lock him in the Marrickville Metro.
I have not cleaned my teeth. Maybe I did earlier in the evening? Before dinner? I am not going to get up again. All teeth will fall out and I will have to start business operating from other side of glory hole. Disgusting! Will clean teeth twice in the morning. It is midnight and clearly I must try and go to sleep or will be zombie all day tomorrow. I wish I could press pause and have a lovely little type and then read some of my book and then get fifty million hours sleep before morning when I would have time to wander about and have two cups of tea and some toast before showering and dressing for the office. Instead I will do my usual one hour delay day in bed before racing around spending seven minutes getting ready for work and bolting out the door with only an avocado and no bread to put it on.
Hangover cure?
Obsession with aging rockers increasing as hangover worsens. Am living dead, pig definitely shat in head only light in blurry darkness is thought of ripping tie off aging rocker before diving in for rather vigorous, um, actually haven't got to part after riping tie off. Maybe entire fantasy is to just rip tie off aging rocker? That's odd.I saw one of the boys from the party in the supermarket on Enmore Rd, he squished past me as I was walking out the door with my shopping. I thought oh no, that's the one that I described as practicing aloof. I scared him by staring straight into his face and saying Hello Tom while he was still trying to work out if he recognised me or not. I didn't wait for his response, I had already turned my back and was walking down Enmore Rd by the time he said Hello. Ha! Take that Mr Aloof the knobtard.
Black blogdom update
I did not anticipate that that would happen. I think Frenchy the Fucktard took her blog down. I did not mean for that to happen. I did not want that to happen. Please do not stop doing what you do because I objected to what you said about me. You can say whatever you like about me and maybe I'll object maybe I won't but don't stop just cause of me.
Feck
Warcrime hangover. Meeting Spencer for coffee in less than half an hour but am wearing something can't leave house in. Must somehow dress and walk up street, will wear button up shirt as head too big to pass through neck hole of non button up shirt. Warcrime.
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