i am a poor online friend
it was tempting to post that and nothing else but that would make this a cry for attention and not a proper piece of soul searching.
i don't write, not really, not like someone wholly dedicated to transcription of their intelligable minutia, even as i type this i keep flinching to navigate away or stop and pick up one of my many distractions. i write when called to, or challenged, or drunk (as is the case at the moment ;D ), or when finally feeling guilty enough about not doing anything for so long that a short flurry ensues.
my attention comes at a premium, and unfortuantely i am geared for the distraction of the psuedo-surface, those systems which appear to be complex and self directed, but on closer inspection are only superficially complex and essentially simple, for example, role playing video games. oh my lord are they compelling, even as they disappoint they compel.
so here are a few things that have occourred to me lately.
p.s.
dear martin, i quite like glasser, but it feels like there needs to be some kind of great darkness to be developed, i want horror, and malice and vitriol. the beats need complementary elements, not catergorically conflicting elements. the difference between bricolage and collage. the first song "Apply" sums up a few of my feelings; maybe it's the simple lack of reverb or delay on the drum lines, making them present, while the voice is both proximate and, antimoniously, trailing. but not in a way that i like. the drums are timeless though, sheer and intractable, mountains strutting like a brooklyn pimp.
p.s. II
my novel moves like a glacier, though as i surmount the task more things become clear, and as i read more my ideas increasingly gel with what comes before. i am feeling evermore ratified in my romance with the fictional past i have created for australia. audacity is a fine refuge.
p.s. III
i make a fucking killer sangria, god damn my palette is trustworthy
-: recipe :-
1 bottle of De Bortolli Lambrusco (the cheap stuff)
4 nips of a reasonable vodka
300ml or Schweppes Agrum Mineral Water (I used White Grape and Passionfruit flavour)
Juice of 1 Lime, 1 Orange, pulp of 2 passionfruit (no pits)
Chopped pieces of 1 Lime and 1 Blood Orange
Torn and squeezed leaves of mint to taste.
Mix all ingredients and pour over ice in the glasses, serve to frazzled cafe employee's after a cunt-shitfuck-arseballs of a day, then, after drinking 2 glasses, lose 15 dollars out of your drunk arse pocket and luck finding both notes even though they got blown across the road, rejoice in the little victories all the way home.
p.s. III
the points of parallel between my surrounding persons in newcastle and melbourne are piercing and a little scary, name these people:
1 the slightly effeminate but by no means 'out and proud' gay boy who is quite interested in fashion and a competantly incompetant fellow co-worker.
2 the older earth mother womyn, who, after an abusive (sexually and mentally) relationship, is leaning on the stable-ish people around them, while maintaining a reclusive spiritual and creative world.
3 The mid to late 20's atheist with a capital A, who has a code of valour and heavy handed small town patriarchal upbringing which simultaneously fosters his strong sense identity,(mostly expressed through shit stirring and appeallation to some masculine archaetypes while subverting others) and hinders his growth (especially where matters concerning womyn-folk and political centralism are concerned, though he would strenuously deny this, of course).
In the first two cases the names of the people concerned ARE EXACTLY THE SAME. the last is different, by the grace of some agnostic motherwit.
p.s. IV
I graduate some time around the end of April/start of May, bitches I'll be all up in your Newcastle grill for a party, and to wear a fabulous frock.
ummmm,
p.s. V
I really do suck at this whole long distance thing so far, but once again i'm swearing of video games for a time, it really helps me to have boundaries so i think putting a few in place for a while will be remedial.
thank you for you thoughts and love, and for shaping me with your feather tip touches, you are all magnificent.
i don't write, not really, not like someone wholly dedicated to transcription of their intelligable minutia, even as i type this i keep flinching to navigate away or stop and pick up one of my many distractions. i write when called to, or challenged, or drunk (as is the case at the moment ;D ), or when finally feeling guilty enough about not doing anything for so long that a short flurry ensues.
my attention comes at a premium, and unfortuantely i am geared for the distraction of the psuedo-surface, those systems which appear to be complex and self directed, but on closer inspection are only superficially complex and essentially simple, for example, role playing video games. oh my lord are they compelling, even as they disappoint they compel.
so here are a few things that have occourred to me lately.
p.s.
dear martin, i quite like glasser, but it feels like there needs to be some kind of great darkness to be developed, i want horror, and malice and vitriol. the beats need complementary elements, not catergorically conflicting elements. the difference between bricolage and collage. the first song "Apply" sums up a few of my feelings; maybe it's the simple lack of reverb or delay on the drum lines, making them present, while the voice is both proximate and, antimoniously, trailing. but not in a way that i like. the drums are timeless though, sheer and intractable, mountains strutting like a brooklyn pimp.
p.s. II
my novel moves like a glacier, though as i surmount the task more things become clear, and as i read more my ideas increasingly gel with what comes before. i am feeling evermore ratified in my romance with the fictional past i have created for australia. audacity is a fine refuge.
p.s. III
i make a fucking killer sangria, god damn my palette is trustworthy
-: recipe :-
1 bottle of De Bortolli Lambrusco (the cheap stuff)
4 nips of a reasonable vodka
300ml or Schweppes Agrum Mineral Water (I used White Grape and Passionfruit flavour)
Juice of 1 Lime, 1 Orange, pulp of 2 passionfruit (no pits)
Chopped pieces of 1 Lime and 1 Blood Orange
Torn and squeezed leaves of mint to taste.
Mix all ingredients and pour over ice in the glasses, serve to frazzled cafe employee's after a cunt-shitfuck-arseballs of a day, then, after drinking 2 glasses, lose 15 dollars out of your drunk arse pocket and luck finding both notes even though they got blown across the road, rejoice in the little victories all the way home.
p.s. III
the points of parallel between my surrounding persons in newcastle and melbourne are piercing and a little scary, name these people:
1 the slightly effeminate but by no means 'out and proud' gay boy who is quite interested in fashion and a competantly incompetant fellow co-worker.
2 the older earth mother womyn, who, after an abusive (sexually and mentally) relationship, is leaning on the stable-ish people around them, while maintaining a reclusive spiritual and creative world.
3 The mid to late 20's atheist with a capital A, who has a code of valour and heavy handed small town patriarchal upbringing which simultaneously fosters his strong sense identity,(mostly expressed through shit stirring and appeallation to some masculine archaetypes while subverting others) and hinders his growth (especially where matters concerning womyn-folk and political centralism are concerned, though he would strenuously deny this, of course).
In the first two cases the names of the people concerned ARE EXACTLY THE SAME. the last is different, by the grace of some agnostic motherwit.
p.s. IV
I graduate some time around the end of April/start of May, bitches I'll be all up in your Newcastle grill for a party, and to wear a fabulous frock.
ummmm,
p.s. V
I really do suck at this whole long distance thing so far, but once again i'm swearing of video games for a time, it really helps me to have boundaries so i think putting a few in place for a while will be remedial.
thank you for you thoughts and love, and for shaping me with your feather tip touches, you are all magnificent.
Labels: fucking labels, labels are like so passe
3 Comments:
Okay, first of all: it was the labels that broke me.
I've been walking around the town, and somebody has written "AM" everywhere. I see it every day, and it means you each time. I keep waiting for it to mean "Amplitude Modulation" or "Ante Meridiem" or even "Alyssa Milano" (now there's a name you didn't think would ever appear on your blog) but instead it keeps meaning you.
They say projection is the response to an ambiguous stimulus. I am projecting your name around, I suppose, some stupid batsignal.
I took a photograph of it here.
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I can't stop playing "Apply" and "Home" from Glasser. The drums and marimbas won't let me go. I am ambivalent about her voice - as I was in the 90s with Sinead O'Connor - but for now, she calls and my bones respond.
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Sangria. YES! A sophisticated and refreshing drink. Even if you use the word "arseballs" - which you did - I think it's still a sophisticated drink. I'll take one carafe please!
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You don't suck at this at all. How the hell is it supposed to go? Lines diverge, or cross over, or run parallel, and nothing is ever equal. Not ever.
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Novel moving like a glacier? YES! YES to mountain sized rivers of ice and rock that carve whole landscapes in their wake. Unstoppable forces should move slowly - for the safety of all!
___________________________
You're not a bad online friend, you're just a hoarder of ideas like me.
Ps: finally getting to know Aleksi again. He's thin and a little starved of affection, but he's okay.
Uh... really?
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