Friday, February 26, 2010

Little Room

Cement, wine and ear shattering madness. All concept of time shielded by a modest roller door, sometimes sneaking in through vibrations in the floor. Dancing till the blisters on your feet render movement impossible. Lying on the cool and dirty ground only to watch yourself relived in those cavorting above you.

Take me back to the little room, to the sweaty faces of friends and the ash flying through the air, to these moments of bliss.

I'm bound to pack it up

...and move here.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Monday, February 22, 2010

A lovely story on a monday morning.

"True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked"
Erich Segal.

Isn't that what we're all listening for at 4am on a Sunday morning? Quietly.

I see through your Monday Caution.

It's always a 77

Sunday, February 21, 2010


Just today. I promise.

Saturday, February 20, 2010


I am at my work desk, surrounded by scraps of paper splattered with words that aren't stringing together as melodically as they were last night. And when they do run together, they are seemlessly rancid and unpublishable.

Trying to piece together what it was, exactly, that had us in stitches over $5 coronas seems impossible to do on paper. But in bursts of memory, I have been laughing out loud to myself since 7.15am.

To do it all again.
And again.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Frank Zappa

The essence of Christianity is told to us in the Garden of Eden history. The fruit that was forbidden was on the Tree of Knowledge. The subtext is, All the suffering you have is because you wanted to find out what was going on. You could be in the Garden of Eden if you had just kept your fucking mouth shut and hadn't asked any questions.

Here comes your man

"so you came together?"
"no, never."


"Here I am...and fuck you if you don't understand me"
- Stillwater

"I wanna hold your hand"
- The Beatles

"When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace"
- Jimi Hendrix

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Compared to Paris?

I lied.
I should have said "nothing"

It's been raining so much, my house flooded.

Monday, February 15, 2010

My wish is to remain your muse

If only I were more like Patty Boyd.

I'm still going to grow my hair.

Love is not perfect. It sustains the world as it is, with all it's foibles.
I hope now doesn't become black and white. Until of course, it's clear and sunny.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

The disenchanted leopard

"The patriarch of an Alaskan hoary marmot colony spends his day gallivanting around the slopes in search of excitement, usually of a sexual nature. A zebra is white with black stripes and a cheetah can never retract its claws. Giant anteaters are solitary far roaming creatures that run away on the sight of another while their tongues are so long they are attached to their sternums. Lemurs and hyenas run a matriarchal society that rights the female priority in feeding, grooming and sleeping sites. 'Lemur' is Latin for ghost and their tails visually communicate with other prosimians."

All charcoal on paper, stunning work by Louisa Jenkinson

Friday, February 12, 2010

Dressed so demurely...

There will be rocks, rolls and ruckus's in no time. Really in less time than I realised.
When you get home we can run around with a pretty passing care. If you dont mind, because I will anyway and drag you in a cart behind mophead and I.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

A Room of One's Own - Virginia Woolf

"Do what she will a woman cannot find in them that fountain of perpetual life which the critics assure her is there. It is not only that they celebrate male virtues, enforce male values and describe the world of men; it is that the emotion with which these books are permeated is to a woman incomprehensible...
The fact is that neither Mr Galsworthy nor Mr Kipling has a spark of the woman in him. Thus all their qualities seem to a woman, if one may generalise, crude and immature. They lack suggestive power...
it is fatal to be a man or woman pure and simple...It is fatal for a woman to lay the least stress on any gievance; to plead even with justice any cause...And fatal is no figure of speech; for anything written with that conscious bias is doomed to death. It ceases to be fertilized...
Some collaboration has to take place in the mind between the woman and the man before the art of creation can be accomplished. Some marriage of opposites has to be consummated...There must be freedom and there must be peace."

"he no longer hums under his breath, "There has fallen a splendid tear from the passion-flower at the gate", when Pheobe crosses the beach, and she no longer replies, "My heart is like a singing bird whose nest is in a water'd shoot".

Tuesday, February 9, 2010


I flicked over to a documentary today and caught a snippet of vultures feeding on a carcass. Several grotesque heads sitting upon long disheveled necks in the foreground, diving in and out of frame as they tear off more of the flesh, while an infinite amount circle in the sky behind them. Completely stunning, amazing really, strange to say I know but it looked like a painting.
It reminded me of the work of Shelley Reed. I don't know why I am drawn to these kind of broody animal scapes, it seems otherworldly with an impending sense of doom.

Evil really, like the vultures.


Friday, February 5, 2010

House by Mouse

"All the animals want to live in a house designed by Henrietta, because she is the only mouse in the world who understands exactly what makes a squirrel or a rabbit, a caterpillar or a frog feel at home. In short, Henrietta is a genius."

A beloved children's book of mine where moles enjoy croquet, squirrels live in houses that look like spaceships and spiders play jazz to attract their dinner.
I would spend hours trying to think of the perfect combination of the houses, a place where I would like to live.

"Fox is an untidy fellow. All he wanted from Mouse was a... sort of place where he could relax after a hard days scheming and running."

Book by George Mendoza, beautifully illustrated by Doris Smith.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010


I have run across a 6 lane highway two nights in a row now in the pouring rain (I think i have mentioned doing this before). Once with a only a soaking newspaper for protection and the other without anything at all. I got home feeling utterly foul and resembling something out of the black lake. A monster.
I have also danced for hours in the rain, free of burden and with complete abandon. Here I felt happy. Here I channeled 90's grunge (which could be seen as monstrous but for the purposes of this I choose to not).

This makes me wonder...
How can something make you feel both liberated in one instance and yet void of any of those feelings in another?
How is it that I stared at the rain skipping off the train platform because I thought it looked like molten metal but despised it only minutes before?

Trying to get home, I was concerned with everything that doesn't matter in the scheme of things. My wet hair, the slippery pavement.
Dancing on the hill, nothing mattered in the scheme of things. Not my wet hair nor falling down.
The immediate and the mundane.
The forever and the poetic.


Monday, February 1, 2010

Preacher man

Since when did you become so high and mighty?
Your soap box is due for a tumble.