modem life is rubbish

2007-09-13T02:19:00.000-07:00

the flea is biting at my ankle
again just like last year when i
didnt like her or even miss her in any way.
i wonder if this flea is related to the last
one who nibbled at me as those days pass
and the days grow longer, lighter and more
palatable to the less prone to depression and downness.
where the girl who i have mixed feelings for is in the world
makes me curious about the days and how to live them.
when constantly questioning, beligerantly almost and
making enemies of those who interepret the rules utterly
differently to the way i do and too lazy to seek the
answers to the boorish qusetions i ask of myself where then do i stand apart from in a limbo, a vacuum. i am an alumnis of the expectent. feeling owed, feeling entitled.
feeling dissapointed constantly because i cant help myself.

2007-07-05T20:06:00.000-07:00

this is a rather randy random bit of ranty randomness rant rant rant

its amazing...

2007-06-04T19:00:00.000-07:00

what a man will tolerate from a woman he wants to get into the knickers of...

e.g: sitting in a thai retaurant, the entertainment starts to play a song... and i say:

"what is this music?"

to which she responds:

" this is james blunt. james blunt is sexy...."

delivery notification status: failure

2007-06-04T13:45:00.000-07:00

failure

play the bass slung low

i want my statue!

2007-06-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

no, not any more.

just get me a car.

everyday i love you in lesser amounts.

a city where they hold awards shows for something unquantifiable.

our timing is impeccable

a peccadillo of mine.

ronna? ronna can go f#*k herself

2007-06-03T17:11:00.000-07:00

ronna? who the is ronna?

2007-06-02T13:33:00.001-07:00

join my

friendslist

thin, wafish, old, pale, blind dog.

lend me your forgotten notebooks and ill read them without judgement

(judgement that destroys us)

walk into doors, son, creak go the doors, son, creep round the back at midnight or four

soon ill wake and talk to you

gloom hangs heavy

round me saggy

i knew a man, he was a good man

2007-05-22T23:04:00.000-07:00

los angel

es.

la la

land. tinsle

town.

the america

n perth. dream fact

ory.

the place you go to

to

become famous in the movies.

paramatta road crossed with double bay with a

splash of

bondi

thrown

in.

asses of note

2007-04-30T17:45:00.000-07:00

jennifer love hewitt

allira cohrs

mine

girl needs some ass, other wise it just doesnt seem to work. nothing seems to work. nothing.

2007-04-11T19:01:00.000-07:00

living as he did; the life of a vagrant poet hustler vagabond, prone to self deceit and oft in need of a bath, considering jail as a good lifestyle choice, but only managing the act of masturbation to qualify him as a recidivist and serial onanism is merely self harm, if that; writing clumsy over punctuated prose, reading others work and wondering how they managed to be so clear, and funny too, he decided to write clumsy incorrectly punctuated poetry...

doom, the myth of sydney man, epic, work in progress

2007-04-10T22:02:00.000-07:00

he woke in the morning. he felt tired. he turned the light on because his room didn't get much light. he stretched his arms up to the ceiling. his finger tips almost touched the ceiling. they scraped the air against the water mark on the ceiling which looked like a flying ibis with beak and all. he would stare at that water mark for an hour at night, lying in bed, waiting to go to sleep. he yawned and let out a noise. he thought about Germany before the war, mark rothkos fuzzy rectangles and dog shit all, seemingly, at once. he cried a little from the yawn and levered himself out of bed rolling back first and then using the momentum to carry him forward and then sideways and on to the floor. the cold tiles didn't startle him, he was used to them.

it occurred to him that he would die one day. he felt neither sad nor relieved by this, he merely carried on. inhale. exhale. inhale. exhale. inhale. exhale. cough. TB? inhale. exhale. he ate breakfast: toast. he sighed and thought about the day. it was sunny. nice. really nice.

the city he could hear, he could hear it . the buzz, insistent like a low ebb: the tide, the waves of the infinite ocean. he was a blip, he was a dot in a collage which would out live him a thousand million times. make your mark, he said in his head, make your mark today!

his house mate burped loudly. why did she do that? they' re disgusting her burps... lyrics? for a new song? perhaps. he had a band and song lyrics of quality were always hard to come up with. he found himself always thinking of band names as well, "mixed business" was one, as was "just another day at the office". when he mentioned these to other people, however, they didn't seem to appreciate them in the same way that he did. they were ironic, he would say, ironically daggy, well obviously he would think, how could anyone think I was a dag?

he wanted out sometimes. he wanted out of the city.

2007-04-09T21:45:00.000-07:00

my space scares me. its so fancy. everyones got all these shiny bits of writing and things that flash and stuff. they all have photos of all the other people on myspace as well. and they are all beautiful people, whats more. i guess it doesn't help that the people i know on my space all seem to live in bondi, though, so i guess that being eye candy is just par for the course. what i cant understand, however, is that they all live in bondi!! so they probably see each other every other day anyway!! do they really need to be reminded that each other exist , and that they live such glamorous lives by the beach, and that they all seem to be having such a fucking great time all the time, swimming and being buff and brown and wearing bikinis and laughing and taking drugs and laughing and smiling and playing land sports in the water, and sun baking and having sex and laughing and talking about the "fame game" and swimming under water and taking photos underwater and laughing underwater and having six packs and round pert tits and tight asses you can crack wall nuts on and the dudes are tanned and they have pecks and they have great senses of humour- i can tell because in some of the photos they are wearing, like, yellow afro wigs and fake dirty sanchez moustaches and, like, 70s porn star sunglasses and stuff, phew! its so hilarious! and they look like they are having a really great time, drinking and partying and stuff. and they are laughing. at each other. so i guess they must be funny.

i guess you wouldn't put photos of yourself taking a shit or photos of you in the throws of a heroin addiction, or in an ice induced rage, or if you were hideously ugly you would wear some kind of mask or put a photo of a dog on there or a movie star or something.

or if you really were hideously ugly i guess you would just blog.

the merry dance of the sun

2007-01-21T16:02:00.000-08:00

i learnt about mongolians today. they dont bury their dead, they just take them out into the wilderness and dump them and the birds and the worms and wolves and stuff eat them.they dont bury them because mongolians cant stand the idea of being underground. even when they are dead. sometimes the bodies find their way to streams and rivers so it is completely unsafe for non mongolians to drink the water.its ok for mongolians however. they are used to it.

95 percent of them have syphillis. but it doesnt affect them. its been passed down from generation to generation so they are all just used to it and carry on in their usual way.

i learnt this at a film festival from a hungarian cinematographer

oh yeah?

the things i remember

2007-01-12T08:16:00.000-08:00

i remember the looks of pain and desperation on the faces of those women.

as they paddled against the wind and the chop.

on their boats

which should have sunk

(and probably have

but i have never seen it)

trying to sell one lousy can of coca cola.

which i didnt buy.

i remember the turtle

being scared and

the turtle

in the bathroom.

i remeber the waterfall

and the sacrifice

and the sunset

i remember the monk in the forest

the mountain behind the monk and the one legged guide who took all my cigarettes

i raged.

once.

i dont rage anymore.

the monk told my fortune

and somehow

i am happy.

whos who in australia 1971

2006-12-04T19:52:00.000-08:00

ROWDEN, ***** Wells, B Com., F.C.A (N.Z) F. I. A. N. Z . , Director F and T industries LTD.... Member Board of the Reserve Bank of Australia since 1961 ; Director Australian Paper Manufacturers Ltd since 1961; recreations:, golf, fishing; clubs, Melbourne, Australian, Royal Melbourne Golf...

on the road again.

2006-12-04T19:40:00.000-08:00

ok, heres the plan:

i fly to Djakarta tomorrow,i travel a bit in south east asia for about 6 weeks and then i come back to Sydney for a couple of days and then im off to the sundance film festival in utah for ten days.

sound like a plan?

im terrified.

teenage man

2006-11-30T15:41:00.000-08:00

i have neglected to tell you that for the past two months i have been living in a garage again. well not so much a garage as a cabana.like the guy from the O.C. which i haven't seen, but apparently its like the guy in the O.C. this cabana/ gadge has a shower and a sink and a stove top. theres a pool next to it and its definitely a step up from my last gadge*.

this constant gadge dwelling has prompted my friend Nick to label me "teenage Man".
fair enough. in my gadge there is a bass guitar, and a strokes poster, and above my bed a picture of the veronicas (hot). we have created a teenage man mythology.

Teenage man is a sort of super hero. he has superior teenage skills. for example, he is an excellent texter. he knows how to operate an ipod faster than any other teenager has ever seen. he can sleep in for longer than any other teenager he knows. he skateboards better than any other teenager. he rides his bike better. he watches more cheech and chong and bruce lee films and owns more wu tang and general rap paraphernalia than any teenager known to man. he smokes bongs better and so on and so forth... he is the idol of his teenage peers...

until they discover that he is nearly thiry.

* refer to archives April/ may

panaflex

2006-11-27T19:15:00.000-08:00

the tight jawed subterfuge

of the man with the nose whose ends looks like it has been removed

reminds of the expedition and adventure so lacking in my life of domicile longing.

within, without

above below

bellow bellow

shout shout

see you soon

andrew g has a blog

2006-11-27T01:45:00.000-08:00

Andrew g has a blog and he talks about how Australian idol should be fought out beyond thunder dome style

hes a fag

and a douche bag

i want to beat him to death with a blunt instrument

this is because andrew g having a blog is purely an attempt on his behalf (or perhaps channel tens or channel v's) to make him seem "like everybody else".

of course he refers to his house on the water in his blog. he doesn't say where and his references (to being f**king loaded) are more clandestine, probably at the behest of someone higher up, but we all know that he is loaded. we all know that he is a dick ta boot, too, regardless of weather he heard "bel div devoe" floating in from someone else's house across the bay!!- by which he is saying that he lives in a house with water views and his neighbors are rich- who else would play bel biv devoe but the absurdly rich?

so... he is a dick, rich or otherwise, he is a dick. a dick cunt dick cunt dick

spare me from your privileged guilt, love

2006-11-22T23:25:00.000-08:00

please don't send me any more of your stupid group emails about stopping the war or making poverty history.

of course i want to make poverty history.

of course i recognize that war is a bad thing.

you want to know how to really make a difference to poverty in the world? go to somewhere in the developing world and build a well...

don't align yourself to fashionable causes because it makes you feel better about your complete inaction, your western, privileged malady of utter utter selfishness, that little voice in your head that has been there since your mum told you to eat all the food on your dinner plate because there are starving children in africa.

actually go there and try to make a real difference.

or send them money.

shut up and send them money.

otherwise don't try to make yourself feel better about yourself- because those starving people in the developing world and those people whose houses have been bombed to pieces because of the capitalist machine and the greed which you perpetuate sure as shit don't care about you and your bleeding heart.

they want a house to live in and clean water to drink.

they gain nothing from being a fleeting blip on your psychodrama radar, and you may well say that every bit of awareness makes a difference, to which i reply: rubbish, these petty indulgences only serve to promote and perpetuate complacency by simply assuaging privileged guilt, in both the short and the long term.

ah!

2006-11-21T23:43:00.000-08:00

back by the sea

the sumo was there

and some guy called dave...

his girl and another girl with a majestic...

quite quite sublime...

the finest of the fine...

an ass you could really sink your teeth into

an assebration!!

with rainbow bikini bottoms

welcome back summer

bondi bondi bondi

ill always have a place in my heart...

same thing place last year

2006-11-21T15:26:00.000-08:00

still drinking

before
the sun
is

well and truly

past the yardarm.

still sick because of you.

the simple pleasures

beaten by the

nausea

scoundrels and true batchelors (draft)

2006-11-21T15:08:00.000-08:00

we start with a song, something like full disclosure or strange light from fugazis the argument.

through strobe lights we can vaguely see someone performing fellatio on someone else. flashes of skulls, devil symbols, the sound of rain and thunder, more doom music, the usual mallarky, someone getting fucked up against a wall... etc... etc...

everyone in this play is disfigured in some way. it imagines the dating game in a post apocalyptic landscape. people are dying slowly. they are homeless, vagabonds and ,predominantly, single.

looking for love in all the wrong places? no fine girls just ugly faces? get used to it.

it imagines a world where everything is lost. what remains is the simple blood lust or sexual drive, and the desire for some semblance of society and structure. so these kids set up a dating game, not necessarily an agency but a regular dating cycle.

we see them in various scenarios, but it must never be let on that the world has come to an end.

this is rustic theater at its best. it could be construed as either an imagined future or an almost forgotten past.

a dating agency at the end of the world as we know it?

the wrecks of blogs

2006-11-20T02:49:00.000-08:00

blogs lie

,unattended,

like wrecks in the pacific

of a long forgotten war.

i visited today

2006-11-20T02:47:00.000-08:00

i visited today

burra rough

signalling

we danced

like we used to

got room to live room to live in room to give but no room to give in

2006-08-08T05:49:00.000-07:00

well im off to romania, home of vlad tepes, eastern eupropean fashions (mum jeans) and moles, where the danube flows and the dog shit grows, seemingly, on the trees or tis as if it falls from the sky, seriously what is with the amount of dog shit on the ground in europe?

crackle and drag ( a hagiographic tribute)

2006-07-31T00:42:00.000-07:00

i first heard paul westerberg on the "singles" soundtrack. shitty film.

(cameron crowe is not and nor will he ever be cool. why does he persist in trying to make cool films or films about cool things? although bless him for putting lester bangs in almost famous AND getting philip seympour hoffman to play him. that was genius. and his films do have good soundtracks and he recognized the genius of bob dylan way before i did (Last week) and to be perfectly honest i didnt mind "almost famous", but "singles" is a snoozer, whoa.)

anyway, back to westerberg.then i heard "all shook down", the mats last album. stinson was already dead, and basically the mats were just westerberg at this stage of the game. i loved his hair. he had cool hair. i wanted only one thing: to have hair like his at his age. his songs werent bad either.

the two singles he had on the "singles" soundtrack were pure pop mastery. they were moving, they were catchy, they were cool. he was shambolic, a drunk and gave off an air of hoplessness, like a real troubadour, or a vagabond, or something like that.

then i heard "sorry ma, forgot to take out the trash." pair that gem up with "let it be" and you've got vintage americana at its best. its like apple pie, or harley davidson motorcycles.

minneapolis is responsible for polar opposite genius' s, but both giants of their craft: Prince and paul westerberg.

i tip my cap to both.

i cant stop listening to "crackle and drag"

haute grunge

2006-07-16T21:52:00.000-07:00

haute grunge?

what exactly is it?

the social pages of a certain sunday paper included a certain opening night that i went to last week and said: "Alarmed: the haute grunge dressing".

now forgive me my ignorance Miss Reines, or whoever, but the way i remember grunge fashion was nothing like what was going on at this opening night. nothing like it. nothing.

i asked my friend Mikael, an expert on music and fashion, with grunge, certainly, being his oevre, what "haute grunge dressing" is and he confirmed my suspicions: what i saw at this premiere was a very different beast to what "haute grunge dressing" actually is. His explanation of "haute grunge dressing" went like this:

"flannel shirt, pale blue jeans you have cut off at the knees, black converse high tops, stripey multicoloured socks, and (this is an Australian variant)a tumbleweed tee (free with the first 100 copies of 'sundial')under the flanny. Oh, and Asian bob with undercuts. On cold days you may also wear a long sleeved Mudhoney tee under the Tumbleweed short sleeve. Nirvana's 'negative creep' taped over and over on side A of your C-90 cassette tape, which is in your walkman at all times, on side B you have, of course, 'Nevermind' but you will never say to anyone that you actually like that 'sellout' album."

have to admit that i am inclined to agree,

didnt see anyone like that at the opening.

2006-07-16T19:46:00.000-07:00

the grey tiger of oritz met with me on the steps of the ornithogical cathedral.

conclusion:

that art when stupefying and unreal and deliberately obtuse but nonsensical, as is this explanation of art, rambling and untrue, seems better.

to me any way.

Jindabyne should be called "somersault 2: heidi's back and this time shes a bloated corpse lying face down in a creek."

i had a great weekend.

with someone who i met up with for coffee on friday afternoon.

coffee turned into a beer, which turned into a party, more beer, vodka, weed and ice.

thats right, i smoked ice for the second time in as many weeks.

it makes you quite horny people.

quite horny indeed.

but its a rancid drug.

there was also a motherload of dancing at the party.

a motherload.

i was dj-ing.

not on turn tables or anything.

just on a regular old fashioned cd player.

i played guru josh "infinity"

c and c music factory

belinda carlisle.

astounding.

magic.

any way the coffee turned into a whole weekend.

it just ended this morning.

what got me about her was her extensive knowledge of indi rock.

we discussed the ear splitting beauty of J mascis' guitar solos (thankyou lo!) for hours.

she too grew up on smudge, the replacements, and fugazi.

and in my book thats ok.

fuck it, thats grounds for a relationship.

poem draft 1

2006-06-21T19:00:00.000-07:00

she has hair like i'd imagine a banshee would

her countenance is dreary

shes prone to feeling "down"

she longs for something selfless

selfishly

her po- faced demeanour makes me want to scream

we are not going steady

unflinching, unaffected

i throw her all the aid i can

like food parcels

from hercules

to Somalians

2006-06-21T05:47:00.000-07:00

another rift

then stiff silence

through a sulky and difficult mouth poured eager and extravagant anger.

You honked

like a vintage car

bleated for my inconstancies

to another.

We wared

we war

like we own eachother

like our souls were turf reclaimed

inch by inch.

Our love

as reckless as wind

took liberties with our bodies.

We laughed and prodded and probed

meaow as cats

barbed

we've penetrated eachother' s soft inconsistencies.

I've found a lying niche

ill squat

dug in.

for lo!

2006-06-19T05:15:00.000-07:00

from seasons in the abyss to

sadistik exekution,

from metal up your ass! to smudge... to jewel... bob pollard and moz.

provided an education in reslience...

of fierce intelligence and originality... liked pasolini, slightly twisted,

eager to be deliberately obtuse whenever possible.

idiosyncratic and multilingual, learned ancient greek and latin.

was bumbagana for a bit

of eora

so civilised, a diletant, yet so dirty, shall we say, well rounded?

a well rounded handsome man, flat of foot but arch of temperament...

better with english than me after 16 months.

retired to the beach with his betrothed

an infidel

an ideal

...then left...

no fanta pants in indo.

"you can shovel shit cant you..?"

2006-06-18T02:59:00.000-07:00

immortal words.

delivered with an aplomb by none other than the divine miss tina turner in the rollicking third part of the classic mad max triligy.

its got everything.

its got frank thring.

its got helen buday.

its got robert grubb.

its got justine clark and shes gotta be, what? 10? 12?
she looks exactly the same!!!! shes really hot!!!!

fuck me how cold is this winter?

its sydney for fucks...

im seeing a lot more dvds, etc.. these days.

watched bmx bandits yesterday.

i have a new hero.

his name is david argue and he is the greatest living australian actor.

he is totally insane.

also saw a great little film called roy holsdotter live.

might as well face it...

2006-06-15T08:00:00.000-07:00

...im addicted to blog

its after 12 and i cant sleep. too many coffees too late in the day. ive kicked my own ass. worse, ive punched my self in the balls 5 times. 5 times. 3 times could be construed as an act of passion. 5 times, now thats state sanctioned. thats self state sanctioned. thats a metaphor for not being good to myself by drinking too many coffees too late in the day.

thank you africa,

thank you india,

thank you alanis.

2006-06-14T20:41:00.000-07:00

given that i havent posted anything for ages, here i am shootin you two, thats right, TWO in one day!

i have so much to tell you...

as beth orton, the "come down queen", once said: "where do i start? where do i begin?"

incidentley*, i met her on crown street back in 99. she was record hunting with the chemical brothers. i got their autographs, the dorks, but i terrified poor old beth. shes sensitive. she must be. shes perpetually coming down. shes the comedown queen. you dont get a royal title like that with out some serious coming down. she actually went temporarily blind, for about a year, from taking too many Es. that would have to be the ultimate comedown, a whole year, imagine: waking up one morning after a heavy night clubbing, and being so off your chops you actually, literally, cant see.

oh well.

i have unlimited access to a computor at the moment so im making the most of it.

i have a confession to make. i am actually feeling a tad guilty. its about me gadge, see. or more specifically the whole gadge/ house fiasco.

*unscheduled coffee break*

the garage thing ended badly. perhaps i shoulda been more discreet. perhaps i never shoulda told nobody, see? perhaps i never shoulda exited me gadge out them big ol barn doors, ie, the front, and kept it secret squirrel out the back. i had my bed set up in there, with a mosquito net to keep away the bugs but more importantly the bits of concrete and flakes of paint that would fall from the ceiling and the walls. it was more psychological protection, really, because as we all know eventually those fine particles are going to enter your lungs and then your blood stream and get up to all manner of mischeif in there but the net helped me sleep at night.

anyway, sure the bed was obviously a bed (procured from the street) and there were definetly my clothes all over the place and a guitar and a bass and acoupla of couches and rugs on the floor and another blanket hanging form the celing to catch other lead based paint bits and some photos of me in japan , and me and me mum on the wall, but was it that obvious that someone was living in there?

the answer is, of course, of course.

the landlord came over to do some once in a decade maintenance and went in there to get some gyprock and got sus.

i was blaze, i admit it. i made no effort to hide the fact that some one was living in an uninhabitable space when, in hindsight, i should' ve.

what transpired at the end of the day is that we get a letter from the council saying that they have reason to believe that we are harbouring backpackers and
that they will come over to inspect and make sure that no one is, or has ever lived in that garage. we dont know who told the council. it may have been a neighbour, or the landlord, or some disgruntled punter who took exception to the jelly wrestling extravaganza of the last party.

For christs sake, a french man lived in that garage for eighteen months and nobody cared! How times have changed.

so i had to move out

i spent a whole weekend making that space my own. i painted the walls, the floor, cleaned her out, sanded her back. for the first time in my life i felt practical, inventive, physical and charismatic. like some one from a lifestyle program.

it was my space.

i created my own space.

*check speliing

2006-06-14T17:55:00.000-07:00

well im at a loss

after the third move in as many weeks ive settled, once again temporarily, in a room, which is not my own, in a suburb ive never lived before, with people who i know vaguely. the digs this time round are pokey, charming and cluttered: forever looking for the elusive perfect space, wherever that may be, i am unable to give a definite time as to how long i will be here. maybe ill move in to that warehouse in surry hills if it becomes available, its always been a fantasy of mine to live in a warehouse, maybe that room that the italian girl is vacating in glebe- the rents cheaper- but am i willing to risk the gamble with a bunch a boho randoms? Sure! Why not? Im pretty resiliant these days. after three and a half weeks of running around the cross with nairy a stich to cover me , caked in dirt, chocolate sauce and corn syrup, hair gel and zinc, for no money, in the beginnings of the coldest sydney winter that i can remember ever, all in the name of art... for a show which i was then told i was two dimensional in... im a lazy actor apparently... do a co op bitch. i cant shake this melancholy. moreover ( I love using "moreover"... and "furthermore", for that matter) i was living in a fucking garage.

my garage leaked on me in the rain, it was dusty- and im not talking household dust, im talking concrete dust: the real mccoy mother fuckers, industrial strength. the first night i spent in there the acrylic floor paint i used, a lovely russet, hadnt dried and i had awful, crazy dreams and a slamming headache. it was a scary night whats more: the wind was howling, in that bondi coastal way, and i was playing wagners "tristan and isolde" on the stereo. the door kept banging and i swore the BOOGER man was coming to get me.

on a lighter note. i went and saw belle and sebastian the other night and they were utterley charming. a little too charming for rock stars. i like my rock stars to be more unapproachable. more detatched. more hating. stuart murdoch has lovely glaswegian lilt, however, which ive stolen. im an accent theif.

how are you all?

my post is better than your post.

2006-04-07T11:06:00.000-07:00

its got more jokes then a joke convention.

weekend at bernies: pure genius

2006-03-16T19:11:00.000-08:00

just hired it out for a little trip down memory lane and to see if a certain scene was as i remember.

its the scene where "Tawny" comes running in to bernie' s opulent beach house on the "top o' the dune" just after andrew mcarthy and jonathon silverman have arrived. you know, just after jonathon silverman looks up at the wall and says: " good god thats a lichtenstein!" and andrew mcarthy exclaims: "where? where?" and silverman says: " no, not the piano, the painting!" silverman goes on to say: "this is what you could have with hard work" and mcarthy, ever the working class hero, replies, while opening a bottle of bubbly and putting his feet up, "my old man worked hard and all they ever gave him was more work."

anyway, bernie has already been given a lethal injection by the mob hitman guy and is, rather pleasently, dead.

in my memory the scene went like this:

"Tawny" pronounced Tonny (in real life this "actress" is a former playboy miss april and a songwriter, no less) comes bouncing into the beach house, like pamela anderson, beclade in nairy a stich save her hi slung g-sting bikini, massive fake tits, apple pie hi tops and thick white socks.

i remember her saying this: " hi Im tonny" and andrew mcarthy replying: "hello Tonny, Im horny"

of course the reality was a little different

Tawny comes in casually. Says: "hi is bernie around? if you see him, just tell him that tawny borrowed the keys to his boat"

........

you know when you think something might make a good blog entry and the story will be interesting and you do a draft and then leave it for a bit and then come back to it and realise that you dont give a shit anymore?

well thats whats happened here.

i guess the point that im trying to make is that rarely are the great moments from your childhood , your formative years, or whatever, as you remember when you revisit them. and isnt it funny when you revisit your primary school or even your high school as an adult how little everything is.

the things you remember and relish you embellish and form into something that they simply are not. they grow and morph, they grow wings, or tenticles or horns and bear feet.

the tiniest things become huge and magical. the kind of funny things become the funniest things ever and then you go back and they' re not funny at all. contexts change. experience colours judgement. paradigms shift. people die. accidents happen.

i still think weekend at bernies is pure genius. its irreverence harks back to french farce or commedia dell arte. its stock characters and slapstick situations make it almost classic and timeless. moreover, its a snap shot of a time, when decadence and greed ruled the earth and guilt free hedonism were the order of the day and, whats more, its a scathing critique of those mores. It owes most of its success to a theatrical tradition rather than a cinematic one, or if it does owe anything to cinema then its the cinema of buster keaton and charles chaplin.

"troy" is in the dvd player right now.

its better than "troy".

shhhh, be very very quiet.

2006-03-12T22:14:00.000-08:00

shhhh... be very, very quiet.

i feel like a thief in the night.

im at my job network member, mission australia, using their computors to "look for work".

i like to take a holistic perspective on the whole "looking for work" thing.

i consider blogging, for example, no matter how 2003 it may be, looking for work.

who knows where this might lead... a cyber job perhaps, a job as a cyber man, robotic cowboy, i could end up ensconsed in an electronic carcass...

im a guerilla,

shit my times up, i gotta go... more soon

"vee haff veys off mak-ingk you pay zee rent"

2006-02-19T23:23:00.000-08:00

well ive moved again

i really like this new place im squatting in. its in a part of the world i never thought that i would inhabit... BONDI...!!!!

The digs themselves are minimalist, extremely ordered and clean (almost to the point of OCD), and, dare i say it, quite, well, i suppose... german? well in that the furniture is all found, vintage, weimar, uncomfortable, steel or elementary school wooden , hard backed chairs, and so on and so forth. I keep expecting Mr Freder to walk in with his pince- nez and deliver an evil little giggle or herr shultz and his monicle to enter, take off his black leather gloves, smoke his cigarette in his weird nazi way and say "vee haff veys off makingk you pay zee rent".

( before donning the leider hosen and slapping my ass brown shirt style- ya! ya!)

it doesnt help that the people who live there are proffesional dancers and actors who have performed in companies in germany and acted in things called: " faust/ landscape full of trash"
bundash ya ya shnell shneel!!

theres all these posters of these productions on the wall and stuff. its creepy... but cool.

any ways, i love it. i love the place, i am growing to love the area, and i am loving the beautiful people absolutely every where. crikey, excuse me while i cum just walking down the street.

the thing i love the most, though, is the solitude.

its awesome living alone.

i also like getting to test drive all these places around sydney. living in digs temporarily for nothing or next to nothing gives you an affordable way of working out the type of house and area you might want to live in if you ever decide to settle down and get yourself a motgage.

not that i would ever dream of doing something like that.

X

i' ll be glad if you' ll be frank

2006-02-11T22:39:00.000-08:00

im back, im bad, hes black, im mad.

when it rains, it pours.

im currently very busy in my chosen profession. Im shooting an ad for jimmy beam in the cross in sydney. im shooting an episode of mcleods daughters in adelaide, and im in preproduction for a film called noise in melbourne.

i spent all yesterday with four other guys, a film crew and a bunch of pouting, dumpling titted extras in the iguana bar in kings cross shooting this beam thing. it was fun but there can be no denying i have, hands down, sold my soul for the brownest of the brown liquors. sweet bourbon. night shoots on monday and tuesday, til seven in the morning.

then on wednsday morning at nine i have to fly to adelaide to shoot this episode of mcleods in which i reprise a character i played about a year ago, greg dawson. he was a bad boy drag car racer then, now hes a brumby shooting, ute driving drunkard. i like it because i get to wear an ac/dc t shirt. apart from that, its a joke. im so slack on set, i barely learn my lines and i mouth off at the director.

the film is the real deal, i ve spent the last week flying between sets in adelaide and melbourne. on friday we have our first weopons handling session. my character is ex army so im trying to bone up as much as i possibly can on the gun thing. im playing a spree killer. it will be very fun.

two weeks with a good man in niagra falls

2006-01-29T02:16:00.000-08:00

well im back and im sure that ive been missed

since i left you a few things have happened

i found new accomodation, which i was then releived of.

i found new accom again and then was once again disenfranchised.

the quest to avoid rent continues.

i saw a friend i havent seen in 12 years. we got drunk a lot. hes french.

i got a role in a film. im pretty excited about the prospect of that.

.

gesticulate wildly, kiedis style.

2005-12-04T19:42:00.000-08:00

after a good laugh?

then read "scar tissue", the anthony kiedis ( from the red hot chilli peppers) autobiography. its kind of in the vein of "sex n thugs n rock n roll" and "most people i know", the billy thorpe auto bios. by this i mean, "scar tissue" is, in short, a homage to all of the great roots old anthony has had, all over the world. some samples;

in hawaii,

" there was a knock at the door. i went to answer, and it was this young hawaiian maiden.

' can i come in?' she asked

... right there, in the hallway of this hotel, she dropped to her knees and gave me a blow job"

and of another fair maiden, this time in new york;

" she rocked me in a way i hadnt thought was possible by a person of her age- seventeen. there was some very adult behaviour taking place, and i remember going, "wow! what fucking porno has this girl been watching?"

and in seattle,

"we flew in to seattle and after paying our respects to kurt, once again, sex was on the menu. love, on the other hand, was on the specials board: often perused but never partaken in*...

halfway through the show, Christina had a couple of arena beers and got horny and decided she wanted to give me a blow job. So we wandered back stage. most of the doors were locked, but i found one which was open. it was below the stage and opened on to the electrical control room for the whole arena. there were all these levers and switches and buttons. so we got on the floor, took off all our clothes and started having sex..some where along the way we got too frisky and banged into a lever, and all of a sudden, the lights went out. i jumped up and rushed over to the board, convinced that we had cut the lights to the entire arena. i frantically pushed a lever and the lights came back on. i realised we had cut the power only to that room, but we were one lever away from bringing the concert to a grinding halt from having sex beneath the stage."

these are just a few exerts from the memoirs of a truely unparalleled muscician. a man whos sexual prowess and sheer virilty could have inadvertently brought an entire stadium to its knees. if only we could harness that energy, we could bottle it and sell it as an alternative fuel source. anthony kiedis could be an antidote to the fossil fuel crisis.

so anthony, we salute you, and we appreciate your book. sure, its lewd and there aint much in there about music, but thanks.

mr kiedis would describe his book differently, of course, and im sure, if you were to meet him in person, his description would be accompanied by a lot of gesticultion. wild gesticulation.

other dissapointing muscician' s auto bios:

"Miles" by miles davis with quincy troupe.

sample line:

" man he was a motherfucker, what a motherfucker of a nigger, he was slicker than a broke dick dog, that bad motherfucker"

nuff said i reckon.

'til next time.

* i actually made this up myself. i thought it was funny and appropriate... and a little bit naughty, kiedis style!

open the door! Its too funky in here!

2005-12-03T18:19:00.000-08:00

i enjoy a red wine.

i like an aged cab sav, to be precise: the fuller the body, the better.

and give me a brunello from montalcino in tuscany any day of the week.

loving a good wine is not something i actively sought out. i just seem to have constantly run into wine lovers on my travels;

when i was in adelaide a couple of years ago i meet a latvian, completely at random, who took me on two separate trips, firstly, to the barossa and then to the clare. on two separate days. she drove. she didnt drink. she simply drove me to all of the best wineries and i drank wine. all day. both days. then we made love in an oak barrel. just jokes.

when i was in italy this year i met a wine merchant in rome. he' s a friend of a friend . he sells wine in a little shop there. it' s the law in rome that if you want to sell wine in a shop you have to sell books as well, so he pays lip service to the law by having all these vintage books lining the walls of his little shop. needless to say, he doesnt sell as many books as he does bottles of wine.

this chap, Gabriello Grandoni, took me to tuscany on a wine recon. he took me to all the wineries which supply him. I drank wine. he drove and he drank wine. we ate wild boar. i was given free bottles of wine. i was stoked. then we made love in an olive grove. just jokes.

when i was in perth this year i met a soprano who loves her wine. she took me to the swan valley and i drank wine. she also drank wine. she drove me to margaret river and we drank wine there as well. then we made love on a hay stack. hmmm. ill let you be the judge of the likelyhood of that.

fuck wine tasting is pleasant. and civilised. so fucking civilised, especially when there' s cheese.

i dont have a cellar and i dont profess to know anything about wine but whenever i pass a vineyard on the way somewhere i will invariably stop in and have a taste and, more often than not, make a purchase or two.

now back to the point i was trying to make.

i dont understand how the opinion of one particular person, namely james halliday*, can influence a nation of wine drinkers. i mean, sure, he's probably "done a course" and hes been sinking piss 'n' vino since time immemorial but taste is taste. one person' s opinon is merely one person' s opinion. is his palate so much more refined than the ordinary human being? was he born with super sensory tastebuds? is it a gift? like a sixth sense or x-ray vision? that enables him to be able to taste a wine and sum up its properties with words like:

"clean, floral spice... good drive and finish"

or

"glowing yellow- green; cool-grown style with a gently toasty entry, then stone fruit, cashew and grapefruit; long lingering finish" ( i reckon he was pissed when he wrote that)...

or

" subtly complex amalgam..malolactic ferment inputs on melon fruit; understated but satisfying"

I mean, come on! spare us all! just drink the shit!

moreover, you go into any wine merchants these days and everywhere you look there are little signs saying james halliday thinks this... james halliday thinks that... three bags full fucking james halliday.

but i digress.

now james halliday described a wine which i bought in the swan valley as "funky". its a mixture of cabernets. its spicy, sure, and full bodied enough... but funky??? what does he mean? does he mean, like, james brown- funkaaaaayyyyy... Like - Poppas got a brand new bag fuuuuuuunkkkkkkkkkkkkaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy, like, open the door! its too funky in here! like ha! good lord! i feel nice! like sugar and spice? Get on the good foot!

I drank it. it had an interesting and unique flavour. i bought it. end of story.

then they wrapped a cape around the bottle and helped it off the stage, like the godfather of soul himself: this, truely, was the funkiest of wines. HA! Good lard!

get your hand off it halliday.

*" james halliday, australias most respected wine critic and wine writer, has written or contributed to over 50 books on wine. he is the founder of coldstream hills in victoias yarra valley, and before that of brokenwood in the hunter valley. a regular judge at wine shows both locally and overseas, james halliday is an unmatched authority on the australian wine industry." these are all quotes from his book, the 2006 australian wine companion.

tea and sympathy for the devil.

2005-12-03T02:00:00.000-08:00

bernard fanning:

nice guy.

not so sure about the music, though:

"my dagginess*/ slowly creeping back"

and his latest offering, a solo album called "tea and sympathy"?

...mmm...Ho hum...

it' s so often the case, though, isnt it?

the nice guys are the crap artists.

how often is it that you hear about how such and such and so 'n' so ( who' s music you loved, or writing you admired, or acting you were in awe of, or what ever) was, or is, an asshole.

john lennon for example. Cynthia lennon details in "John" how he famously espoused the ideals of peace and love but was unable to love his family and was a terrible father and husband. A genius nonetheless.

maybe im being a bit harsh on old bernie. He's not crap. he's just a bit mediocre. thats ok. Australians love mediocrity. We hold it in the highest regard.

take, for example, rove mcmanus. hes not that funny. hes not that clever. hes charming in a completely inoffensive way and his show is kinda safe and unimaginative.

but ya mum loves him, cause he' s nice, cause he nice and he' s normal and he' s, well, average;

cause he mowed ya lawn, cause he cleaned out ya drains...and all for a modest fee...

cause he' s that boy from next door who was just... there. he' s still just... there. only now hes just... there on our tv screens... every tuesday... but who' s watching?

good question.

there are countless other examples of bad guys who are, or where, great artists;

jerry lewis (asshole)... loved by the french.

francis Bacon (asshole)... also loved by the french.

Patrick white (incurable asshole)

abbot and costello (assholes)

our russ (complete asshole) and completely lacking in the kind of light, self effacing, charm required to pull off the phone gag he attempted at the AFI awards the other night.

moreover, If the phone incident in new york was a one off we would have laughed and forgiven him his faux pas.

however, he has long been a bully and has a mammoth and esteemed record of pulling petty , violent stunts. he' s also started a lot of fights which he, curiously, never seems to win.

great artist though.

oh, hang on,

30 odd foot of grunt

fuck. there goes my theory.

* for all those unaustralian this is a bastardisation of a "Powderfinger"
(Bernard' s day band) lyric which goes: "My happiness/ slowly creeping back".

what the dickens?

2005-12-01T18:48:00.000-08:00

A blog entry about another blog:

Dear locket at house with no steps,

you sound really clever. i love the way you write. you are very funny. you say that you are an actress. i would like to see you on stage. i bet that you are good. i bet you are a smart actor. i like smart actors. i hate stupid actors.

i bet you are good with props. well, you are good with a vernon*, it seems.

you also say really horrible things about male actors. do you really think that thay are all empty and vacuous and liars and shits and cunts?

why?

have you had bad romantic experiences with them?

you are probably right. i wouldnt know. the world of the unemployed actor fascinates me. not that im saying that you are an unemployed actor. im just saying that most actors have experienced unemployment at some point. many actors seem to blog. is this because they have alot of free time because they aren't working as actors?

also it seems that actors are nothing without an audience. they seem to need audiences, almost pathalogically. keeping a blog is like keeping a diary for everyone to see.

of course actors dont nescessarily need an audience. they just prefer it.

but thats ok. i love actors. actors are givers. they know how to live life. they are often interesting, intelligent, and very well read. they are also funny most of the time. and hot (her her).

you are also from perth. I just recently spent time in perth and i loved it! the people in perth are the nicest people of any city in Australia. they show you around. they drive you every where. they take you to the best places. i saw many great bands. its really creative and interesting.

* vernon is police slang for dildo. a friend of mine who works for the federal police tells me that when they do raids on houses they will always find vernons (yes, more than one) and porn. with the vernons they find they have vernon races.

a squid eating doe in a poly- ethalene bag is fast and bulbous. Got me?

2005-11-30T23:32:00.000-08:00

its despairing to discover that you have run out of ammunition and that, whats more, your arsenal was already understocked with weaponry to begin with.

what more do i have to write about?

am i this unimaginative?

is my life this uneventful?

The answer is, of course, YES YOU FUCKWIT!! GIVE UP NOW!!!!

i shouldnt be so hard on my self.

i am interesting. bud luck. Ya boo sucks to me.

Lets see. MMMM. (Ponders, strokes beard)

Rollins: What a fuck- knuckle. intense though.

Kids are hot (J law, March 2005)... Aren't they?

if only there were a font to indicate irony, then i could go on to say with out fear of reprisal:

As are the elderly... and dogs. Dogs are definetly hot. CATS!!.... Chickens....

My parents just got two new chickens. they called them kath and kim. Sweet huh? , a little bit quirky.

once had a couple of cats called lenny and bruce and i knew an art dealer who called his two cats lucien freud. Get it? Luci-en-freud. he deals lucien freud. he wears kilts.

I have a kilt. In fact i have 2. wear 'em 'round the farm.

listening to:

guided by voices. always. That guy from the strokes chucks mixed tapes of gbv into the audience at his gigs, or used to. He loves them and thinks people should get to know them. they broke up a couple of years ago but they are a truely great band. Bob pollard is the singer and principle song writer. Hes in his late forties now but when gbv were around he was incredibly prolific, releasing two albums a year. when they played in australia last, everyone was expecting him to be this deep, artistic type guy but he just got drunk and chased girls around the town hall hotel in newtown. this was, of course, much to the chagrin of the sexless inner west indy elite and much to the delight of my friends. the sly old dog. but of course he would be like that. you cant expect some one that prolific to be precious.

captain beefheart:

" A squid- eating doe in a poly- ethalene bag is fast and bulbous. Got me?"

check out the album "trout mask replica". it will either alter your perception of reality (in a good way) or you will not respond to it at all and probably ditch the cd or ipod or whatever into the nearest bin in disgust. it is "difficult".

other wise " Clear spot" and " the spotlight kid" are more accesible.

oh and listen to Zappa.

or dont.

up to you.

the complete prose of woody allen? Any thoughts?

ok.

i think i proved my self right. ill come back when i have something interesting to say.

fuck im such a fuck.

shit.

where did all the icebergs go?

2005-11-28T02:43:00.000-08:00

went to the supermarket.

wanted an iceberg lettuce.

no dice.

whats the caper?

coles too good for icebergs?

had to go to BILO.

damn

A far less pleasant shopping experience.

blue tac

2005-11-25T18:39:00.000-08:00

i had a dream about blue tac.

in the dream blue tac was represented as grotesque. it is grotesque, at least in my experience.

when i was a teenager and i was really into putting posters on my wall i used to covet blue tac. i never bought it. i would steal it... from everywhere; from the posters on the walls at school, from the posters on the street, in record stores, from friends houses, community centres, notice boards... everywhere. i never took all of the blue tac. id always be careful just to take a bit from all four corners, so the poster would still be stuck to the wall, just with less adhesive power. I could justify this theft because people were always overly generous with their use of the stuff. there would always be far more tac than was necessary. Imagine my joy when someone stuck a poster of above average size to a wall in a low wind , underpopulated part of town, school corridor or university campus with massive balls of tac lining evey edge? "Eureka!" i would exclaim in my half broken adolescent tones.

from the little bits that i would take from everywhere i would form a conglomerate of blue tac.

invariably the combinations would always be grotesque in some way. this was because the blue tac would always be of varying age, quality, and cleanliness (being an adhesive blue tac would always attract dirt and grime and this would affect its colour and effectiveness). Moreover, there were also the poor imitations of blue tac, namely, yellow tac. I dont think it was called yellow tac but it was yellow and had a similar consistency. its quality was poorer though and, generally, it had less longevity. Needless to say this yellow stuff would find its way into these little "nations of adhesive" of mine. They were like multicultural nation states from which i would draw on to create my interior design. but i digress.

the point is my dream served to remind me of a time in my life when things were not only more grotesque but simpler. the acquisition of blue tac was the most important thing in my life because it served to define my space, my room, where i was most me, where i could have been anybody and where my heroes lined my wall and saw over my progress. they inspired me and they reassured me.

sometimes i wish that life was still that simple and grotesque..

psychodrama

2005-11-25T17:52:00.000-08:00

what is there apart from the greatest indulgence?

i invite people into my life not because i am interested in them. no. i invite them in to be a part of my psychodrama. the film of my life as it is played out before my eyes.

i dont know why i bother.

2005-11-24T22:56:00.000-08:00

i dont. i really dont.

why do i persist in wasting my time in this art form?

why waste my time on the net? blogging away my existence?

why waste time trying to get laid really well?

petty, pathetic people surround me. simple minded morons roam the earth, looking for things to do in order to give their fragile lives a purpose. really what is the point?

i am so lazy. I disgust my self. i disgust my friends. i disgust my parents. I cant look in the mirror without being overcome with a wave of nausea. i dont know why i bother. why?

al these questions.

My favourite band is mclusky.

their best line: " All of your friends are cunts/ your mother is a ball point pen theif/ michael cain doesnt follow you/ and you've never been to spain"

. i hate this job.

great film: Buffalo 66. check out vincent gallo's boots. never has such an annoying guy been more interesting on film.

ok.

tupperware

2005-11-24T18:01:00.000-08:00

whats the deal with tupperware parties?

ive never been so i cant really comment

people actually read this shit?

2005-11-22T18:12:00.000-08:00

fuck! i cant believe it!

some one actually read some of the shit that i wrote. im gunna have to watch wot i say from now on.

Thanks for welcoming me into the fold grant.

im sure youll get to touch some peeps at some point.

if not- try a blow up doll. i have and i thoroughly enjoyed it.

untitled, un

2005-11-22T16:38:00.001-08:00

the world is amazing dont u think?

people are fucked and they are also great.

they are great in their fuckwittedness.

i have something to say but im not quite sure what it actually is yet.

i got on a bus and the bus driver looked at me and said through a toothy, almost "what me worry", grin:

" ive seen you on the TV".

I love that shit. ive never been on the t.v .it made my mucus ridden day worth while. another thing happened: I found out that my tv wasnt stolen, that was a coup. I was positive that someone had taken it from my old house. you see, alot of my personal effects are still there in my old house.

how come the girl that you really like doesnt like you and the girl you can take or leave does really like you?

read raymond carver.

modem life? still rubbish

2005-11-21T22:50:00.000-08:00

i was shocked that in the hour or so between this post and me last that there were no comments made. come on people! lets get active. lets get posting. lets "get amongst it" as a girl i know always says in her deep resonant voice. shes one of those people who dont say things, they sing them.

now youz cunts dont know me from adam but i live in australia. we have a little thing here called australian idol. the winner was announced last night. some fat cunt called kate or some shit like this. now i reckon id give her one for practice even with those "tuck arms" but thats beside the point. the point is i really like the song that she sings. nuff said.

i just worked with a couple of people. lets call them "performers". they are generally regarded as very different people but they are cut of the same cloth. thay are the most incredibly selfish and unproffesional "performers" i have ever worked with and if i never see them again it will be too soon.

more soon.

modem life is rubbish

2005-11-21T21:34:00.000-08:00

using the internet for these kinds of things makes cyberspace a cool place to be. truly. one need not know if you have the de- rigour cool hair cut or, indeed, the proper cut of pant. it doesnt matter if you read easton ellis and take his word as gospel; if you say things like "spare me" and drink at sheik-but -not- too- expensive watering holes. you are in the world of the faceless. so bring on the freaks. lets rock.

i have never before done anything like this. i read all these other guys blogs and was struck by the possibility of touching many people with my own personal diatribes and , whats more, having people actually read them! im bored actually.

so heres to you. lets see how long this lasts....