- 23:54 @mythopoetica @lvdpal uh huh. <3 #
- 00:04 @lvdpal that's just me playing with words and layout, heh. #
- 00:05 @mythopoetica TWICE. IN THREE DAYS. *swoon* #
- 00:28 @treznor ...not sure how i feel, having my country represented by that particular song. #
Saturday, February 28, 2009
for archiving and propaganda purposes
Friday, February 27, 2009
for archiving and propaganda purposes
- 22:22 roar / silence #
- 22:22 anonymity / freedom #
- 22:23 music / madness #
- 22:23 thank you, trent. #
Thursday, February 26, 2009
for archiving and propaganda purposes
- 23:02 music / mountains #
- 23:03 delight / delirium #
- 23:04 living = love #
- 23:04 thank you, trent. #
Friday, February 20, 2009
Should I be wearing this identity? I don't remember constructing her. I don't remember choosing her. I don't remember agreeing to the messes she makes, and the holes she falls in, or the turbulence she causes.
I'll undo this face. I'll take it off, put it down and forget to pick it up again. Eventually, I'll forget I ever had this face, and then this face will have never existed.
I'll dismantle this name. The T and A can go to Antarctica, the two Ss to Consequences, and the E to the End.
I'll take back these encounters. I'll rip all memories of me from history. I'll tear them out of your mind with my bare hands. I'll dig my finger nails in and pull, twist, saw and wrench, until they're free, leaving jagged edges, bleeding familiarity, and leaving you gagging with déjà vu and asking, "Do I know you?"
No, you never did.
You never will.
And I make this so.
Maybe I won't make a new entity.
Maybe I'll stay anonymous, and
incognito, and
nothing.
I'll undo this face. I'll take it off, put it down and forget to pick it up again. Eventually, I'll forget I ever had this face, and then this face will have never existed.
I'll dismantle this name. The T and A can go to Antarctica, the two Ss to Consequences, and the E to the End.
I'll take back these encounters. I'll rip all memories of me from history. I'll tear them out of your mind with my bare hands. I'll dig my finger nails in and pull, twist, saw and wrench, until they're free, leaving jagged edges, bleeding familiarity, and leaving you gagging with déjà vu and asking, "Do I know you?"
No, you never did.
You never will.
And I make this so.
Maybe I won't make a new entity.
Maybe I'll stay anonymous, and
incognito, and
nothing.
for archiving and propaganda purposes
- 17:18 @amandapalmer worry not, natives do the same all the time. trams are stealthy ninjas like that. #
- 17:19 @yunyu :o #
"I've got a baaad feeling about this."
I spoke of fear.
I spoke of Tibet.
I've let one rule the other. I told everyone I was going to Tibet, made sure I got the leave and put money aside even though it made every day living a little lean. Did not book the trip. Thought about booking it, but always found a reason not to. Because I was afraid. Some inarticulate, irrational and soft dread that I wouldn't work my way around, even though I wanted to.
On the bus from the airport last weekend, I sat behind an older Chinese man. He had that sallow face, sagged skin and hanging depressions beneath his eyes which makes me think of my chain-smoking uncle.
The last person to board the bus was an older Caucasian woman. 'Older' in the sense that she wasn't so sure of her feet anymore, and sat down as soon as the bus started moving. Next to the Chinese man.
They started chatting right away. No hesitant customary greeting, they instantly launched into where they'd come from, what they'd seen, genuinely interested in what the other had to say. He'd spent three weeks in Hong Kong. She'd spent three weeks in Vietnam. They got out picture books and looked at Halong Bay. They didn't speak of shopping, or meals, or the differences of propriety they found uncivilized. They spoke of the wonderful things they'd seen, and how the world could still amaze them.
I want to be like them when I grow up.
And I've booked my trip.
And was informed that China has just closed Tibet (again) for the period over Tibetan New Years and the 50th anniversary of the Tibetan uprising and the Dalai Lama's flight into exile. They've preempted all and any 'insurgent' activity by saturating the area with army and police.
At this point in time, Tibet should reopen after March. However, given I'm intending to be there during Saga Dawa, I call even odds of the borders being closed again. The ruling party does not like Tibet to remember itself.
Still, we shall proceed under the assumption that this will go ahead. When it comes time to apply for my visa, all posts relating to Tibet will be taken offline.
Should this not come to pass...I'm thinking Mongolia.
Clearly I've a thirst for Chinese oppression.
I spoke of Tibet.
I've let one rule the other. I told everyone I was going to Tibet, made sure I got the leave and put money aside even though it made every day living a little lean. Did not book the trip. Thought about booking it, but always found a reason not to. Because I was afraid. Some inarticulate, irrational and soft dread that I wouldn't work my way around, even though I wanted to.
On the bus from the airport last weekend, I sat behind an older Chinese man. He had that sallow face, sagged skin and hanging depressions beneath his eyes which makes me think of my chain-smoking uncle.
The last person to board the bus was an older Caucasian woman. 'Older' in the sense that she wasn't so sure of her feet anymore, and sat down as soon as the bus started moving. Next to the Chinese man.
They started chatting right away. No hesitant customary greeting, they instantly launched into where they'd come from, what they'd seen, genuinely interested in what the other had to say. He'd spent three weeks in Hong Kong. She'd spent three weeks in Vietnam. They got out picture books and looked at Halong Bay. They didn't speak of shopping, or meals, or the differences of propriety they found uncivilized. They spoke of the wonderful things they'd seen, and how the world could still amaze them.
I want to be like them when I grow up.
And I've booked my trip.
And was informed that China has just closed Tibet (again) for the period over Tibetan New Years and the 50th anniversary of the Tibetan uprising and the Dalai Lama's flight into exile. They've preempted all and any 'insurgent' activity by saturating the area with army and police.
At this point in time, Tibet should reopen after March. However, given I'm intending to be there during Saga Dawa, I call even odds of the borders being closed again. The ruling party does not like Tibet to remember itself.
Still, we shall proceed under the assumption that this will go ahead. When it comes time to apply for my visa, all posts relating to Tibet will be taken offline.
Should this not come to pass...I'm thinking Mongolia.
Clearly I've a thirst for Chinese oppression.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Wot I Did On My Weekend
by Sir Tessa (age 27)
Saturday
ARISE.
Blargh.
Shower dress pack tea go.
Smoke thicker in the air. Changing the light.
Train.
Another train.
Can smell the bushfires in the city.
Skybus.
Airport.
Check-in. Alas, all window seats taken.
Find gate.
Find chai latte the size of my head.
Read.
Board.
Curl up curl in self-induced coma.
Depart 1200.
Arrive 1310.
Why does this feel like longer than one hour?
Land.
Oh.
Right.
Queensland doesn't do daylight savings. Duh. Dumbass.
Step outside. Wilt.
Queensland does do humidity.
Wtf is this wet stuff falling from the sky?
This is bullshit. Who has wet stuff falling from the sky?
Fucking ridiculous.
Feels like I'm breathing...wet stuff. That's fallen from the sky.
Is any oxygen getting through?
Can you suffocate from this? I think I'm going to asphyxiate.
Hide in train. Sweet, sweet airconditioned train.
Brisbane.
Base Central.
Manual elevator.
Ca-CHUNK. ClunkclunkclunkclunkclunkKRANG. Ca-CHUNK.
Fourth floor.
Stairs.
Fifth floor Rooftop.
Monk's closet: one (1) window, one (1) bed, one (1) ceiling fan, one (1) door.
Ditch bag.
Ponder changing into cooler clothes.
Figure, have not raised sweat, do not need to.
Later regret this.
Exit.
Walk.
Discover have retained exactly zero (0) memory of Brisbane's layout from stint at Clarion South.
Consult map.
Locate domicile of foreign species.
Cannot see Archives despite research indicating it existing across the road.
Am mildly concerned by lack of book store.
Return to attention to domicile.
Attempt to gain entry.
First checkpoint: Lobby (achieved).
Second checkpoint: Establish audio contact (achieved)
Third checkpoint: Discover where the hell the foreign species is (achieved).
Fourth checkpoint: GO THERE (FUCKING FAIL MAN)
Am not informed by reception staff that said domicile is actually Fort Fucking Knox and am trapped in an elevator going up and down. Tour basement and twenty-fourth floor.
Return to reception. Learn of intercom.
Use intercom.
Rendezvous.
Exit.
Walk.
Consult map.
Am correct.
Foreign species disagrees.
Walk.
Am so correct.
Foreign species still disagrees.
Walk.
No, seriously, am so amazingly correct we take exactly zero (0) wrong turns and are forced to backtrack zero (0) times.
Walk.
See?
No sense of direction, but I can follow a map.
Locate Piaf.
Sit.
Are informed kitchen is closed.
AM DEPRIVED OF GLORIOUS DUCK.
Order a bunch of sides.
Rescue foreign species from ordering coffee.
Converse, as politely as polite people do (apparently).
(Am not polite person.)
Sides actually damn good and practically a whole meal.
Do cheese.
Am overwhelmed and defeated by cheese.
Pay bill on the sly just to incense foreign species 'cause am a little shit like that.
Walk.
Wtf is this wet stuff falling from the sky?
Attempt to infiltrate book shops.
Archives still missing.
Dymocks closed.
Borders not closed.
Closes ten (10) minutes after entering.
Enough time to organise their shelves.
Attempt to enter restaurant for drinks.
Are turned away.
Attempt to enter restaurant for drinks.
Are turned away.
Hmm.
Not hungry anyway.
Wander into cinemas.
Survey offerings.
Jokingly: We could always go see Twilight.
Little Shit: Okay!
Attempt to buy tickets.
Realise movie isn't on till after nine.
Exit.
Attempt to enter restaurant for drinks.
Are turned away.
Attempt to enter restaurant for drinks.
Are seated.
See only menu for Valentine's Day.
Waiter pours champagne.
Er.
Wait.
Oh.
Nothing but hearts and chocolates on offer.
Not even the bar open.
Exit.
FFS.
Regroup on balcony.
Watch bats.
Converse as politely as polite people do (allegedly).
(Even less of a polite person.)
Blue Wizard needs food badly.
Attempt room service.
Nothing. Not even the Valentine's Day special.
Venture out.
Decide against pub.
Still can't see Archives.
Attempt restaurant are turned away OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
You know, I don't have an issue with Valentine's Day, bloody history or crass commercialism or society rules of relationship, it bothers me not. If you're in a relationship and want to use the day to celebrate how lovey-dovey you are, go for it! If you're not in a relationship and want to use the day to get all bitter and jaded and sad and lonely about it, go for it! I am neither, and unaffected.
But it should not be imFUCKINGpossible to FIND FOOD in a capital city. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy - I said we might end up with a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Except we couldn't find a supermarket and so even that was denied us.
We staaaaaaaaaarved.
Sandwiches from 7-11.
Back to balcony.
Oh, we'll laugh about it later.
Am laughing now.
Hysteria.
Split up.
Return to Base.
Manage to locate bathroom.
Return to closet.
Stand.
Look out window.
Marvel at the many airconditioning vents within a ten (10) metre radius.
Marvel at cumulative roar not unlike jet engine.
Decide cannot be bothered returning to bathroom, and clean teeth out window.
To bed.
Hostel announcement over speaker (where the hell did the speaker come from?): oh, it's Valentine's Day! Ladies night! Cheap drinks! Give aways! I am wearing girl's undies! All the bouncers are wearing girl's undies! Come down! Cheap drinks! Ladies night! Valentine's Day!
I KNOW.
Toss.
Turn.
Hostel announcement over speaker: To the guys in room 102, your pizza will be here in a couple of minutes if you want to come down and wait for it that'd be great thanks bye!
Sleep.
Sunday
ARISE.
Blarg.
Wait.
What time is it?
Did not change clock on phone.
Was it forward an hour?
Or back an hour?
Ponder.
Am sleepy, thus pondering is a stupid thing to do.
ARISE (for real).
Shower dress investigate reception oh you're kidding it's only six-thirty?
What the hell am I doing awake at this hour?
I can't go back to sleep now.
Read.
Get creeped out. Close book.
Venture out.
Someone is sunbaking on the rooftop. In only underwear. Which is normal.
They're wrapped in a blue plastic sheet from the thigh down. Which is not.
Search for breakfast.
Spy breakfast.
StalkstalkstalkCATCHKILLeatbreakfast.
Walk to rendezvous point.
Investigate rendezvous point.
Discover dead toad.
Sit with dead toad.
Smells of both rot and dessication.
Foreign species arrives.
Foreign species is not impressed with dead toad.
Hmph.
Ship arrives.
Venture down to pontoon.
Wait while ship takes half an hour to get comfy at the jetty.
Watch foreign species boil in the sun. Ask why foreign species is wearing a black t-shirt. Crazy foreign species is crazy.
Board.
Sit.
Wait while slow people are slow.
Cast off!
Putterputterputterputterputter.
Narration of Brisbane river of loudspeaker.
Is
Lacking
In interest.
Am not interested in flood insurance.
No, really.
Passing interested in the dredging of the river.
Very interested in gas-cracking tower. What on earth is gas cracking?
Not interested in stadium redevelopment.
Not that interested in houses.
Interested in the 'discovery' of the Brisbane river.
Very interested in Indooroopilly fruit bat colony.
Laugh at water skiiers who crash out to an audience.
Laugh at small child shrieking "please stop!" on floatie towed by power boat.
Numb bum.
Arrive at Lone Pine.
Oggle at bats.
Shrieked at by cocky.
See many koalas.
Koalas not doing much.
It's the good life.
Seek wombat.
Find wombat.
Wombat also living the good life.
No, really.
When am grown up, want to be a wombat.
Seek crocodiles.
There are no freakin' crocodiles.
Map is useless piece of confusing blargh.
Find kangaroos.
And koalas.
And bush turkeys.
And koalas.
And bush turkeys.
FIND CROCODILES.
Not very big crocodiles.
Hot crocodiles.
Poor crocodiles.
Find lunch.
Introduce foreign species to lamingtons. Lamingtion, foreign species. Foreign species, lamingtion.
WITNESS KOALA GAMBOL ACROSS THE GROUND.
Return to ship.
Behold crew feeding the catfish.
Yikes.
Board.
Cast off!
No voice over.
Foreign species's accent attracts one sporting similar foreign accent. Shamelessly leave foreign species to make small inane conversation on his own.
Do evil laugh in my head.
Disembark.
Mission: locate Archives.
Walk.
Locate information booth.
Am informed of what already knew.
Oh well.
Walk.
LO!
ARCHIVES!
Enter the blessed land!
Bid foreign species goodbye and bugger off into the stacks.
Never ever come out.
Ever.
Talk myself out of yet another marine coffee table book.
Several times.
Read Destructive and Useful Insects.
Learn a lot about grasshoppers.
And insects 'injurous to corn'.
And how to diagnose the insect according to the damage done.
And that oil-based bait is better than water-based bait.
Are kicked out of store.
Hunt for dinner.
Am guided to Lab and die at the prices but hey, at least they don't TURN US AWAY AT THE DOOR.
RAAAAAARRRRR.
Kitchen is not yet open.
Depart.
Guide to that 24 hour pancake place, you know the one.
Have spider.
Rescue foreign species from ordering coffee.
Does the cashier growl at me?
I think she does.
Return to Lab.
Am totally underdressed.
CARE NOT.
Fuck polite conversation.
Listen to awkward silence at table beside us. First date? They're can't even look at each other.
But then they kiss?
What's going on there?
Get lost on the way to the toilet.
Return to a whole new world of apes and half-buried Statue of Liberty.
Order the duck anyway.
Introduce foreign species to the word 'ratbag'.
Glooooorious duck.
Nomnomnomonmnom.
And cup of tea.
Oh.
Glorious.
Tea.
Rescue foreign species from ordering coffee.
Actually, I've encountered this a couple of times with Murkins bewildered that they cannot order 'a coffee'. You have to be specific here. Cappuccino, mocha, latte I'm sure you're familiar with. Flat White - coffee with milk. Long Black - coffee without milk. Short black - nasty intense bitter thing.
I don't even drink coffee.
Dessert is some small dense singularity that sits so heavy it hangs around the knees.
The previous nights TOTAL FAILURE OF DINNER more than made up for.
Depart.
Stop off at Fort Fucking Knox to ditch books.
Catch the following on TV:
It really takes off at 3.29.
(OMG. There's ninjas. There's ninjas BEFORE it gets weird.)
Hell yes we went and saw Twilight.
W
T
F
?
Am sure it was not supposed to be that funny. It's creepy and wrong and fucking hilarious. And wrong. And all the buck teeth. And the gasping. And the non-characters. And the- you know, it's just wrong.
But it did contain some beautiful scenery.
And was hilarious.
Bid foreign species adieu.
Back to Base.
Clean teeth in the bathroom this time.
Can't sleep.
Really can't sleep.
Read.
Get creeped out stop reading.
Monday
ARISE.
Blargh.
Am smart. Know what the time is this time.
Shower dress pack go.
Train.
Check-in. No window seats left.
Hunt breakfast stalkstalkstalkCATCHKILLeat breakfast.
Read.
Board.
Am sitting next to couple with baby. Expect the worst.
Take off.
Baby lies down on sheepskin and promptly passes out for the entire flight.
Wish had the same ability.
Curl up curl in self induced coma.
Enter Victorian skies.
Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence.
I think I might be sick. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Land.
Don't feel so good.
Bus.
Still don't feel so good.
Train.
Still don't feel so good.
Home.
Blargh.
Ignore washing ignore dishes ignore email ignore lunch.
Is it bed time yet?
Saturday
ARISE.
Blargh.
Shower dress pack tea go.
Smoke thicker in the air. Changing the light.
Train.
Another train.
Can smell the bushfires in the city.
Skybus.
Airport.
Check-in. Alas, all window seats taken.
Find gate.
Find chai latte the size of my head.
Read.
Board.
Curl up curl in self-induced coma.
Depart 1200.
Arrive 1310.
Why does this feel like longer than one hour?
Land.
Oh.
Right.
Queensland doesn't do daylight savings. Duh. Dumbass.
Step outside. Wilt.
Queensland does do humidity.
Wtf is this wet stuff falling from the sky?
This is bullshit. Who has wet stuff falling from the sky?
Fucking ridiculous.
Feels like I'm breathing...wet stuff. That's fallen from the sky.
Is any oxygen getting through?
Can you suffocate from this? I think I'm going to asphyxiate.
Hide in train. Sweet, sweet airconditioned train.
Brisbane.
Base Central.
Manual elevator.
Ca-CHUNK. ClunkclunkclunkclunkclunkKRANG. Ca-CHUNK.
Fourth floor.
Stairs.
Monk's closet: one (1) window, one (1) bed, one (1) ceiling fan, one (1) door.
Ditch bag.
Ponder changing into cooler clothes.
Figure, have not raised sweat, do not need to.
Later regret this.
Exit.
Walk.
Discover have retained exactly zero (0) memory of Brisbane's layout from stint at Clarion South.
Consult map.
Locate domicile of foreign species.
Cannot see Archives despite research indicating it existing across the road.
Am mildly concerned by lack of book store.
Return to attention to domicile.
Attempt to gain entry.
First checkpoint: Lobby (achieved).
Second checkpoint: Establish audio contact (achieved)
Third checkpoint: Discover where the hell the foreign species is (achieved).
Fourth checkpoint: GO THERE (FUCKING FAIL MAN)
Am not informed by reception staff that said domicile is actually Fort Fucking Knox and am trapped in an elevator going up and down. Tour basement and twenty-fourth floor.
Return to reception. Learn of intercom.
Use intercom.
Rendezvous.
Exit.
Walk.
Consult map.
Am correct.
Foreign species disagrees.
Walk.
Am so correct.
Foreign species still disagrees.
Walk.
No, seriously, am so amazingly correct we take exactly zero (0) wrong turns and are forced to backtrack zero (0) times.
Walk.
See?
No sense of direction, but I can follow a map.
Locate Piaf.
Sit.
Are informed kitchen is closed.
AM DEPRIVED OF GLORIOUS DUCK.
Order a bunch of sides.
Rescue foreign species from ordering coffee.
Converse, as politely as polite people do (apparently).
(Am not polite person.)
Sides actually damn good and practically a whole meal.
Do cheese.
Am overwhelmed and defeated by cheese.
Pay bill on the sly just to incense foreign species 'cause am a little shit like that.
Walk.
Wtf is this wet stuff falling from the sky?
Attempt to infiltrate book shops.
Archives still missing.
Dymocks closed.
Borders not closed.
Closes ten (10) minutes after entering.
Enough time to organise their shelves.
Attempt to enter restaurant for drinks.
Are turned away.
Attempt to enter restaurant for drinks.
Are turned away.
Hmm.
Not hungry anyway.
Wander into cinemas.
Survey offerings.
Jokingly: We could always go see Twilight.
Little Shit: Okay!
Attempt to buy tickets.
Realise movie isn't on till after nine.
Exit.
Attempt to enter restaurant for drinks.
Are turned away.
Attempt to enter restaurant for drinks.
Are seated.
See only menu for Valentine's Day.
Waiter pours champagne.
Er.
Wait.
Oh.
Nothing but hearts and chocolates on offer.
Not even the bar open.
Exit.
FFS.
Regroup on balcony.
Watch bats.
Converse as politely as polite people do (allegedly).
(Even less of a polite person.)
Attempt room service.
Nothing. Not even the Valentine's Day special.
Venture out.
Decide against pub.
Still can't see Archives.
Attempt restaurant are turned away OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
You know, I don't have an issue with Valentine's Day, bloody history or crass commercialism or society rules of relationship, it bothers me not. If you're in a relationship and want to use the day to celebrate how lovey-dovey you are, go for it! If you're not in a relationship and want to use the day to get all bitter and jaded and sad and lonely about it, go for it! I am neither, and unaffected.
But it should not be imFUCKINGpossible to FIND FOOD in a capital city. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy - I said we might end up with a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Except we couldn't find a supermarket and so even that was denied us.
We staaaaaaaaaarved.
Sandwiches from 7-11.
Back to balcony.
Oh, we'll laugh about it later.
Am laughing now.
Hysteria.
Split up.
Return to Base.
Manage to locate bathroom.
Return to closet.
Stand.
Look out window.
Marvel at the many airconditioning vents within a ten (10) metre radius.
Marvel at cumulative roar not unlike jet engine.
Decide cannot be bothered returning to bathroom, and clean teeth out window.
To bed.
Hostel announcement over speaker (where the hell did the speaker come from?): oh, it's Valentine's Day! Ladies night! Cheap drinks! Give aways! I am wearing girl's undies! All the bouncers are wearing girl's undies! Come down! Cheap drinks! Ladies night! Valentine's Day!
I KNOW.
Toss.
Turn.
Hostel announcement over speaker: To the guys in room 102, your pizza will be here in a couple of minutes if you want to come down and wait for it that'd be great thanks bye!
Sleep.
Sunday
ARISE.
Blarg.
Wait.
What time is it?
Did not change clock on phone.
Was it forward an hour?
Or back an hour?
Ponder.
Am sleepy, thus pondering is a stupid thing to do.
ARISE (for real).
Shower dress investigate reception oh you're kidding it's only six-thirty?
What the hell am I doing awake at this hour?
I can't go back to sleep now.
Read.
Get creeped out. Close book.
Venture out.
Someone is sunbaking on the rooftop. In only underwear. Which is normal.
They're wrapped in a blue plastic sheet from the thigh down. Which is not.
Search for breakfast.
Spy breakfast.
StalkstalkstalkCATCHKILLeatbreakfast.
Walk to rendezvous point.
Investigate rendezvous point.
Discover dead toad.
Sit with dead toad.
Smells of both rot and dessication.
Foreign species arrives.
Foreign species is not impressed with dead toad.
Hmph.
Ship arrives.
Venture down to pontoon.
Wait while ship takes half an hour to get comfy at the jetty.
Watch foreign species boil in the sun. Ask why foreign species is wearing a black t-shirt. Crazy foreign species is crazy.
Board.
Sit.
Wait while slow people are slow.
Cast off!
Putterputterputterputterputter.
Narration of Brisbane river of loudspeaker.
Is
Lacking
In interest.
Am not interested in flood insurance.
No, really.
Passing interested in the dredging of the river.
Very interested in gas-cracking tower. What on earth is gas cracking?
Not interested in stadium redevelopment.
Not that interested in houses.
Interested in the 'discovery' of the Brisbane river.
Very interested in Indooroopilly fruit bat colony.
Laugh at water skiiers who crash out to an audience.
Laugh at small child shrieking "please stop!" on floatie towed by power boat.
Numb bum.
Arrive at Lone Pine.
Oggle at bats.
Shrieked at by cocky.
See many koalas.
Koalas not doing much.
It's the good life.
Seek wombat.
Find wombat.
Wombat also living the good life.
No, really.
When am grown up, want to be a wombat.
Seek crocodiles.
There are no freakin' crocodiles.
Map is useless piece of confusing blargh.
Find kangaroos.
And koalas.
And bush turkeys.
And koalas.
And bush turkeys.
FIND CROCODILES.
Not very big crocodiles.
Hot crocodiles.
Poor crocodiles.
Find lunch.
Introduce foreign species to lamingtons. Lamingtion, foreign species. Foreign species, lamingtion.
WITNESS KOALA GAMBOL ACROSS THE GROUND.
Return to ship.
Behold crew feeding the catfish.
Yikes.
Board.
Cast off!
No voice over.
Foreign species's accent attracts one sporting similar foreign accent. Shamelessly leave foreign species to make small inane conversation on his own.
Do evil laugh in my head.
Disembark.
Mission: locate Archives.
Walk.
Locate information booth.
Am informed of what already knew.
Oh well.
Walk.
LO!
ARCHIVES!
Enter the blessed land!
Bid foreign species goodbye and bugger off into the stacks.
Never ever come out.
Ever.
Talk myself out of yet another marine coffee table book.
Several times.
Read Destructive and Useful Insects.
Learn a lot about grasshoppers.
And insects 'injurous to corn'.
And how to diagnose the insect according to the damage done.
And that oil-based bait is better than water-based bait.
Are kicked out of store.
Hunt for dinner.
Am guided to Lab and die at the prices but hey, at least they don't TURN US AWAY AT THE DOOR.
RAAAAAARRRRR.
Kitchen is not yet open.
Depart.
Guide to that 24 hour pancake place, you know the one.
Have spider.
Rescue foreign species from ordering coffee.
Does the cashier growl at me?
I think she does.
Return to Lab.
Am totally underdressed.
CARE NOT.
Fuck polite conversation.
Listen to awkward silence at table beside us. First date? They're can't even look at each other.
But then they kiss?
What's going on there?
Get lost on the way to the toilet.
Return to a whole new world of apes and half-buried Statue of Liberty.
Order the duck anyway.
Introduce foreign species to the word 'ratbag'.
Glooooorious duck.
Nomnomnomonmnom.
And cup of tea.
Oh.
Glorious.
Tea.
Rescue foreign species from ordering coffee.
Actually, I've encountered this a couple of times with Murkins bewildered that they cannot order 'a coffee'. You have to be specific here. Cappuccino, mocha, latte I'm sure you're familiar with. Flat White - coffee with milk. Long Black - coffee without milk. Short black - nasty intense bitter thing.
I don't even drink coffee.
Dessert is some small dense singularity that sits so heavy it hangs around the knees.
The previous nights TOTAL FAILURE OF DINNER more than made up for.
Depart.
Stop off at Fort Fucking Knox to ditch books.
Catch the following on TV:
It really takes off at 3.29.
(OMG. There's ninjas. There's ninjas BEFORE it gets weird.)
Hell yes we went and saw Twilight.
W
T
F
?
Am sure it was not supposed to be that funny. It's creepy and wrong and fucking hilarious. And wrong. And all the buck teeth. And the gasping. And the non-characters. And the- you know, it's just wrong.
But it did contain some beautiful scenery.
And was hilarious.
Bid foreign species adieu.
Back to Base.
Clean teeth in the bathroom this time.
Can't sleep.
Really can't sleep.
Read.
Get creeped out stop reading.
Monday
ARISE.
Blargh.
Am smart. Know what the time is this time.
Shower dress pack go.
Train.
Check-in. No window seats left.
Hunt breakfast stalkstalkstalkCATCHKILLeat breakfast.
Read.
Board.
Am sitting next to couple with baby. Expect the worst.
Take off.
Baby lies down on sheepskin and promptly passes out for the entire flight.
Wish had the same ability.
Curl up curl in self induced coma.
Enter Victorian skies.
Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence.
I think I might be sick. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Turbulence. Land.
Don't feel so good.
Bus.
Still don't feel so good.
Train.
Still don't feel so good.
Home.
Blargh.
Ignore washing ignore dishes ignore email ignore lunch.
Is it bed time yet?
Friday, February 13, 2009
Strange Days
Smoke changes the sun rise, the light of noon, the whole world. Our surroundings are nothing but light bouncing. The light is different.
There have been earthquakes and mindquakes these last couple of weeks. Some of it even turned into turbulence, and fear is so quick to slide a hand in and put the choke on. I'm not choked. That's reassuring.
Still, I remember knives. How quick I was to slide a mind over and grip the blades.
Shall be incommunicado for a few days. Not, I admit, that I've been in communicado much of late. Poor blog. You've been so quick to slide down the priorities list when fiction fiction fiction beckons. I guess I'm weary of dissecting my life.
No fear. I'm sure that's another dirty habit I'll come back to before long.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Victoria, She Burns
The projected high yesterday was 43/109 degrees. Within Melbourne, it reached 46/114 degrees. Many outlying towns managed 47/116 degrees.
I spent the day doing very little. I slept in as long as I could, turned no computer on, did not step out the front door, and spent the day reading. I thought my flat was getting hot, until I put my hand on the front door to peek outside, and it was so hot for a moment I thought I was burned. I peeked through the blinds and the heat falling from the glass was heavy and incredible and frightening. The sun was so bright everything was white. I thought the sky had been boiled white too, until I realised no, that was smoke. So much smoke it had no source. It came from everywhere.
The afternoon cool change is a quirk of Melbourne's climate. The vertical drop on that graph is no exaggeration. The cold air thunders across the state with such fury it wipes a hot day away within minutes. There'd been hot gusts from the north all day, scouring the streets and forming giant drifts of leaves on the side walk, yet the cold change was stronger, and when it hit, the flat shoot, the windows shook, the doors to the bedroom and bathroom were blown open by the pressure change.
Too late for most of the state.
Walking around the streets in the twilight, far from the bushfires, I could see the heat. All the trees, plants, bushes, everything, everything is burned. Leaves are crisped and curled and dead and falling. It isn't autumn, but it looks like it. Even the gum trees are struggling, whole branches dead and leaves mottled. There is no green grass. The sun isn't forgotten, even as it leaves the horizon.
I saw a water-bombing helicopter fly over. Melbourne has so few helicopters, I didn't recognise the sound of its engine, and sought it out. Going home to refuel, or repair.
Every fire season, they talk of how bad it is. Because of the drought, which has gone on for more than half my memory, everything is dry, ready to burn. Every fire season, they talk about Ash Wednesday. Sometimes it feels like alarmist, sensationalist fear mongering. This time it isn't.
(photo from The Age)Entire townships have been razed. Every time I update the front page of the Age, the death toll has risen. To ease the strain on the CFA website, a google map keeping track of the bushfires has been set up here. The Australia Red Cross has set up relief centres across the state. Those of us safe in metropolitan Melbourne, please consider donating to aid those who've lost their homes, and especially to the CFA. They're volunteers.
I'm sitting here in a jumper, the first I've worn in weeks, because it is 20/68 degrees right now. I've watched it rain on and off during the day.
They say Australia is the coalmine canary of climate change.
That would indicate we're all fucked.
ETA:
- Helicopter footage of what was Marysville
- Tweetgrid for #bushfires #vicfires
- Possible firebugs relighting bushfires
ETA (2102): Just got back from an evening stroll. Wandered down my street looking at an enormous sunset, a huge bank of hazy clouds lit up red and pink. Beautiful to behold. Until I started to realise something was wrong, hang on, wait a minute...the sun doesn't set there.
Turned around, and yes, the sun was setting exactly where it is supposed to. Blue skies, high scattered clouds catching gold and silver.
Turned around again, yes, the skies of Independence Day filling one half of the heavenly sphere. The sunlight was reflecting and caught in the smoke from the fires. As if so many infernos were no longer content to eat the land, but had to start on the sky as well. Spent my walking turning back and forth, 180 degrees, checking the opposing simultaneous sunsets. Creepy.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Exit, Stage Right: Le Red Fin
You thought I'd forgotten, hadn't you?
Shark Puppet is a temporary stand in - I'm waiting on Metropolis to get more puppets in. This post is also a temporary stand in - instead of heat keeping me quiet, writing is keeping me quiet. I have to make the most of my ability to turn a computer on before the next heat wave strikes. Between teeth and my bone marrow melting, I'm behind on everything.
(Just between you and me, I'm glad Le Red Fin is gone. He was a touch irritating. Not that Shark Puppet makes for good company.)
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