Belated Love letter

i MOURN the loss of the girl you were, because i don’t recognise the woman you’ve become.

We all grow up, we all grow apart, we all grow old.

But a part of me, a really good part of me, is still lost somewhere in the mid to late 2000s with you, and i think it always will be.

Goodbye x

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A new approach to being ignored: Loop pedals/ The inverse relationship between wanting it and getting it

Since no one reads this blog I feel I can post whatever is happening inside my head with confidence and without wondering if someone will read it. Except that my screen name is a dead give away. But still, I’ve seen my stats. I feel safe.

This blog is just going to be a dumping ground for my thoughts.

I generally write down my thoughts on my phone. If I want to send someone a msg but I know I shouldn’t I will just write it on my phone. If I write a to do list I will write it on my phone.

I generally believe that the to-do lists I write on my phone speak volumes more about my life than any shitty story I could write.

If you are still reading, (and I’m speaking mostly to future-raj, I’ve seen those site stats) here goes:

Last Friday I went with K to see a gig at the sly fox.

Everyone was average except for Matt Banham – K’s mate who used to be in No Through Road, but is now reinventing himself as some sort of pop singer – and this chick who used loop pedals and wailed into a mic while smashing randomly at her keyboard. She was really bad.

Yeah loop pedals are amazing. But sometimes, fuck you.

What can i say about bad use of the loop pedal that hasn’t already been said about chemical weapons? Sometimes you just wish we could uninvent them and shoot the users.

Like bike pedals, except you never get anywhere.

Like bike pedals, except you never get anywhere.

I feel like the relationship to how much i want to be someone’s friend and how much they want to be mine is inversely related. The more I want it the less they do. So i should just not want it? Do you only get the things you don’t want? That doesn’t sound right.

Tired of people telling me to be mean and play games.

Not sure what games or how to play said games.

Mind games.

I feel like I’m not smart enough to win my own mind games.

If I lose against myself then I really lose. Or does it mean I can never lose?

What the fuck am I talking about?

I’m well aware that the only one who can save me is myself but still it would be nice to if someone else could save me.

Wait so do I want a friend or do I want someone to save me? Save me from what?

My life is exhausting and ridiculously depressing.

No its not I have no idea why I would say that.

So I ask and it just means they like me less.

I have that effect on people.

That sounds sad maybe I’ll play with my hair till I feel attractive again.

Didn’t work or not enough playing. Unsure.

Number of friends I will have gained by writing this: 0


Late Starts.

I’m going to sleep later and later and getting up even later and later. I went to bed last night at 4am and just woke up at 2pm.

But daylight saving just kicked in i guess so its not that bad. Saw julian Assange speak via satlink at the opera house over the weekend. was only $15 for me but it was still pretty exspeno for a skpe date!

I’ve been looking up alot of spoken word artists lately, and i think i want to try and write a poem about Heidi, and that. My idea is to tell a little story with each stanza, and link each stanza to the 5 stages of grieving (its the Kubler-Ross model, or fucken whatever) which are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

And at the end of each stanza with each little story i will modify one of those saying that people tell you when shit goes wrong, you know one of those little cliched lines like: “Whatever doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger”.

Its just an idea, even if i never put it up here the entire purpose behind me writing at all is almost always been cathatic, which is probably why i can never force myself to write and why i only write when i’m upset these days.

Thats pretty much all i have to say except here is a a spoken word artist i kinda like. His delivery is awesome, its hypnotic.


Camus, Strummer, and fables.

My friend Liz recently lent me a book that’d she’d read. The Outsider or The Stranger, depending on the translation (it’s L’Étranger in French) by Albert Camus.

I’d heard of him before – like in a song by The Magnetic Fields, I really like that song, which you can listen to here, and had actually tried looking up Camoo a few years ago when I first heard it (because I’m a spaz) – the novel is only a hundred pages long, so I sat down and read it in a few hours.

Verdict: glad i read it, but  pretty fucken depressing actually. Thanks french guy. You totally ruined my arvo.

One thing I noticed while reading up on Camus afterwards was that he looks spookily like an old, french, Joe Strummer.

Joe Strummer

Joe Strummer: Punk rock hero

Albert Camus

Albert Camus: Post-war french emo.

A few weeks ago Andy told me it was a bit of a shame that Camus kind of reminded him of Paul Coelho, you know, the author of The Alchemist. (I can’t remember exactly what Andy was saying about Coelho because I was quite drunk by the time I was speaking to him – Andy sorry if i’m misrepresenting you, I’m pretty sure you didn’t like it).

The Outsider is similarily a fable, I don’t know how similar it is because everytime I tried to read The Alchemist I fell asleep.

I’m a firm believer in giving a book a chance, but if you are a third of the way through (or 60 pages, whatever comes first) and fighting off boredom/sleep then you can and should give up (on works of fiction at least).

While reading The Alchemist I was constantly aware that Coelho was trying to teach me something, pushing me towards ‘a moral’. It was like: “look! a metaphor for the soul! Look: an analogy for life! Christian symbolism! Wow!” It gets old pretty quickly. It’s really so obvious in its didacticism and the writing is so fucking bland. not to mention the linear storytelling. I know he’s trying to ‘help’ people, but i can’t get past the idea that it’s just bad writing.

In terms of the didatic, fablistic (is that a word?) nature of the stories, I had similar misgiving towards Tolstoy’s short stories like (“the death of Ivan Illyvich” etc. etc.) when we did 19th Century Russian lit at uni, although they were more bearable because they were written by Tolstoy (i.e. written really fuckin well). And anyway Tolstoy was anarchist who died making a point about his beliefs. Definately one of literature’s good guys.

Leo Tolstoy

Why is it easier to accept wisdom from Tolstoy? As if he isn't wise, the guy pretty much looks like Old Father Time.

So anyway, despite the fact that it was a fable, or maybe even because of it, I’m glad I read the Outsider. It’s about a dude who goes through life with very little emotional attachment to anything. Thats what marks him as an outsider, his disconnection to emotion – his disconnection to the human, or what people see as the thing that makes us human. And it scares people. He is unattached to, and untouched by, the world, like a Buddhist or something.

Rather than hide this flaw, he is completely honest about it. What is interesting about him is that even though he is cold to the world, you actually feel alot empathy for him. He is almost like a passive observer to his own life. He doesn’t lie about anything, he is intelligent, rational, and certain of his beliefs. He is strongly atheistic, detached and basicly the opposite of those people around him, who function as carefully constructed ‘character foils’ that demonstrate how different he is (thanks university!). So he exposes the absurdity of the human condition and life and remians true to himself right to the end.


Rules To Live By

"Well, ya ain't let me down yet Sailor, an' that's more than I can say for the rest of the world"

I definitely don’t agree that you should go through life rigidly sticking to rules and codes. But sometimes, when faced with snap decisions, it’s handy to have a loose set of principles to fall back on which can save you from making an epic mistake. (eg. “Wait guys, lets NOT split up to search the house that was built on an ancient native american burial ground in the middle of the night on halloween…”) Here are a couple of “Do Nots”

Never trust anyone with a surname for a first name. (thanks Luke)

Never trust anyone in white jeans. (Ash)

Never trust anyone who doesn’t look good in wayfarers (Iona)

Never trust anyone who calls you “Buddy” on first meeting them.*

Never trust anyone who considers ordering a drink using the serving size descriptor “Schooie” or tries to call a vodka orange a Screwdriver.**

Never touch a black man’s radio (thanks Chris Tucker)

I can’t think of anymore. I had heaps before i sat down!

I’m aware that most of these are negative, and i could have a list of you know, nice things to do, but where’s the fun in that?

*This is particularly important. These people are instigating an unequal power relationship in which you (i.e. the Buddee) are echelons below them (i.e. the Budder) on the social strata. fuck these guys.

**seriously fuck you guys. for the former, how hard is it to finish that word? and for the latter, we are NOT in 1920s prohibition America, and you are not a connoisseur. Keep that 10 c tip you were going to leave and buy yourself another one of those chat ties. You’re from the shire, and you live with your mum and your hair looks stupid.


On Midgets, My Father and Ponytails.

The thing about working nights is that you start devaluing daytime. Mornings are the first casualty. It’s not like I don’t get up early enough to acknowledge them (10 am?). It’s just that I do nothing with them at all.

So yeah, I work nights at a pub. The customers are usually fairly predictable, which is why I was completely thrown one night a couple of weeks ago when I met an Irish midget wearing a pink fluffy cowboy hat. Never mind the who’s or whys, the very fact that a situation exists in the world that calls for this spectacular combination of dress sense, ethnicity and personal physiological circumstance, cheered me up. I wish I got a fucking photo with this guy, who it turns out was actually pretty funny and nice. In lieu of a photo, here is a picture I drew.

I’m on the left. Not to scale.

If only I did get that photo, I wonder what my grandkids would think when they found a photo like that. You know, just slip it into a sensible hardback photo album, the sort your grandma keeps near the TV cabinet. Who knows, but it might be good for the lulz. Maybe their reaction would be similar to my reaction on finding this photo of my dad circa 1971.

Dad, circa 1972, lounging his way through the greek islands. Also worth noting is that this picture predates disco by about 3 years.

I saw some guy in newtown yesterday with a ponytail and it gave me the shits. Long hair can look cool, so just do that, yeah? I mean, ponytails, on guys. Why? A girl might put her hair in one, but its not a hairstyle its a practical thing. Right? Keeps long hair off your back, out of your eyes and food. No girl that you know will wear a ponytail out. So why do guys with long hair think its a good idea? They have long hair all the time and then go out in a ponytail. Its chat. Unless you are a Spanish fencing instructor, or a 19th century stable-hand, don’t do it.

Ponytails: Not actually a hairstyle.