December 14, 2011 § 2 Comments
This is turning into a thing now so got to make a concerted effort to clean this up and get rid of some of the crappier posts/uni work that linger and maybe do some informative discussions rather than ‘world, here is my PMT’. Try and write some proper poems about nature.
Actually, no. No editing. Why clean it up? Yes, it was an assignment, originally, but it evolved, as we are all doing, against the forces which surround us. Where is the shame in that? Where I say?
But you mainly just write when you are shitted off or bored, or avoiding doing something unpleasant.
That’s because it’s a mock-blog. It’s not a real blog. Like most of me, it’s irony.
Pretty crap irony.
Write about the worst period in your life. Or sex, everyone’s dying to hear some more about that. Whatever you do, don’t face up to the fact that you are boring. That happiness has been more or less a process of elimination. That you had an sms conversation with your mother this morning about no longer being a full time student because of the farting associated with a carbohydrate diet. Writers fall into two categories, ones who can afford to do and see interesting things and relate them, or down and out. Try and decide which one you might be by the next post.
I sort of made my peace with the university as I was rewarded, in the end, by one person, for my dissent. That there are oddities only make it a system, not a faulty one. I suppose my major frustration was with the role of philosophy and science as ill-defined go-tos – kind of like no philosophy at all – but I will write about that later. Or maybe I won’t. I’m sure everyone can tell that I’m having some kind of precious mini-dilemma about whether to continue on with the literary bent, or write papers about ancient turtles. Or make documentary films. OR ALL THREE. Basically I change my mind on an almost daily basis, as I remembered, looking back over some of these posts. I think I wrote what I thought the purpose of literary criticism was in one of my assignments and the teacher wrote “this is a big claim” so I thought well if there is no reason for it then I can’t be fucked. And I don’t feel like I identify properly with the intensely social magazine-style discussions (particularly in performance) because I always acted and read literature because I was a social retard – something like that. I find performance art passe. I don’t like a lot of the books I read, if the author is pompous and not witty, self-deprecating. I think the highpoint of language was wit, not necessarily collage. The list goes on.
I’m in my annual caffeine ban period and it roundly sucks. Apparently the world would grind to a halt without capitalism but I’m sure it’s actually coffee. Day 1 of War On Farting is shaping up ok. Yesterday was kind of a fart send-off, I think I had 2 minute noodles, pasta and Coles pizza fingers. Shameful. I made the bizarre mistake of thinking that because I had less money I would naturally be less hungry, and didn’t buy any meat. I then tried this weird ‘getting back to basics’ period where I had things like carrot and broccoli fried in lemon juice on rice. That was shit-house. Turns out there is a reason why things have ingredients as well. I get by thinking that there is no way this is poverty. The world is full of people who would kill for one bite of my fart-food.
Not much else. Mildly apprehensive about going home. I don’t belong anywhere. Haha *DRAMA!* No but I don’t really have that feeling of ah, I am home now. No matter. It’s a story, anyway, home. Like the ones we tell about the Earth.
December 11, 2011 § Leave a comment
I have to write more, read more, but this is actually the middle of my end of year do not much. I am considering eco-meditation in Centennial Park, which is behind my house. I have no idea what eco-meditation is, but it is free and just going by the name it sounds lovely. I also feel like playing computer games. I’m not a huge gamer, in fact I find most of them repetitive and boring. However since the graphics got better some of them can feel quite adventuresome and a few involve actual problem solving. My best mate and I used to play a lot of PC games, I remember we would play for hours after school until I needed to throw up from motion sickness. I’m also just beginning to feel like travelling again. I was speaking to a friend about it, and we were saying Africa, but I still have to do my coast-to-coast USA drive. I have a couple of mates I can drop in to see as well. If you see my ‘truancy’ post, which I have taken down momentarily to iron out, I have always been attracted to the physical sensation of crossing a large amount of space. When I first moved to Sydney I felt upset, cracked, weighed upon, until I walked over most of it and felt relieved in a spatial sense, like knowing the utensils are behind you in the kitchen.
I don’t understand how I have been unpacking for a week and there appears to be more mess. I suppose everything is out of the boxes now. I have kept a selection of books, in fact I kept a selection of everything and still have way too much for a small room. I don’t consider myself a rampant consumer but I also seem to have a genuine love of stuff. Just all kinds of stuff. My favourites? Five hundred or so books, vintage clothes I have been collecting since I was 20, cameras and lenses, guitars, useful food gadgets like my Italian espresso machine, things I buy at markets, outdoor and travel equipment, so on and so forth. Mum, the complete champ, has taken most of it, or I probably would have died of grief. My PC games mate and I wagged school one afternoon when we were 16 and found this book seller attached to a nursing home which was selling all the books of the deceased for 10-20 cents each. We bought around twenty dollars worth each, or more, then had to get them home somehow – I remember considering a stolen shopping trolley. We had a long-standing agreement to find the place again and get another load but never did, it just became friendship folklore: That Day We Got Those Books. Anyway, I still have all of them, many of which are Thomas Hardy, who is far from my favourite writer. They have become like, I don’t know, a heroic totem. Like Wilson in Cast Away. If I can manage to get through to the end of life with those books in my possession then I have a notably sentimental and protective temperament, or something.
Clothes and jewellery I don’t consider problems of excess or evidence of girlish superficiality because I get most of them at markets or second hand and tend to stick with items which wear well, such as Doc Marten boots. My last pair lasted me about 15 years, including being worn every night when, new to Sydney, I worked at various pubs. At one stage I would walk home (in my boots) from the cocktail bar in the city where I was working because I finished too late for buses and didn’t want to use half my night’s wage on a cab. This was through Redfern/Waterloo, at 3am, after 6 free Jack Daniels and Coke “to make the walk seem quicker”. This was dangerous. I don’t know what to say about being in a new city and how it can make you feel invincible, or maybe I’m waxing it, I really didn’t have too many other options and life then was like that game where you keep building up a pile of hands and slapping one from the bottom onto the top. Nothing meta. I felt frantic, driven away from anything easier by people I desperately wanted to blame. I would get home after more than an hour stumbling alone in the dark and fall on my bed in my clothes.
Day to day I wear cheap clothes, what my dad calls ‘knockabout gear’, because I don’t have a car and walk everywhere, and Sydney is like a giant undulating fernery. On me, the humidity produces a permanent layer of sweat beads but my mother, somewhat hilariously, takes on water and physically bloats when she is here. My mum is a lot of things naturally but turgid is not one of them so I guess she loves me, to keep visiting.
My favourite thing about living in Randwick is the proximity to Coles, but I have been idly checking out the real estate prices on my walks and an extra $750,000 takes a bit of the shine off of being able to walk to the supermarket with a cart. I don’t know, property blergh. Too much life to get in order. The upside being: too much life.