Just a few diary notes for the upcoming weeks (or, me paraphrasing and filtering through the ever wonderful 3000)
Bars have markets now, did you know? Hello Sailor Vintage fair is this weekend at the Carlton Hotel. It's pretty rad. There's also apparently some type of garage sale called Lion in Love on Brunswick street that is intriguing me rather.
Onto hydration: Life at the Bottom is a website dedicated to bringing young creatives together to talk about ideas or whinge about unemployment or give us ideas about how to leave the dangerous realm of unemployment. This Wednesday if you find yourself without anything to do, head along to that new hip venue everyone’s talking about, reportedly the new venture of St Jerome’s peeps, 1000 Pound Bend, for a guest speaker. Take your young creative friends. It’s apparently not networking and apparently it’s not scary. There will probably be both pretty girls and pretty boys there. Yessssssss.
I'm interested in going to the second last Wordplay for the year, despite the fact that Celia Pacquola is one of the people going to be there and ever since she had that "random" spot on Rove a few months back I haven't been able to get past her. And she was on Good News Week and was really just trying too hard. Didn't go down to well with me. But maybe if I go to this then I'll get over all those grudges of mine.
BUT WAIT!! I can't go to that because the Voiceworks 21st birthday party is on that night!!
A lot of people seem to be moving house lately (Express Media for example) and the Melbourne Theatre Company is jumping on the proverbial bandwagon and having a garage sale to get rid of a bunch of their old stuff. Can you just imagine how awesome this is going to be? So many props and costumes and miscellaneous other things that could be used for art projects or just personal enjoyment. Or things to jazz up your next trip to Safeway.
If our greenroom at work is anything to go by, this is something you do NOT want to miss. It starts at 9am Sunday 14th November, somewhere in Southbank. It finishes at 3pm, but word is that if you turn up late you may as well not turn up at all. Everyone goes crazy for this stuff, you just take my word for it.
For your ears: The projector-savvy tasty-visual-vivants Projector Obscura will be providing heavenly holograms at the Worker’s Club next Sunday arvo for a sensory extravaganza featuring some real neat bands. I suggest you attend this event before the Worker’s Club becomes one of those places that everyone knows about.. There’s probably about a month to go before you’ll just become another person who’s been there, rather than someone who discovered it early. I’m just sayin’! But seriously, Projector Obscura are fine. And and and they have eggplant chips there. AWESOME.
Oh I should mention that the Newtown Worker's Club is having a craft/makers market over the summer and they want stallholders. You can register online for that one here. And the Order is having a market too, but it's more designy, whatever that means. Probably email them for queries about that one, but I think it starts fairly soon so they might not be accepting stallholders anyhow. Their rooftop terrace is going to be a nice place to hang this summer. Woop.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
In a similar vein to Stacey's last post, here's a favourite poem of mine by Erica Jong.
"What You Need to Be a Writer"
After the college
reading,
the eager
students gather.
They ask me
what you need
to be a writer
& I, feeling flippant,
jaunty
(because
I am wearing
an 18th century
dress
& think
myself in love
again),
answer:
“Mazel,
determination,
talent,
& true grit.”
I even
believe it—
looking
as I do
like an
advertisement
for easy
success—
designer dress,
sly smile
on my lips
& silver boots
from
Oz.
Suppose
they saw me
my eyes
swollen
like sponges,
my hand
shaking
with betrayal,
my fear
rampant
in the dark?
Suppose they saw
the fear
of never
writing,
the fear
of being
alone,
the money fear,
the fear fear,
the fear
of succumbing
to fear?
& then
there’s all
I did
not say:
to be
a writer
what you need
is
something
to say:
something
that burns
like a hot coal
in your gut
something
that pounds
like a pump
in your groin
& the courage
to live
like a wound
that never
heals.
---
Recently somebody said that I seem to use a lot of words and say nothing. This is true. But I'll probably just continue doing that. I wish I could be like Erica Jong and just have heaps of opinions and say important things. My fear, unlike her fear of never writing, is that my writing is terrible and that I don't have anything to say. Anyway I guess the point of this post is that I will always strive to be like Ms Jong but fall short. For some time. When I was searching for a copy of the above poem I found a blog that pretty much sums things up.
"What You Need to Be a Writer"
After the college
reading,
the eager
students gather.
They ask me
what you need
to be a writer
& I, feeling flippant,
jaunty
(because
I am wearing
an 18th century
dress
& think
myself in love
again),
answer:
“Mazel,
determination,
talent,
& true grit.”
I even
believe it—
looking
as I do
like an
advertisement
for easy
success—
designer dress,
sly smile
on my lips
& silver boots
from
Oz.
Suppose
they saw me
my eyes
swollen
like sponges,
my hand
shaking
with betrayal,
my fear
rampant
in the dark?
Suppose they saw
the fear
of never
writing,
the fear
of being
alone,
the money fear,
the fear fear,
the fear
of succumbing
to fear?
& then
there’s all
I did
not say:
to be
a writer
what you need
is
something
to say:
something
that burns
like a hot coal
in your gut
something
that pounds
like a pump
in your groin
& the courage
to live
like a wound
that never
heals.
---
Recently somebody said that I seem to use a lot of words and say nothing. This is true. But I'll probably just continue doing that. I wish I could be like Erica Jong and just have heaps of opinions and say important things. My fear, unlike her fear of never writing, is that my writing is terrible and that I don't have anything to say. Anyway I guess the point of this post is that I will always strive to be like Ms Jong but fall short. For some time. When I was searching for a copy of the above poem I found a blog that pretty much sums things up.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
How to be a Poet
by Wendell Berry
i
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.
ii
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
iii
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
by Wendell Berry
i
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.
ii
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
iii
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
semicolons: friend or foe?
Brief grammar post. I know that nobody (including me) gets it right 100% of the time, but there's always a lot of talk about semicolons. I was taught earlier this year that you use them to join sentences that are related, yet can stand on their own. I decided to research common mistakes made when using them and found a few tutorials and a rather useful grammar quiz.
Of course, you can never just do casual grammar research: you always end up getting into trouble or find yourself knee deep in split infinitives. Look, I try to stay away from claiming to be a grammar nazi, because I'm really not at all. I just try my best. I am putting this information out there to inform the general public.
In my opinion, the easiest way to distinguish between semicolons and regular colons is that colons are what you use when you need to say "here something is! look at this relevant point that is usually short!" and semicolons are more like "well here I am saying a few relevant things that could be in separate sentences, but I'm going to connect them with a semicolon because that makes me seem fancy". If you have another way of looking at it, I'd really like to hear. That's the easiest way for me to get my head around it though.
Please do the quizzies from that website, cause they may illuminate your grammar abilities.. or inabilities!
Of course, you can never just do casual grammar research: you always end up getting into trouble or find yourself knee deep in split infinitives. Look, I try to stay away from claiming to be a grammar nazi, because I'm really not at all. I just try my best. I am putting this information out there to inform the general public.
In my opinion, the easiest way to distinguish between semicolons and regular colons is that colons are what you use when you need to say "here something is! look at this relevant point that is usually short!" and semicolons are more like "well here I am saying a few relevant things that could be in separate sentences, but I'm going to connect them with a semicolon because that makes me seem fancy". If you have another way of looking at it, I'd really like to hear. That's the easiest way for me to get my head around it though.
Please do the quizzies from that website, cause they may illuminate your grammar abilities.. or inabilities!
ponies, strudels, etc
Let's do a post about our favourite woollen things. I've read other blogs and they do these things where they ask their readers to post pictures too and leave links. So maybe if I ask our readers to do that they will.
So, Stacey and I shall post pictures of a few of our favourite woollies and then if we have any readers they post pictures of their woollens on their blogs and leave us a link here telling us they did so.
These other blogs do a post like this every week, and one of the people who participates gets to choose the topic for next week. Can be any topic and we just all post pictures (no matter how crappy - mine will be crappy) of whatever the item/thing/topic chosen is.
And so, to reiterate: pictures of favourite woollen items. Short explanations of why. One week.
So, Stacey and I shall post pictures of a few of our favourite woollies and then if we have any readers they post pictures of their woollens on their blogs and leave us a link here telling us they did so.
These other blogs do a post like this every week, and one of the people who participates gets to choose the topic for next week. Can be any topic and we just all post pictures (no matter how crappy - mine will be crappy) of whatever the item/thing/topic chosen is.
And so, to reiterate: pictures of favourite woollen items. Short explanations of why. One week.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why
from I Eat Poetry
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
(Sonnet XLIII))
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
(Sonnet XLIII))
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
Friday, October 30, 2009
who will come?
One day I was walking my sister's old dog along this road in Horsham and the wind was fierce and the rain was hard.
Me and the dog were running like idiots while Sadie by Ms Newsom spurred me on.
You know those times when you feel infinite, or close to it? Infinite in the only way we mortals know how.
That was one of those times.
I know that it will never be as good as running along the edge of a country town with drops of rain and a family hound, but She is coming to Melbourne next year. Just after I come back from England.
I will be there. I wish I could take a beanbag to sit on. I want everyone at the Forum to sit down so we can enjoy her in comfort, but I bet it will be hot and awful.
Me and the dog were running like idiots while Sadie by Ms Newsom spurred me on.
You know those times when you feel infinite, or close to it? Infinite in the only way we mortals know how.
That was one of those times.
I know that it will never be as good as running along the edge of a country town with drops of rain and a family hound, but She is coming to Melbourne next year. Just after I come back from England.
I will be there. I wish I could take a beanbag to sit on. I want everyone at the Forum to sit down so we can enjoy her in comfort, but I bet it will be hot and awful.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Today's non-poem poem
Ten Ways to Avoid Lending Your Wheelbarrow to Anybody - Adrian Mitchell
1 PATRIOTIC
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
I didn't lay down my life in World War II
so that you could borrow my wheelbarrow.
2 SNOBBISH
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
Unfortunately Lord Goodman is using it.
3 OVERWEENING
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
It is too mighty a conveyance to be wielded
by any mortal save myself.
4 PIOUS
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
My wheelbarrow is reserved for religious ceremonies.
5 MELODRAMATIC
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
I would sooner be broken on its wheel
and buried in its barrow.
6 PATHETIC
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
I am dying of schizophrenia
and all you can talk about is wheelbarrows.
7 DEFENSIVE
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
Do you think I'm made of wheelbarrows?
8 SINISTER
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
It is full of blood.
9 LECHEROUS
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
Only if I can fuck your wife in it.
10 PHILOSOPHICAL
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
What is a wheelbarrow?
1 PATRIOTIC
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
I didn't lay down my life in World War II
so that you could borrow my wheelbarrow.
2 SNOBBISH
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
Unfortunately Lord Goodman is using it.
3 OVERWEENING
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
It is too mighty a conveyance to be wielded
by any mortal save myself.
4 PIOUS
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
My wheelbarrow is reserved for religious ceremonies.
5 MELODRAMATIC
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
I would sooner be broken on its wheel
and buried in its barrow.
6 PATHETIC
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
I am dying of schizophrenia
and all you can talk about is wheelbarrows.
7 DEFENSIVE
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
Do you think I'm made of wheelbarrows?
8 SINISTER
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
It is full of blood.
9 LECHEROUS
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
Only if I can fuck your wife in it.
10 PHILOSOPHICAL
May I borrow your wheelbarrow?
What is a wheelbarrow?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
devondale alley
this one goes out to all the non-readers.
[you know I only mention non-readers in the vain hope that I actually have readers who will get offended by me calling them non-readers. and then comment. to let me know they are real. you guys suck]
[no! I don't mean that at all! I love you!]
Yesterday I bought a skirt and some massive ghetto hoop earrings from Sportsgirl. Sportsgirl is my fave chain store by far, but I never buy things from there unless they're on sale. So these items cost me a total of $45. I made awkward complimentary conversation with the shopgirl about her awesome fringe and me and my housemate tried on tiny hat fascinators to amuse ourselves.
After a brief drink with work people across the road at the Order - we sat upstairs because it was sunny, but the Order rooftop was poorly positioned that afternoon and it was bloody freezing - I came home and decided I wanted to wear my new things and put on makeup to amuse myself. I want to learn how to put on eyeliner properly. It's one of those things that you think would/should be easy, but if you want it to look good then you really should trial it out a few times. Anyway then my housemate and her boyfriend arrived home and I was unamused by their presence and the prospect of having them talk all the way through Love Actually so when Zoe asked me out I leaped at the opportunity to leave the house. Neither of us had any idea what to do though so we both put ideas onto tiny little bits of paper "bigger than confetti, smaller than a banner". I shoved scissors and looseleaf paper into my bag and did this on the train.
Waiting for Zoe. Watching skanks at Flinders street. Why do they think it's ok to wear the things they do? I can't even sum up the atrocities I saw there. Vile.
Devoid of any hat or similar recepticles to place the pieces of paper into and hence draw out and select an idea, Zoe put all the pieces of paper into her pocket and she drew one out that I had written that suggested we go to places we've never been to before and have always wanted to go to. But I said that we shouldn't do anything we really didn't want to do. We ended up going to Old Bar to see this band called the Butcher Birds. We didn't catch all of their set so we heard from one of the guitarists that they were playing a set at Pony later on that evening we decided to get grotty and head there (after a brief stop at the watering hole pleasantly known as McDonalds).
We saw the band again. Zoe saw people she knows. People she didn't want to see. We went outside to the alley across from Pony and made friends with a tall boy with a moustache, a lipring and a furred-leather that read Canadian Club (Wiliam) and this cute little boy from Wellington (Jeremy). We all spoke about milk and sunglasses and Bono and I smiled at the Wellington boy and he smiled back at me and blushed like a child. I asked the wider group if you could possibly use the gum wrappers from extra to roll cigarettes with and then Zoe made a clever joke about needing the gum from regular papers. We headed back inside briefly then came back outside to our friends who had been joined by this lad in a stripey jumper and this tall, thin fellow with a hat who looked like a beautiful indie boy but when he spoke sounded like he came from a farm near Geelong.
The five of us had a session. I loaned Jeremy my scissors to cut the weed and he asked me if I always carried scissors and paper around and then I said paper mostly and that we'd been making notes earlier in the evening. It began to rain and we sought refuge near some ventilation bits of a building. Hat-indie-boy sat on a bin, while William rescued a milkcrate from inside this cage of air conditioners and stood on it like a soapbox. He was so outrageous and just announced the strangest things. I liked his openness and how he was just so inclusive and welcoming. But I have a strange feeling like if we had needed him in a crisis he would run away and flake. Zoe and stripey jumper boy, later named Vaguey Vaguerson, were drawing on the walls of this place with my pens while I stood with Jeremy, William and Hat-indie-boy. Some other people walked into the shelter and Jeremy goes to me "were those people with us the whole time? I don't really know what's going on now. I'm so stoned".
Zoe and I went back inside at some point due to coldness and we were accosted upstairs by a guy who looked like Ozzy & Snape & Morticia & Iggy & Noel Fielding. Not enough like Noel unfortunately. He had a nose piercing as well, but I didn't trust him. We were kind to him and were friendly. So then he found us downstairs later and asked us to mind his drink while he went outside for a smoke. But he took ages and we wanted to see if our alley friends were still there. They weren't. But Spooky Spookerson was out there and he got shitty with us because we left his drink unattended. He ran back inside. We dodged a bullet.
The rest of the morning was spent writing those stories that you write a few lines of, fold over and give it to the next person. It's like a joint, but with words. We also watched stripey jumper guy from before macking on with some babe. It was intense. We wrote a story with this guy with a massive fro and a massive voice.
Story time was over by 6am and we got our respective trams home, stomachs rumbling from Pony-exertion.
---
Just before, I was thinking about whether it is worthwhile posting entries about nights out. Whether I should offer opinions rather than anecdotes. Because maybe nobody cares and nothing I say is worthwhile (this is quite possible). It's too late now I guess. Also, these people who I met once and will never meet again - people who would never remember me anyway - what would they think about having a blog post essentially written about them? They will never read it. Has this happened to me before? I guess that's the majesty of blogging. There's the romance. And I just fucked it up for ya'll.
[you know I only mention non-readers in the vain hope that I actually have readers who will get offended by me calling them non-readers. and then comment. to let me know they are real. you guys suck]
[no! I don't mean that at all! I love you!]
Yesterday I bought a skirt and some massive ghetto hoop earrings from Sportsgirl. Sportsgirl is my fave chain store by far, but I never buy things from there unless they're on sale. So these items cost me a total of $45. I made awkward complimentary conversation with the shopgirl about her awesome fringe and me and my housemate tried on tiny hat fascinators to amuse ourselves.
After a brief drink with work people across the road at the Order - we sat upstairs because it was sunny, but the Order rooftop was poorly positioned that afternoon and it was bloody freezing - I came home and decided I wanted to wear my new things and put on makeup to amuse myself. I want to learn how to put on eyeliner properly. It's one of those things that you think would/should be easy, but if you want it to look good then you really should trial it out a few times. Anyway then my housemate and her boyfriend arrived home and I was unamused by their presence and the prospect of having them talk all the way through Love Actually so when Zoe asked me out I leaped at the opportunity to leave the house. Neither of us had any idea what to do though so we both put ideas onto tiny little bits of paper "bigger than confetti, smaller than a banner". I shoved scissors and looseleaf paper into my bag and did this on the train.
Waiting for Zoe. Watching skanks at Flinders street. Why do they think it's ok to wear the things they do? I can't even sum up the atrocities I saw there. Vile.
Devoid of any hat or similar recepticles to place the pieces of paper into and hence draw out and select an idea, Zoe put all the pieces of paper into her pocket and she drew one out that I had written that suggested we go to places we've never been to before and have always wanted to go to. But I said that we shouldn't do anything we really didn't want to do. We ended up going to Old Bar to see this band called the Butcher Birds. We didn't catch all of their set so we heard from one of the guitarists that they were playing a set at Pony later on that evening we decided to get grotty and head there (after a brief stop at the watering hole pleasantly known as McDonalds).
We saw the band again. Zoe saw people she knows. People she didn't want to see. We went outside to the alley across from Pony and made friends with a tall boy with a moustache, a lipring and a furred-leather that read Canadian Club (Wiliam) and this cute little boy from Wellington (Jeremy). We all spoke about milk and sunglasses and Bono and I smiled at the Wellington boy and he smiled back at me and blushed like a child. I asked the wider group if you could possibly use the gum wrappers from extra to roll cigarettes with and then Zoe made a clever joke about needing the gum from regular papers. We headed back inside briefly then came back outside to our friends who had been joined by this lad in a stripey jumper and this tall, thin fellow with a hat who looked like a beautiful indie boy but when he spoke sounded like he came from a farm near Geelong.
The five of us had a session. I loaned Jeremy my scissors to cut the weed and he asked me if I always carried scissors and paper around and then I said paper mostly and that we'd been making notes earlier in the evening. It began to rain and we sought refuge near some ventilation bits of a building. Hat-indie-boy sat on a bin, while William rescued a milkcrate from inside this cage of air conditioners and stood on it like a soapbox. He was so outrageous and just announced the strangest things. I liked his openness and how he was just so inclusive and welcoming. But I have a strange feeling like if we had needed him in a crisis he would run away and flake. Zoe and stripey jumper boy, later named Vaguey Vaguerson, were drawing on the walls of this place with my pens while I stood with Jeremy, William and Hat-indie-boy. Some other people walked into the shelter and Jeremy goes to me "were those people with us the whole time? I don't really know what's going on now. I'm so stoned".
Zoe and I went back inside at some point due to coldness and we were accosted upstairs by a guy who looked like Ozzy & Snape & Morticia & Iggy & Noel Fielding. Not enough like Noel unfortunately. He had a nose piercing as well, but I didn't trust him. We were kind to him and were friendly. So then he found us downstairs later and asked us to mind his drink while he went outside for a smoke. But he took ages and we wanted to see if our alley friends were still there. They weren't. But Spooky Spookerson was out there and he got shitty with us because we left his drink unattended. He ran back inside. We dodged a bullet.
The rest of the morning was spent writing those stories that you write a few lines of, fold over and give it to the next person. It's like a joint, but with words. We also watched stripey jumper guy from before macking on with some babe. It was intense. We wrote a story with this guy with a massive fro and a massive voice.
Story time was over by 6am and we got our respective trams home, stomachs rumbling from Pony-exertion.
---
Just before, I was thinking about whether it is worthwhile posting entries about nights out. Whether I should offer opinions rather than anecdotes. Because maybe nobody cares and nothing I say is worthwhile (this is quite possible). It's too late now I guess. Also, these people who I met once and will never meet again - people who would never remember me anyway - what would they think about having a blog post essentially written about them? They will never read it. Has this happened to me before? I guess that's the majesty of blogging. There's the romance. And I just fucked it up for ya'll.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
phat disclaimer
(This is the kind of blog entry I write when I pretend that I have readers)
Today I realised that my philosophy classmates have probably been googling transpersonal solipsism (because it's not commonly written about apparently?) and this blog has probably been coming up. It'd be nice if some people actually decided to read the blog for real from this accidental stumbleupon but I doubt it somehow. Anyway it would be really embarrassing if my teacher himself googled it and saw how reverently I regarded that email. I've come through my "philosophical breakdown" now so I don't really feel as mushily about it as I did then but I'll keep it up just for kicks. Plus I really think it's a good bit of philosophical propaganda.
Also today I was walking down Burwood Rd and I realised how much I really like grooving away while I'm walking. I love singing while I walk and I just do it all the time lately. I was returning home from our favourite Indian restaurant on Glenferrie rd, Sahni's. It has $15 buffets on Wednesday evenings. And they taste so good! Tonight there was this eggplant and potato thing and it was utterly fabulous. Usually we eat and eat until we are sickeningly full but tonight we restrained ourselves. By we I mean my sister and my dear wife Jacqueline. And then I wanted to scope out this place where my dear friend/boss/general awesome person is going to be MC-ing a poetry reading. These events are created by Laura Smith who is Melissa's friend and who I hung out with at TiNA. I rather admire Laura because she seems to be part of this really awesome poet crew. And after TiNA I decided that I want to be a bit more into poetry and writing in general. Of course, it's a rather unfortunate time for me to realise this seeing how university happens to be really alarmingly busy at the moment.
Whilst at TiNA, this little story I wrote was totes put into the Voiceworks zine. And that made me feel cool. So I just want to write something fierce lately. You can't stop me. I'm like a words machine.
Today I realised that my philosophy classmates have probably been googling transpersonal solipsism (because it's not commonly written about apparently?) and this blog has probably been coming up. It'd be nice if some people actually decided to read the blog for real from this accidental stumbleupon but I doubt it somehow. Anyway it would be really embarrassing if my teacher himself googled it and saw how reverently I regarded that email. I've come through my "philosophical breakdown" now so I don't really feel as mushily about it as I did then but I'll keep it up just for kicks. Plus I really think it's a good bit of philosophical propaganda.
Also today I was walking down Burwood Rd and I realised how much I really like grooving away while I'm walking. I love singing while I walk and I just do it all the time lately. I was returning home from our favourite Indian restaurant on Glenferrie rd, Sahni's. It has $15 buffets on Wednesday evenings. And they taste so good! Tonight there was this eggplant and potato thing and it was utterly fabulous. Usually we eat and eat until we are sickeningly full but tonight we restrained ourselves. By we I mean my sister and my dear wife Jacqueline. And then I wanted to scope out this place where my dear friend/boss/general awesome person is going to be MC-ing a poetry reading. These events are created by Laura Smith who is Melissa's friend and who I hung out with at TiNA. I rather admire Laura because she seems to be part of this really awesome poet crew. And after TiNA I decided that I want to be a bit more into poetry and writing in general. Of course, it's a rather unfortunate time for me to realise this seeing how university happens to be really alarmingly busy at the moment.
Whilst at TiNA, this little story I wrote was totes put into the Voiceworks zine. And that made me feel cool. So I just want to write something fierce lately. You can't stop me. I'm like a words machine.
Stacey's Seasonal Haiku
spring
i put my hood on
walk through the wet streets
warm spring rain
autumn
people in scarves
jump on
crunchy leaves
summer
the sun on my skin
this infinite heat
this summer's day
winter
tangled in blankets
the glow of my computer
keeping me warm
i put my hood on
walk through the wet streets
warm spring rain
autumn
people in scarves
jump on
crunchy leaves
summer
the sun on my skin
this infinite heat
this summer's day
winter
tangled in blankets
the glow of my computer
keeping me warm
seasons haiku
autumn
everyone on this train has
red eyes &
a matching red nose.
winter
everyone in Melbourne is sick
& tired. trying to be
cold & romantic.
spring
hours spent choosing clothes
Melboune's wrath is fierce:
weather changes. Wrong again.
summer
my back & shoulders ache
and I'm sure
my lettuce is sweating.
everyone on this train has
red eyes &
a matching red nose.
winter
everyone in Melbourne is sick
& tired. trying to be
cold & romantic.
spring
hours spent choosing clothes
Melboune's wrath is fierce:
weather changes. Wrong again.
summer
my back & shoulders ache
and I'm sure
my lettuce is sweating.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
material things
I've posted like ninety thousand videos on facebook tonight so I'll just post this one here instead.
I heard it on RRR yesterday while I was waiting to panel for our Room with a View show. I was like "oh that lyric about adobe slabs sounds familiar" then I'm looking up that lyric and it's that Animal Collective song.. but then I watch the video for that song and I go.. that's not right.. it was a girl singing. And then I found this. And it is amazing. So watch the hell out of it. Oh! Just researched Taken by Trees and it's that girl from the Concretes! No wonder this cover is so awesome
I am going to use this blog for real blogging soon AND I also have been collecting haiku for the haiku task below.
I heard it on RRR yesterday while I was waiting to panel for our Room with a View show. I was like "oh that lyric about adobe slabs sounds familiar" then I'm looking up that lyric and it's that Animal Collective song.. but then I watch the video for that song and I go.. that's not right.. it was a girl singing. And then I found this. And it is amazing. So watch the hell out of it. Oh! Just researched Taken by Trees and it's that girl from the Concretes! No wonder this cover is so awesome
I am going to use this blog for real blogging soon AND I also have been collecting haiku for the haiku task below.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
long but beautiful
You don’t think philosophy has relevance to you, your life, or your
career? Are you sure you’re listening? You who drive a car, you who
have accidents, you who get dumped by boyfriends/girlfriends/spouses,
you who get robbed, you who find out your father is not your real
father, you who get into abusive relationships, you who can only find
comfort in eating, you who get diagnosed with cancer or another illness,
you who are getting older, you who are dying.
I really like my philosophy teacher a whole lot. This is an email he sent to us. I am dumb for reposting it, but my sanity relies a lot on correspondences like this.
Having read your journals I ask myself the question:
What is the main thing about Transpersonal Solipsism that students are
failing to understand?
They are failing to understand the distinction between oneself
considered empirically as a particular human person, or persona, or
avatar, and oneself considered transcendentally as the transpersonal
creator and player of all the avatars. Hence they keep asking questions
like: “Why would I have created the world (dream, virtual reality
game) to be as it is rather than something more to my liking?” *
i.e., the ego’s liking, the persona’s liking. They are assuming that
the preferences of oneself as transpersonal creator Self should be
exactly the same as the preferences of oneself as personal self or
avatar.
But this does not follow. There is no reason to suppose that the
various personas or avatars will have the same preferences as the
transpersonal Self. Indeed, there are a couple of excellent reasons to
expect otherwise. First, there are billions of persons/personas/avatars
of the one creator Self in the virtual reality game called the world,
each with its own unique perspective on things and set of likes and
dislikes * from Genghis Khan to Mother Teresa to Apache Indians to
Pygmies to Victorian cockneys to Vikings to monastic flagellants to
modern Melbournians, etc. Obviously they cannot all have the same
perspective and set of likes and dislikes as the one creator Self that
has created and is playing all these different avatars.
Second, remember the idea is that the creator Self has deliberately
deceived itself into forgetting within the game its own status as
creator of the game, all the better to play fully its avatars. One would
not expect the avatars to remember who they really are or their real
perspective and values (unless perhaps they have some kind of mystical
experience and momentarily transcend the game, or there is a glitch in
the dream matrix, or perhaps they meet a local philosopher avatar *
some crazy Morpheus-like character * who attempts to remind them who
they really are: the One).
As avatars within the game, each person will naturally play out that
persona and hence like and approve of certain aspects of life and
reality while vehemently disliking and disapproving of other aspects of
life and reality. Each will be different regarding what aspects they
like or dislike and none (or only a very few) will realise that they are
the One, the creator of the whole game, playing every avatar.
In short: there is no reason to expect that yourself (as creator Self)
will create a gameworld that yourself (as person/persona self) likes in
all respects. That you vehemently dislike many aspects of life and
reality is perfectly in order: it is what you yourself, as creator of
the gameworld, wants in its personas. To put it boldly: you want
yourself to dislike (or be fearful of or depressed about, or be
horrified by) some aspects of this life and reality. That is why you
dislike them.
That would explain why “Man” is so frequently in disagreement with
“God”. That is: individual human beings very rarely feel in accord
with or at peace with “God’s will” * i.e., the unfolding of fate
(game destiny) from moment to moment. That is: we are very rarely at
peace with ourselves (considered transcendentally as God, creator of
this world and of our fate/destiny within it).
If you think about it, there is only one way for a non-servile sort of
person to be at peace with God, life, reality, fate: see yourself as the
sole creator of it * i.e., that no other being is imposing anything on
you against your will. Hence: you as the transpersonal playmaker Self
are the creator of you and your fate as a personal player self. Hence:
you are the author of all your dislikes and limitations. Hence: you are
the creator of the fact that you are fearful or horrified by this or
that in life or that you are a weak and fragile being (in short, a
normal human avatar).
Realising this you might come to like that you dislike some things.
That is your personality/persona to play out. So play it. “Play out
the play” * as Shakespeare said. It is perfectly in order that you
get angry or anxious at this or that, or that you sometimes get
depressed, or that life seems so tragic at times, or you get horrified
at some things (war, earthquakes, bushfires, etc).
Be honest with yourself about how you feel and feel what you feel *
it is okay to have those feelings. Be at peace with the fact that you
are not at peace with it. Hence, if you are angry, be at peace with that
anger. And so on.
What happens? Paradoxically, what tends to happen when you are at peace
with not being at peace about something (angry, fearful, depressed, etc)
is that these un-peaceful emotions start to weaken and wither by
themselves (setting their own pace). Why? * Because you are not
feeding them with further divisiveness and hostile agitation (eg,
getting angry about being angry is just more anger).
In short, let everything be as an integral whole as it currently is in
this moment, including yourself as you currently are. It is perfectly in
order that it is as it is * including that you don’t personally like
this or that much (that you yourself as transcendental playmaker have
created).
Being able to be at peace in life * it all depends on which self and
its values you identify with most. If you identify most with your
personal ego and its values then you will rarely be at peace. You will
be at the mercy of every changing wind that blows. For your personal
self or ego is very fragile and has so many likes and dislikes. Fate
seldom gratifies your personal likes and dislikes * as you may have
noticed by now. On the other hand, if you identify most with your
transcendental transpersonal Self and its values, then you will be able
to let go of your personal ego and its various likes and dislikes more
easily and so be at one with change and fate and death * i.e., God’s
will * i.e., your own higher will. No matter what happens in life you
will always have that sanctuary within.
Ancient Greek philosophers called it eudemonia: the capacity to be
intelligently untroubled and freely happy from within yourself and
thereby relatively immune to the changing flux of fate and fortune. This
is also widely reckoned to be a kind of wisdom * which is what
philosophy is all about. For as we said in week one, philosophy is the
love of wisdom.
career? Are you sure you’re listening? You who drive a car, you who
have accidents, you who get dumped by boyfriends/girlfriends/spouses,
you who get robbed, you who find out your father is not your real
father, you who get into abusive relationships, you who can only find
comfort in eating, you who get diagnosed with cancer or another illness,
you who are getting older, you who are dying.
I really like my philosophy teacher a whole lot. This is an email he sent to us. I am dumb for reposting it, but my sanity relies a lot on correspondences like this.
Having read your journals I ask myself the question:
What is the main thing about Transpersonal Solipsism that students are
failing to understand?
They are failing to understand the distinction between oneself
considered empirically as a particular human person, or persona, or
avatar, and oneself considered transcendentally as the transpersonal
creator and player of all the avatars. Hence they keep asking questions
like: “Why would I have created the world (dream, virtual reality
game) to be as it is rather than something more to my liking?” *
i.e., the ego’s liking, the persona’s liking. They are assuming that
the preferences of oneself as transpersonal creator Self should be
exactly the same as the preferences of oneself as personal self or
avatar.
But this does not follow. There is no reason to suppose that the
various personas or avatars will have the same preferences as the
transpersonal Self. Indeed, there are a couple of excellent reasons to
expect otherwise. First, there are billions of persons/personas/avatars
of the one creator Self in the virtual reality game called the world,
each with its own unique perspective on things and set of likes and
dislikes * from Genghis Khan to Mother Teresa to Apache Indians to
Pygmies to Victorian cockneys to Vikings to monastic flagellants to
modern Melbournians, etc. Obviously they cannot all have the same
perspective and set of likes and dislikes as the one creator Self that
has created and is playing all these different avatars.
Second, remember the idea is that the creator Self has deliberately
deceived itself into forgetting within the game its own status as
creator of the game, all the better to play fully its avatars. One would
not expect the avatars to remember who they really are or their real
perspective and values (unless perhaps they have some kind of mystical
experience and momentarily transcend the game, or there is a glitch in
the dream matrix, or perhaps they meet a local philosopher avatar *
some crazy Morpheus-like character * who attempts to remind them who
they really are: the One).
As avatars within the game, each person will naturally play out that
persona and hence like and approve of certain aspects of life and
reality while vehemently disliking and disapproving of other aspects of
life and reality. Each will be different regarding what aspects they
like or dislike and none (or only a very few) will realise that they are
the One, the creator of the whole game, playing every avatar.
In short: there is no reason to expect that yourself (as creator Self)
will create a gameworld that yourself (as person/persona self) likes in
all respects. That you vehemently dislike many aspects of life and
reality is perfectly in order: it is what you yourself, as creator of
the gameworld, wants in its personas. To put it boldly: you want
yourself to dislike (or be fearful of or depressed about, or be
horrified by) some aspects of this life and reality. That is why you
dislike them.
That would explain why “Man” is so frequently in disagreement with
“God”. That is: individual human beings very rarely feel in accord
with or at peace with “God’s will” * i.e., the unfolding of fate
(game destiny) from moment to moment. That is: we are very rarely at
peace with ourselves (considered transcendentally as God, creator of
this world and of our fate/destiny within it).
If you think about it, there is only one way for a non-servile sort of
person to be at peace with God, life, reality, fate: see yourself as the
sole creator of it * i.e., that no other being is imposing anything on
you against your will. Hence: you as the transpersonal playmaker Self
are the creator of you and your fate as a personal player self. Hence:
you are the author of all your dislikes and limitations. Hence: you are
the creator of the fact that you are fearful or horrified by this or
that in life or that you are a weak and fragile being (in short, a
normal human avatar).
Realising this you might come to like that you dislike some things.
That is your personality/persona to play out. So play it. “Play out
the play” * as Shakespeare said. It is perfectly in order that you
get angry or anxious at this or that, or that you sometimes get
depressed, or that life seems so tragic at times, or you get horrified
at some things (war, earthquakes, bushfires, etc).
Be honest with yourself about how you feel and feel what you feel *
it is okay to have those feelings. Be at peace with the fact that you
are not at peace with it. Hence, if you are angry, be at peace with that
anger. And so on.
What happens? Paradoxically, what tends to happen when you are at peace
with not being at peace about something (angry, fearful, depressed, etc)
is that these un-peaceful emotions start to weaken and wither by
themselves (setting their own pace). Why? * Because you are not
feeding them with further divisiveness and hostile agitation (eg,
getting angry about being angry is just more anger).
In short, let everything be as an integral whole as it currently is in
this moment, including yourself as you currently are. It is perfectly in
order that it is as it is * including that you don’t personally like
this or that much (that you yourself as transcendental playmaker have
created).
Being able to be at peace in life * it all depends on which self and
its values you identify with most. If you identify most with your
personal ego and its values then you will rarely be at peace. You will
be at the mercy of every changing wind that blows. For your personal
self or ego is very fragile and has so many likes and dislikes. Fate
seldom gratifies your personal likes and dislikes * as you may have
noticed by now. On the other hand, if you identify most with your
transcendental transpersonal Self and its values, then you will be able
to let go of your personal ego and its various likes and dislikes more
easily and so be at one with change and fate and death * i.e., God’s
will * i.e., your own higher will. No matter what happens in life you
will always have that sanctuary within.
Ancient Greek philosophers called it eudemonia: the capacity to be
intelligently untroubled and freely happy from within yourself and
thereby relatively immune to the changing flux of fate and fortune. This
is also widely reckoned to be a kind of wisdom * which is what
philosophy is all about. For as we said in week one, philosophy is the
love of wisdom.
Monday, September 14, 2009
making
Tonight I am internet happy.
&
Thought I'd share something with you. I recently decided that I want to be a bit more crafty and creative, so I made myself a little bit of an owl softie. I researched patterns and styles of owls for a little while then just kinda made up my own pattern.. I could be a little more adventurous though. Anyway here are some photos. If you look closely, you can see me wearing a silly headscarf in the background.
I read this guy's tumblr and he always uploads pictures he's taken of himself with photobooth. He's really pretty and can do that, but I can't do it the same. I'll just hide behind my owls.
I think for the next softie that I make I'll just use the floral material for the whole thing and maybe have the wings a plain colour. I wasn't really sure what combination would work the best.. I mean this little fellow is cute, isn't he? He was nice to cuddle last night anyway.
Farmer Wants a Wife is possibly the worst show to ever grace Australia's television screens, amirite?!
&
Thought I'd share something with you. I recently decided that I want to be a bit more crafty and creative, so I made myself a little bit of an owl softie. I researched patterns and styles of owls for a little while then just kinda made up my own pattern.. I could be a little more adventurous though. Anyway here are some photos. If you look closely, you can see me wearing a silly headscarf in the background.
I read this guy's tumblr and he always uploads pictures he's taken of himself with photobooth. He's really pretty and can do that, but I can't do it the same. I'll just hide behind my owls.
I think for the next softie that I make I'll just use the floral material for the whole thing and maybe have the wings a plain colour. I wasn't really sure what combination would work the best.. I mean this little fellow is cute, isn't he? He was nice to cuddle last night anyway.
Farmer Wants a Wife is possibly the worst show to ever grace Australia's television screens, amirite?!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
not not belonging
Stacey you want me to write about not belonging. I feel like I could write something about how I just went to Horsham and I never feel like that is my home any more simply because all my friends have left and nothing happens there.. but isn’t that just a giant cliché? I think it’s the closest I have to not belonging.
I feel like I don’t belong when I am alone at gigs (this happened to me more last year – have not been to so many gigs this year)
But actually I try to ignore all the things I don’t belong to! Better to concentrate on the things that I do belong to. Dwell not on the negative.
---
Anyway today on the train back to Melbourne there was this bunch of cool kids. By cool I mean French and Italian. I wanted to belong to them & I wrote something vague and vaguely poetic [HOPEFULLY]
---
French boys talking about driving on the left side of the road, snuggling into and leaning on each other with large eyebrows and lazy beards.
I feel like I don’t belong when I am alone at gigs (this happened to me more last year – have not been to so many gigs this year)
But actually I try to ignore all the things I don’t belong to! Better to concentrate on the things that I do belong to. Dwell not on the negative.
---
Anyway today on the train back to Melbourne there was this bunch of cool kids. By cool I mean French and Italian. I wanted to belong to them & I wrote something vague and vaguely poetic [HOPEFULLY]
---
French boys talking about driving on the left side of the road, snuggling into and leaning on each other with large eyebrows and lazy beards.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
from gloom cupboard
Robert Laughlin
Free
There still remain for you and me,
Though all the world exploit us,
Two purest pleasures without fee:
The library and coitus.
Free
There still remain for you and me,
Though all the world exploit us,
Two purest pleasures without fee:
The library and coitus.
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