ummmmm

ooo

ahhhh mmm
ahem

ahhh he hee ehm

no im not at the dentist
or having an orgasm

but i dont know what to write.

so i just want to say hello ok?

HI.

gday. wassup?

ok i tried to write something...
to no avail. ill try tomorrow. maybe.

xx





ps. i thought id get in on the 'so hot right now' pony thing... but i like camels better
i see them every sunday at the market. have you ever looked at their feet? they are amazing..
there
i WROTE sumthin'

its late and cold

and i have a cold. and i have school work up to my ear holes, maybe my eyeballs too,
so it seems the perfect time to blob...

i always think of nice things to write, much like mr simon...
but get distracted and forget them

i ate jaffas today, lots of them and sat and stared at the computer (and im still staring!) and i went to marias trattoria on peel st in north melbourne and ate pasta, and then chewed on a killer python... i had the pleasure of sharing the evening with gen and murray
and we talked about what the best word to use for vaginas is (vadge), that the use of the word doodle is inappropriate after the age of 2 (someone we know uses it alot???) and that the funniest thing to do is to say whatever you were going to say but put the emphasis on the wrong syllable and you'll laugh like a hyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeena.
a fucking hyeeena.

the beauty of language.

last night i had a romantic interlude.
and didnt go home when
maybe i should have
but maybe it was a relapse
but it was so nice i dont really care

but no sleep means my nose is running like a leaky hose
a goddam fire hose

murray has a blackboard on his porch
which the whole street contributes to
and draws on (ghostpatrol who are you?? we think you are pretty)
and appropriates
at their will and incognito

my favourite balckboard quote;

"your sideways glances warm
my timber bones"

ill try to be a little more consistant with blobbing
now im not working its hard to while away the hours on the intra-ma-net...

thanks for all your nice comments lately

xx
problematic

PS ITS ALMOST TIME TO CRAK OUT THE QUINCE BRANDY mmmmmmmm

semi precious

and so my red legs return to their black homes
now that i have done some washing
which is getting a crusty stiffness
in front of the heater
the whole apartment smells like
laundry, clean laundry

**

last night i caught the last tram home from
the studio

in the misty light and engrossed in my latest issue
of voiceworks (the genre issue)
i missed my stop

so i walked and through the foggy silence
and in the distance
i could see about five men
sweeping, scooping, brushing, washing and watching

shhh sshhhh shshhh

echoed through the park,

and as i got closer i realise the colour on the road

a big emerald green strip, i couldnt walk on it,
and had to stop and stare at the glistening colour
before they flatten it into the tarmac
the colour resembled
the glistening filaments of astro turf in the hardware

and when i got to my room,
a cold nose, cold fingertips,
i went to sleep to the sounds of shovels and giant brooms
washing the semi precious gems across the gravel

red legs

whats going on? im having one of those things where
you dont get much work done and then everything else becomes
intensely important
and you are taken up with
minor
meagre
details.

it has not been a good couple of weeks, no
but im not defeated
yet

just going slightly insane due to;

my poorness (how to pay yesterdays rent?)
and the guilt of being a shit housemate
(never cleaning, cooking, buying food, never here)
and that feeling that yes perhaps it is unavoidable that
i will be alone

ive been saying all the wrong things at the wrong times

gen bought me poppies
they are slowly unfolding at my desk
from being so crumpled to being so fine and transparent
i love watching them
three have opened today already

she told me about a place in tasmania
where there is a strange religion in a little
town where a friend of her's lives

they have to wear scarves on their heads and
long skirts
and they believe heaven is at the end of a street in
that town
gens friend lives on that street
but the wrong end

"heaven is at the end of my street
and i live at the wrong end"

we decided that would be a good song

these people also believe that
you cant look at any type of screen
not a computer or a television

but they correspond with the leader of their religion by email

they go to the nearest computer place
which is run by two gay guys in the town and
get the men to log in to the email and
print off their correspondance

crazy

today is foggy
but im wearing red stockings
a distracting flash of red here and ther

perhaps today will be a good day?

horses

at night here, the horses that spend the day on swanston st are guided past the studio.
at around six o'clock.
and the noise sounds like nothing else.
one night i was walking somewhere and wearing my brown boots,
i was walking quickly and the boots are missing their bottoms, so they make that loud hollow coconut shell noise,
you know the one
i quickly gained on an italian family on their way to pizza,
as i approached them the son quipped that i sounded like a horse.
he was old enough to know better, maybe thirty years old.
not the three year old you pictured.
when i was little
kids called me trotter
and clapped their hands on their laps.
it was supposed to be funny.

**

camilla just made a noise on her microwave - glass - rotating - plate.
her palette
a noise like when you put a mug of milk in the box so it gets warm
but 'dont let the milk get a skin'
i used to love getting that milky skin on my finger
and sticking the rubbery matter in my mouth to dissolve
camilas noise though,
was a jar of poison she dips her brushes in to make a beautiful shine
on her dark pictures

**

my mother jokingly made a suggestion to me about
the
'he's just not that into you'
book
that she bought at a weak moment
and read it while she was weak
i said i think its ridiculous but i couldnt articulate why

**

heavy

the sun is shining today,
but i have large rocks in my stomach.

i went out to a place called jeparit once,
its by the desert in NW victoria.
i had rocks in my stomach then too.

on our way we went through ararat and took the scenic route,
the one you take with the little brown sign, to see the wind farm.

big elegant and serene
they rhythmically turned,
around and around. waving.

also on the scenic route, there was an old gold quarry.
a big hole in the ground filled with rusty tractors, once strong and dependable,
now filled with holes, and no where to sit in their shell.

the farmer stood at the fence and told us to come and have a look. he didnt seem to mind at all.
three kids, taking 'beatutiful' pictures,
"be careful he shouted behind us" as we crawled in and out and around,
climbing down deep into a hole someone dug a long time ago.

i picked up a rock then. it felt sharp in my hand and its shiny speckles glinted through the basalt.

the grampians stood over us in thebackground.

and i held the rock and put it in my bag.

once i was going to go to a fancy dress party,
a halloween party, and i dressed up as miranda from picnic at hanging rock,
the same rock hanging from my neck (the pun) me all pale and white, and the rock poking my ribs.

now it sits under my bed in a box.

but i feel like its heavy in my stomach. a sadness rambling around,
poking me here and there with that crying feeling in my throat.

im at my desk.
im slowly slipping the skin off a firm mandarin.
you know that smell?
the one that will hint at everyones nose whether they like it or not?
and spitting out the seeds.

they're becoming cheap these mandy's
but today as i passed the fruit man i mourned the
loss of bananas, all bruised.
poor nanas. poor generation of little tykes that are missing them in they're toddler stages right now.

one of my best friends is a writer.
she writes all sorts of things, for newspapers. and she writes stories.
she teaches little ratbags to write, in greensborough once a week.
two weeks ago she disappeared and went off to the west to a womens prison. (clit clink)
yesterday she hung out with heroin addicts.
i often wonder how pretty anna k. (elliot smith rings in my head went i say that 'pretty mary k')
can do it. she gives so much to make people who read the paper a little smarter.
she says i have made her see things differently. im not sure how.

and i wish she knew how many people she has made see things differently.

i love her.

the pictures here are from WA
and they are hers.
and i love them.

xx

back to basics...

the view....

Dark as at 9pm on a summer night

low clouds come from the sea
from the south
the tops of the towers are covered
become encased in cloud

two boys rush out hoping to get caught up in it
an excuse not to come back inside
a foggy city
a seemless boundless storm in the day

the day ages and the wind blows
hard and deep into your ears and mouth
eyes close, exposed

to be in the tower where there is only cloud out the window
not like in a plane
where you are bound to your seat
and bounce about through the sky

but in a room in the clouds



im not high enough today

RIP

i dont think i can tip off again... disaster strikes when i do.

my housemate and friend Romy went to said fig tree yesterday.
she walked up the lane where i said it was and
found the branches.

dismembered yet laden branches.

the tree was cut down.
hard rubbish brings me mostlyjoy
but also pain, the rash and indiscriminate lopping of trees
so you can bundle them up, tie them with string and throw them away...

*sigh*

im sorry.

Romy grabbed as many figs as she cold carry in her arms and brought them home.
and they will make jam.
and hopefully there are other trees in the neighbourhood for yours....

figjam

so the quices are in brandy, star anise and cinnamon,
expelling their peachiness into golden warm brandy...
not sure what it will be week in six weeks time, but hopefully nigella is right.
a drink for cold nights by the blazing fire (or gas heater as the case may be)

fig jam is next... mmm. mmm. m.
on big chuncks of hot buttered rye.

for the purpose of clarification, yes there are enough figs for the whole of north carlton but you might need a milk crate or two to get to the real plump ones...
here is a map.


it is ACTUALLY* at the end of a lane on the north side of
HERBERT ST.





hmm. the weather is bizarre! this morning i woke up and the view revealed upon snoozes many different moods. cloudy, bright blue and sunny, and stormy, and rainy. only ten minutes apart.

all is quiet at the quest hotel, allthe venetians are closed so tight i cant see a thing.

I have the keys to move in to my studio in my hot (cold actually) little hands and am so excited. Murray and I move in tomorrow. Then i will build nest upon nest and settle my feathers.

see you around there is lots on tomorrow...

x

disclaimer: was on the way home from the docter (blood suckers) when first found tree therefore there was a little glitch or two upon trying to describe exactly where it was.... sorry

see you there...

I love autumn.

How goddam good is the weather?
How good is it?!

Foggy mornings, misty sunsets, not too windy, and the sun! Perfect weather…
For a while there it was cold and our heater is a bit broken (the heater is getting fixed though… today in fact. By a ‘heater man’ well didn’t we quip last night about that! 8am “why hello mr. Heater man” Bed hair, gasping voice you know the one)

And our showers were cold too. This is because the water heater has been gushing all our hot water into the ground… for about 10 YEARS! But no more! It too is fixed.

It’s been a whole week and I’m sorry. I feel like a giant blob of glue that is getting all plastic and is about to become useless and unstick… debts to my ear holes, work to my eyeballs and general uncertainty hangs above my little (medium sized actually) head about all those important things. At the same time I have this buzz in my tummy and a happiness, like a two year old who has just eaten some clag... its a sort of like for someone that I like quite a bit...

And how can you be sad with this weather? Though I wish the BOM would stop changing their minds about the weather. Tomorrow sunny or not? I need to plan my tea in the morning: back steps? Or kitchen table? Which is it going to be!

I can tell you today that the sun is shining because it’s George’s birthday. George is a very tall boy, with long lashes, and flushed cheeks. He is good at guitar and music things, plays frisbee quite well, likes to surf, made a mean curry last night, can speak Japanese, and he says sorry quite a bit.

George is one of the most spectacular individuals on this big brown land (quite liked saying ‘big brown land’) He has a combi named polly and a very beautiful girlfriend, and they travelled around Australia and they have had quite a number of adventures that make magnificent stories.

And I am very, very, glad to have met him, and very glad he was born 28 years ago.

Happy Birthday Mr George

Last night I found a beautiful fig tree, still full with figs, and hanging over a lane fence in glorious abundance. I shall share with you where it is… on mac pherson st, north carlton, between lygon and drummond… at the end of a lane on the north side…last night I made the most delicious toffee figs with sour cream and chocolate.

They are green and are the most plump and jewel filled figs I have ever seen.

See you at the fig tree.

X me

quest

My desk looks straight into Quest on Bourke. A hotel above Bourke St.

There usually isn’t much action, and I know people can’t see me,
but I can see them. Usually there are cleaners making beds, couples standing on their balconies looking at the view...

A few moments ago there was a lady standing at the window, with her grey tracksuit and hand on hips, with glowing pink skin. She picked her nose, and glared at the street below.

It’s a strange feeling watching someone, knowing they can’t see you. It happens to each and every one of us at some point. Being watched and not knowing.

The night before last I was getting changed and realised mid top off that there a man walking his dog and staring at me from across the park. I have blinds; sometimes I don’t close them sometimes I do. This is most likely sheer Karma for all the times I’ve spotted people getting their gear off in various locations and not looked away.

Voyeurism.

p.s. i got a tram fine (another one) last night... cunts

in the jungle

So my presentation went well, despite technical difficulties.
This made me happy.
And then I was supposed to have a presentation tomorrow and there was some sort of divine intervention and its been put back to next week. HOORAY!

Guess what?
I got a studio (little dance...) on Queensbury and Elizabeth in the city.
Right near the market (potential fresh fruit vs. jam doughnut rivalry there)
so I will have a space to while away the hours with people I love.

I get to have a real weekend, with cups of tea and baths
(I do bathe, but baths are more fun when they are long and candlelit), snuggling, and doing mountains of washing.

I’ve also succumbed to the 'myspace' revolution (heaven forbid another thing to update and up keep). Internet procrastination, though, is my favourite thing to do whilst chained to a computer (in case you hadn’t noticed- and no this is not some strange fetish).

And then there is another holiday! ANZAC day. Memories of shaking little old man hands and trying to be chipper at 4am so my dad could remember his dad fill my mind. I only wish that there would be more 'learning' from what has happened than just 'remembering'.

My friend Dane hopped in his car today and is driving all the way to Cairns. Stopping in Canberra, Sydney, Brisbane, Noosa, Townsville and on to cairns. Big drive Mr Dane.
but... this means we dream of a group holiday to cairns very very soon!
hopefully in July.

I can’t wait to roam the forest

x me

having said that

i just re-discovered the arnotts teddy bear biscuit...
i used to go to mac donalds, yes i know i would't go near the place now
even if i saw jarvis there
(actually bugger off i wouldnt... i would go and kneel at his lengthy limbs... but you get my point)
but anyway i used to go...
and get the cookies.

and i loved them.

and now i have found them...

'teddy bears'
best in your mouth.

x me

what do you get?

When you eat big bad meals for five days straight? Wed, Thurs, Fri, Sat, Sun.
A roly poly sore tired belly of great disgust...that’s what.

How are you?
Sometimes I like to think about how you are too. I’m shy around nice people who are beautiful, and most times when I see you I can’t say hello. My brain is too busy soaking you up to use its cognitive features to think of something poignantly silly to say.

It churns and churns and churns.

But nothing comes out.

And it’s because you are so pretty that my pupils enlarge, and my lips sting.

It’s only 'the family' that I can talk to these days. Otherwise I get lost in the sea of know-who-did-what-and-sings-this-and-paints-that. We are all so clever.

I have to get clever today as I have stand up tomorrow and talk to a panel of six architects and tell them what I think of the suburbs, and trains and their stations, and large fences, and grassy hills. Tough stuff...

Yesterday I made (what we calculated to be) 75 pancakes. There were lots. And there was lulling, lemon curd, maple syrup and many a condiment. Campari and orange. Ooo and brilliant people, shiny as a freshly cut gem, and the sun came. What an Easter Sunday!

I hope you had a nice day too.

x me

now that im older

so now that im almost 24 and a half.
i have begun to understand the impact that catholic education brings.
especially at easter.

christmas, how nice, babies, big stars, donkeys, pretty mary, and a few men with nice beards. not too much different from a saturday night out really.

easter. i was writing an email to propose a dinner to some friends and got a little carried away;

It is the festival of chocolate consumption (aka easter):

eggs, gruesome whippings*, rejoice, thorns in your head*, chocolate, public humiliation*, hot cross buns, carrying heavy hunks of wood that you will be tied and nailed to later*, springtime (in the northern hemisphere?), painting of lambs blood above your door to escape the angel of death* and rabbits and shit.

*if you find me hiding in my Bermuda triangle cupboard and weeping it’s a flashback to year two at ‘star of the sea’ primary school;
where the paedophilic priest (who 10 years later was imprisoned for touching little boys [luckily not girls] ) stood over us filling us with ‘the fear’ of ‘our saviour’ who
DIED
for
US
spittles would fly from his mouth at 30 under ten-year-old children, quivering with fear while he described the 12 stations of the cross from the ‘last supper’ to the ‘resurrection’ in gruesome detail and insists we imagine, and be very sorry for all our sins…
just kiss me and give me more chocolate…

scarred? me?

all in all i dont think i turned out too bad, that love one another stuff was alright...
cheers to the festival of chocolate...

ill whispher comforting things in your ear

I’m a little bit sleepy. It’s Saturday night and Im all alone in the world of lines, lines, lines!
Thank god for mixed tapes.

I know I said I was going to go and support the creative genius’ that produce such beautiful publications as VOICEWORKS and IsNot magazines, but its too late, well maybe its not, but I can’t sacrifice my sanity for a little jiggle tonight.

Thank god for mixed tapes. i have three here that my lovers, friends, and lovely friends have given me.
Right now Elliot Smith rings loudly... "needle in the ha-ay", its ok it picks up a little later on, with some Scout Niblett, The Microphones and then a little Nancy Sinatra, unlikely mix? I think so, but that’s where these things end up. My ears are actually starting to hurt a little from the headphones I have at the moment. I think ill have to catch the last tram home tonight.

“shu shu shuu

shu shu shuuu

shu sha shu shoo

sugar town

yesterday it rained in tenesee

and it also rained in telahasee

but not a drop fell on little ol

me

cause I was in

sho shu shu

sugartown”

Nancy. Trams. Lines. SATURDAY NIGHT? Sugar town.

x

*disclaimer* small print

ToDAY I GOT PARANOID.

That maybe my spelling was a little out? That my grammar was a little wrong? I have some writer friends, and I think maybe Im not so good at it. I don’t know if it matters or not.

I tried to explain something to someone yesterday (someone we like to think as a ‘lay’ person) and couldn’t. My tongue couldn’t pull it together to say what the picture in my head was on about.

Ridiculous.

I think (I know) that the powers that be at Architecture school seep every single descriptive word from out of your head and make you draw things instead. We are trained to observe, and communicate through drawing.

So I think I am either frustrating the hell out of you all with this ramble. Or I am practising that art where you write down the things that you see.

So I will persist.

For now…

lace from a sunnier day

wild west....

uuummmm.
i had a big night on friday,
one of my biggest ever.
what started as a posh dinner in our best dresses,
(we went to panama, on smith st, the food is brilliantly brilliant!)
became a debauched dancing bonanza culminating in a 7am
falling asleep on someone else's bed with five other friends
and getting dragged home kind of night...
and i was sick yesterday, so sick that i could go out to the various parties that were on.
one of them being my best friends party...

what a horrible friend!
i hate party guilt...
hate it.

anyway...
this is how the cake turned out... hee he




*the wind whistles through the (coconut) grass and gunshots rival whistling arrows
as the cowboys try to escape their hopeless pursuit, being lassoed to the cactus and all...*

we went to a new shop on friday, its on smith st and it is immaculate 'janes addiction'. beautiful objects, i got a viewmaster, and we bought anna k FORT APACHE, a cowboys and indians set... the cowboys even have einsie weensie plastic scarves...
its beautiful.

happy day of the EXTRA hour...

x