tear

the world is ripped down the middle. one half is me cracking the shits over a false insurance bill, the other is me being greeted lovingly by people going through a brotherhood bin. one half is me leaving and half, two of my best friends coming home. one half is me at work - and the other half is uploading cute photos of my friends.

ha, my maths has always been bad.

dh lawrence

i never saw a wild thing feel sorry for itself. a small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough - without ever having felt sorry for itself.

thats the kind of stuff you hear when you have foxtel and gi jane is on. suddenly you cant whine about a lack of sleep and having to go to work on a sunny day like this. ha. but much fun. more graff, some cat food, a housewarming, pale ale, pink tim tams and icecream cake.





its funny when you're preparing to leave a place and the city suddenly gets more beautiful. there are so many wonderful things to do in melbourne at the moment... not see macbeth (unless its with d), the alice in wonderland blackman exhibition, the basics at the espy, stella at work, the jumping castle at maddie and blake's, the 32 days till rachel gets home.

i love my maddie...

happy birthday diddums... im sorry i messed up your car.

well... not really.

wah wah wah...

you know, i never wanted my blog to become a journal. it was meant to be a creative venture - a process - but now its no more than a stack of reports about lame things i see in the street, on the train - or worse - the lame things i feel.

there was a comment posted earlier today about me not writing... nice observation. i had to laugh when i saw the anonymous... i wonder who you are.

i sound all angry. awww... im trying not to be. i just dont get it. park your car in a car park - go to get it and the attendant tells you that you cant have it till 430. or you can leave it overnight - no charge... so now im stuck at work for an extra hour and half - because i refuse to leave my car with the same clowns that stole my swiss army knife.

this dear reader, is why i havent written. cause all im hearing is wah wah wah wah.

stuff and shit
i spend my first six hours in house on my hands and knees scrubbing, my fingers dry and burning. the shower floor, the kitchen tiles, the mosaic in the front hall. a house used only in the summer. neglected during the cooler months when one would need a blanket or another person wrapped around them to survive. with a blue handled metal brush i scrub away the years of indifference, the years of compromise, the years of pain. i scrub the house my grandfather built - overcome with grief. yearning for the ones left an ocean away.

i look through the photos i have with me. a 21st. my farewell. a round of mini golf. but that isnt them. they're made of the bits we built and held together. im gone, but nothing is ever empty. each atom sits beside another and another and another - which is how the air gets thick enough to cut. which is why there is love and music and times that reverberate through your entire body, long after that thing has passed.

i stop scrubbing and pour out the water. from the staircase i look down at the floor. and my heartbreak is there, dirty and still, like a burn mark on a new silk dress.

bumbershoot

an umbrella is an interesting thing. i have worked in the cbd for... (counts on fingers)... just under 8 months. today it is raining. it's probably the 4th day that i recall it raining... the only day - that someone hasn't taken my big umbrella (permanently "borrowed" from my 3rd employer)... or i haven't been stranded at a station - prior to a lesbian wedding - without one...

i had to go down to the bank. i took the umbrella. i noticed its awkwardness. the oddly shaped handle. the wood that is too smooth to grip properly - burberry etched into it. i noticed other people and their umbrella's. plain black or flat colour. the "impressionist" umbrella. the old umbrella's - faded or bought in a rush. one lady - her umbrella broken and upward pointing in the wind.

i noticed how people smile at one another (on approach) if their umbrella's are at the same height. a contact that would not occur if it weren't raining. the way some people don't acknowledge that same thing. just walk through, smashing, catching, ignoring. i wonder how much your umbrella says about you and whether or not ettiquette guides should be sold with each one.

if you want an audience - start a fight

i was introduced to banksy a couple of months ago...
...

The secretive artist has smuggled 500 doctored copies of Paris Hilton's debut album into music stores throughout the UK, where they have sold without the shops' knowledge.

In place of Ms Hilton's bubble-gum pop songs, the CDs feature Banksy's own rudimentary compositions. On the cover of the doctored CD, Ms Hilton's dress has been digitally repositioned to reveal her bare breasts; on an inside photo, her head has been replaced with that of her dog.

On the back cover, the original song titles have been replaced with a list of questions: "Why am I famous?", "What have I done?" and "What am I for?"

Inside the accompanying booklet, a picture of the heiress emerging from a luxury car has been retouched to include a group of homeless people.

In another shot, Ms Hilton's head has been superimposed on a shop window mannequin beneath a banner reading: "Thou Shalt Not Worship False Icons."

Instead of Ms Hilton's own compositions, the replacement CD features 40 minutes of a basic rhythm track over which Banksy has dubbed Ms Hilton's catchphrase "That's hot!" and other extracts from her reality TV programme The Simple Life.

The record credits have been re-edited to include thanks to the artist for his "wonderful work".

The bogus CD is not the first time he has branched out beyond the stencil graffiti that made his name. In 2003, Banksy glued one of his paintings on to a wall in Tate Britain, where it went unnoticed by staff for hours. The following year he smuggled a display case with a stuffed rat wearing sunglasses and a backpack into the Natural History Museum. At New York's Museum of Modern Art, he placed an Andy Warhol-style print depicting a tin of Tesco Value soup. Last year, he sprayed paintings on the Israeli security wall around the West Bank.

...

mwa har har