Tuesday, April 25, 2006

No One's Telling Me When to Run


Ok, so I’m going to test a theory. I have noticed I do my most screwed up blogging directly after the O.C., when I’m all emotioned up and wishing for bygones and slow dances, but I tend to have a very random and variable emotional rollercoaster, almost all of the time, so I’m not sure if it’s just the late-at-night-ness of it all that makes it.
So, I’m writing this in the ad-breaks, and as we go along, if it gets crazier and more emotional, well, we’ll know exactly who to blame. Caitlin Cooper is so fucking gorgeous. Except I hate pig-tails. They make me think of that sickeningly cute kid in Matilda, when the evil man-woman teacher says “Are you a Pig?” and then picks her up by them and flings her over a fence. That’s what I want to do whenever I see pigtails.


Mmmm, ok, I don’t quite understand how OLD Caitlin is now. I think she falls in the range of 14-16, but I can’t decide where in that she falls. Then again, Ryan’s looked 35 since he was supposed to be 15, so I guess it doesn’t matter, it’s all about messing with time. Hey, speaking of which, I came into possession of a scientific journal the other day which had a special edition dedicated to Time, and advances in its study and thinking recently, as well as going over the general interesting arguments relating to it. So, apparently, this concept that has been bugging me for years is a real scientific issue, and it’s called Planck Time… or 10^-43 seconds.


Hmm… the problem I’m having here is just when I jump into an idea, and start elaborating on it, the ad break finishes, and I am all cut short. These blog entries normally work because I spend about 45 minutes languidly following wherever my brain leads, but this is like 3 minute speed writing, I’m not deleting anything, My fingers are going as fast as two fingies can across my laptop… I feel like I’m racing against capitalism itself! Can I beat Big Brother into a massive information send-out, can I ever hope to get all my thoughts in one big mess Nivia Visage Young, all on the page at the same time, and what’s worse, is that whatever I’m processing isn’t available to be read by you, it’s all a mess, it’s all too hard, I can’t tell if I’m getting emotional because I don’t have time to stop and think about anything, I don’t love anything, I don’t hate anything, it’s all a wild ride and I’m the pony, I’m the matador, I lead with the fingers and you run ragged following with your confused mind. I’m surprised there aren’t jagged red lines all over the page, just 4, damn!


Ohh! So the bitch did a runner on them all, and now there’s something about stolen money and an abortion, and someone’s third marriage. MY GOD THIS IS SO CORNY. But I love it all the same. This episode is one of the increasingly rarer vaguely entertaining ones, seth and summer all evil-ed up and such. I actually think I like people better when they’re hateful. Intelligent bitches of words are great fun, I get the whole devil’s advocate thing so much. That’s probably why I’m so good at being annoying and arguing, and rather shit at all the nice feelings and pleasant lovey stuff. Ah, but it all sounds so good when you’re planning your wishful conversations in the shower… how the godforsaken world manages to turn and twist them into big balls of awkward stammering and hey look who got as much James bond in him as Garfield, who the hell knows. All I want is for some people to understand that, for me to be able to tell EVERYONE how I feel when they appear in those tossings turnings, how they wander through my life every know and again and all I have to offer is sarcasm, sarcasm and advertisement break banter. Next, rove live.


Woo! Genital Warts! Who doesn’t love a good genital plot? Ok, so, so far all my emotions are doing is thinking that Caitlin is swaying between good and bad and it seems to be dependant on how her hair is done in that scene. Maybe Hair, rather than eyes, is the window into the soul. My hair is long, and very straight but very swishy, and everyone at this party was calling me Johnny, because it looks like Johnny’s from the OC’s hair. Only, well, he’s a tosser who’s in love with a woman who he’s never going to get, despite her stunning beauty, and he’s a nagging pain in the… hmm… maybe hair is a good indicator of your personality. OOOH, hey look at that, the damn show really is the catalyst, it’s all some stupid made-up romantic tangles fault that I get into these loops. Well, that’s a revelation. It’s the show, it’s the damn writers, it’s like that Wilco song “A fake sunset on a TV screen could make her cry, but I never could.”


So now it’s a little bit Lolita, as if it wasn’t before with the whole Ryan is a grandfather casting choices, but how about that. At least we’ve settled on a conclusive age for the vixen, right smack in the middle of my predicted range, (which like 40 seconds later was confirmed) she’s 15. well, I can believe that. It’s just that MY sister’s 14 and I’m 17, so that was a little scary for a second there. Sadly, the mini me is so innocent I feel like punching her into adulthood. Oh well, it comes soon enough. Too fast, I’ll say when I’m thirty. Who cares, I’ll say when I’m seventy. And I won’t say anything when I’m one hundred and twenty. So that’s the world. That’s right, time. Alan Moore, speaking through Dr Manhattan, called it an elaborate multi-faceted gem that humans insisted on painstakingly viewing one side at a time. I am, biased towards him as I am, tempted to agree.
Gonna go to the art gallery on Thursday, again, probably last time this one. Hmm, that’s ominous. I have been around that exhibition so many times with so many different people, eugh, it’s like… those theatre games where you have to play out the same scene, or the same script, in different genres and different power-roles. They’re often extremely amusing, especially if you understand the multiplicity, but frankly, it’s all about messing with time.
Ok, so we’ve accidentally established a theme to tonight’s post I see, who would have thought a teen soapie could lead to THAT little deep issue worth musing, but as ABC TV’s Head 2 Head shows us, everything is just a few degrees from the Don.
And would we talk about verbosity. Nothing brings out bad writing like bad writing, I always say, and you can pretty much replace “bad writing” with anything in my books. I figure the OC is designed to pull these strings, and we who hook ourselves up willingly, dance along. It’s all very obvious, but it’s oh so subtle, and what a generation it’s breeding. HOLY SHIVERS, 1,220 words already on this post alone, my blog must be like Lord of the Rings… only teenagery… and increasingly un-readable. It’s so self-centered! I just realized how self indulgent and utterly appalling wanking this whole blog is…. I’m going to try and make a concerted effort to keep it away from me more, just some fictions of me. Actually, really, that’s a lie too, everybody is just a fiction of themselves… Thanks Virginia Woolf… Thanks Bec for making me read that… thanks for nothing, Colonel Sanders. Thanks be to the spirit world for what I am about to receive… which I hope is ice-cream.
On that note of selves, I’ll leave you with what I hope one day will go down as one of my most poignant quotes, and I’ve used it a fair bit, but we’ll have it again for the people at the Times,

“Personality is just an excuse for lacking creativity.”

Good night, fellow scientists. (and even, *grins for those in the know* scientologists)

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

I would not feel so all alone...

Aw, but she was too young to fall in love, and I was too young to know.

Never fall in love if it can be otherwise helped. It’s very similar to falling in-definitely, only just when you kid yourself into thinking it’s flying, you find that definite bit.
I adore finding gems of music in unexpected places. Obviously all those who know me will assure those who don’t that I’m a musical nut, and could serve as an indie-cyclopaedia when it comes to that sort of noisemaking, and I have been having a good couple of weeks.

Firstly, I just unearthed my mother’s previously-did-not-know-existed copy of Dr. Hook’s Remedies… ah sweet vinyl bundles… anyway if you can download (by which I mean legally, ahem) a song called “Levitiate” then I promise you will all be happier humans. It features a rock-n-roll scream, followed by the drummer singing “Stop screaming, it’s messin’ up my rhythm”

Anyway, next on my list is a band called guillemots, yes, with the small g. There’s this song called “Trains to Brazil” and it just blew my mind out of the water. I love it; it’s dark, yet uplifting, political, yet a kinda love story, it’s everything good alt-pop should be.

Mmmm. So my new musical project is ‘The Rainy Day Women’ along with various friends yet to fully congeal into a band, but mainly me and jack wanting to act special.

Hey! I just picked up Zaireeka by the Flaming Lips, and oh wow, talk about an interesting experience. It really is something unique, inventive, and well-developed. Google it, for an interesting lesson.

Finally, the latest Augie March album is exquitiste. It’s gorgeous, lush, archaic yet simultaneously almost post-modern in its off-beat-ness, very lyrical, oddly quintessentially Australian, fairly broad and best (maybe worst) of all: more musically accessible than their last two albums. Never have so many radio-playable songs featured, or such a range of hooks that you can pick up on the first or second listens.
I’m not sure that I want this band to be massive, but it would be indie-snob of me to deny them the commercial popularity they deserve. The thing I hate the most about music lovers is when they want to keep good bands to themselves. Fans who disown bands because they “sell out” or criticize other fans who don’t like their early work, just their later, more popular stuff. That really freezes my ass. The point of discovering a great band is being able to say “everyone should hear this,” and actually MEAN it, not saying “everyone should hear this,” and subtexting “by which I mean everyone should praise me for discovering this great band before anyone else, and hear the music, but if commercial radio gets their dirty paws on it, I was never there.”
Augie March are painfully like this. They are, have always been, and I hope will always be, my pet band. From the very beginning when I heard ‘There’s no such place’ five or so years ago I was an addict and I knew that they would be my musical children. They are so… largely unmarketable, and yet every person I put onto Sunset Studies has come back in either awe or tears, usually both.
I would really like to continue having this masterful and unique band that is a little secret for me and my closest musical allies but the truth is I really want to see these guys go huge.
I’ll miss them, but if the White Stripes can get as big as they are, Augie March are deserving musical heroes… give them a few more albums.

In passing, before I sign off for the moment, Blonde on Blonde sucks more than I remember… very disappointing. There are only a few good tracks. That said, Times They Are A Changing also sucks more than I remember… there are only 3 good songs on that whole record. Infinitely angry at this. I had just pieced together pieces and assumed it was an awesome album. It’s now slipped down to fourth on my Dylan ranking table. Blonde is still second… but weakening. I’m going to find my copy of Blood on the Tracks this arvo and see if it can knock it back a place.
Bastard idols, can’t seem to attack anything properly, can’t seem to see around their fat bodies, can’t seem to take whole bundles as one piece at a times, it’s always en masse. No damn Dylan album can get judged without the man present. Hate.

I walk in grace, and I will continue to do so as long as there are dirty streets and pretty girls.

Love, and music, for now.

Monday, April 10, 2006


I’m seriously looking into Scientology. Discourage me friends, before I get carried away; it’s really interesting.

I’ve abandoned my previous spiritual quest which largely involved the Oculatum… a 16th century British text made up of chapters of 6 prosaic folk sayings, which you were to repeat a number of times. This endeavour was dissuaded by the persistence of the advice to suck, and by the general feeling that it was intended to reinforce the feudal system.
I dabbled with the idea of following my sometimes idol Alan Moore into worshipping the sock-puppet Egyptian snake god Glycon, but that’s a bit… well you can’t just follow the crowd can you now?

So Scientology (Irony bells, yes)… see, I have no intention of actually performing the audits that are required for official faith to the church, because I don’t have 2 grand to throw around, but for all non-monetary purposes I’m a practicing scientologist. I’m definitely buying the books. I want to see how Hubbard works his magic.

In a fortnight’s time when Dianetics is gathering dust on my “Shelf of Shaman Shame” you can laugh, but until then, no mocking the celebrated celebrity faith around me.

In other news I have serious doubts about the Bush government’s intentions regarding Iran. At this rate the president is on a crash course with the nickname “IRA Bomber” by trying to take out pretty much everywhere that begins with those letters.
My doubts don’t involve any silly persisting nag like the nuclear question, or fears for loss of my life or others’, no I’m seriously concerned that in engaging in a military conflict here, the US government will become, effectively, un-defendable. No possible skerrick of hope that I maintain for the President, or his staff, will remain.
I hold a VERY accommodating attitude towards the Bush administration, much more so than any other liberal college lefty that I know, and I’m willing to do battle, on their terms. I’m willing to take into account many perspectives, but face it people, you’d have to be unforgivably politically insane to get involved with Iran.
It’s obviously not enough that less than 72 hours after reassurances there was no possible chance in hell the situation in Iraq was that of ‘Civil war’ shit look where we are now people! With opinion polls at a nadir and rampant domestic plagues, not half of which are the serious circumstances surrounding the leaking of information… Mr “I will prosecute.” Wank. So the home front is livid after a string of hurricane no relief, wire tapping and media leaking, the eastern front is chaos with a mosque falling almost every day, the international dominant policy still maintained by every other country since the early 1950’s being reformed and bird flu threatening outbreak (fully sick health system!) the very WORST thing you could do is plan tactical nuclear strikes on suspected Iranian WMD targets.


I still stand by the government. They have at least one fairly won election under their belt and nothing, not even the much quoted Nazi regime, could ever be 100% bad. 99… we’re pushing for it folks, but never 100. Until we all see the Iranian issue come to a head, hopefully not a warhead, I reluctantly support the President.
Last chance, mateys, and you’d better not fuck this big boy up or Dicky Nix will look like a fucking saint among men compared to your glowing plutonium assholes.

Enough of religion and politics! Let’s boogaloo!

It’s tricky to rock a rhyme
To rock a rhyme that’s right on time
It’s tricky!

Don’t be tricked, buzzcocks, think for yourselves!

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

I had a good day







Monday, April 03, 2006

Do You See?

“Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze for long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” –Nietzsche.

It is overcoming me. I have touched the stars and they did nothing but burn my hands. I have tasted the heavens and found them empty of flavour, empty indeed of all but specks of hydrogen, and sometimes a stray atom of something else.
Heard something that scared me the other day. If quantum theory is correct in many of its assumptions, there should be an infinite amount of possible elements; no two alike. Instead the universe, the whole of everything, is made up of several hundred. JUST SEVERAL HUNDRED ATOMS. Maybe you don’t understand but I kinda do. Shit that’s scary, the infinite unknown. I am gazing into the abyss.

Fear I am alienating those close to me. Don’t think the world looks at me like I look out, I don’t believe people consider others further than what they have heard about them. We understand new concepts by constructing them out of concepts we already know. We try to understand people in the same way but no two living things are alike. No individual being can be understood constructed from what we know of others, what we observe of them in terms of other’s behavior. It’s all so fucked up. I see you, you see me. Think about.

These days, image that keeps popping up is that Pink Floyd album cover. There are two people dancing, old style, in a barren field, near a long faded house, and they are supported and manipulated by strings. If I die before I feel differently, friends, embed this image behind glass on my gravestone. That is my world; those are my people; that is my nostalgia.

And, friends, if you die tomorrow, I will stand impassive at your sides and have this burned into my eyes. I am gazing into the abyss. Think about.
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