Sunday, July 30, 2006


Ok, just putting this out there, but does everyone really attain heights of satisfaction word-wanking about themselves on their blogs, or are we all just a little hungry? SNICKERS.

Hehehehe, now I AM snickering. Also, just running this up the flag pole, but Tim Rogers is GODAWFUL ugly!!! And I mean, the idiot had to tour with Tex Perkins who ranks as not just the best looking, but the only good looking Australian rock start ever… I mean Barnsey, Bon Scott, all the guys from You Am I – BOGANS. Then there’s Kevin Mitchell I mean eugh, Bernard Fatting, Jet were all sinful, Michael Hutchence was no puddle of pie, Men At Work? Gangajang? UGLLLLLIIIEEEEE! We need sexier rock stars if we’re gonna really compete with the American and British markets.

Ok, I’m sleepy. Talk about uni and women later. If anyone reads this.

I cannot help but see that the grasses are greener this year
And cannot help but long for auburns.
So the salt-wind and I will dance to slow sweet melodies
Until the self-serving autumn returns.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Curse Words

DAMNIT! In case this was just some kind of uncommon knowledge, which I’m pretty damn sure it isn’t, I’m going to iterate in public in easy to understand swearing-prone language!


God damnit you people must be morons. Die in a pit. And don’t think I’m bailing you out of this one. EAT THE DAMN PIE YOU BAKED.

Monday, July 24, 2006

It's What It Represents.

I am ambling through oceans of Mineral Water,
So let us drink to health.
I am scrambling through acres of wheatgrass,
But I can still see the sky.

And it was like the first protons had reacted in the sun,
As it burst over the horizon this morning.
And it was like every one blinked out, sucked dry,
When I saw you standing there.

But I will drive for long distances that I might learn,
Hoping that space will do what time can’t.
And all my wounds will be healed by the practitioner,
That goes only by the name of Freedom.

I long to feel the glaze come over my eyes as I seaward dream,
And in those eyes be naked, flying alone.
In that inward place I shall touch the molten god of the Sun,
And laugh at Daedalus, who lives below.

Monday, July 17, 2006


Why can’t people mean what they mean. Like, people do say what they mean a lot, just that what they say and mean isn’t actually what they really mean to get out of that particular conversation. It’s too layered.

Today is one Monday of many one days. Days are seen as singular units, even though they are made up of hours and seconds and milliseconds and femtoseconds and a second to the power of one on 43, which is known as Planck time, and is a much better singular unit, but like I said, we don’t see that.
A week however is always made up of seven days. Very few people measure things in weeks as a singular unit, i.e.: 13 weeks. Except pregnancy, I must admit. But even that is known generally as 9 months. See, if something is long enough to be measured in months, it is done so. But if something is too short to be measured in months it is almost universally to be measured in days. Weeks are a secondary unit of measurement. So are fortnights. Who says eight fortnights when they could say about 4 months? Just saying.
Some units of time are fundamental and common, but others seem relegated to the back seats. I propose to my readers that we make a concerted effort this week to use the undervalued values! If you think about it, Christ was only born 501 leap-years ago. I shall now date my work accordingly. Today is the 17/7/501 AD.

What we really need is metric time! That would really screw the world around to my favour. Noted on my list of goals.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Savvy, ken?

I’m writing these words around 8. Listening to ‘Tomorrow Wendy’… the Concrete Blonde version, but the Andy Prettyboy version is better. Just harder to find. Anyway, this is irrelevant. Kennedy IS still alive. Like in Coffee & Cigarettes… the whole twin Elvis plot. Well it’s like that, but with Kennedy.

“I told the priest don’t count on any second coming,
God got his ass kicked the first time he came down here slumming’
He had the balls to come, the gall to die and then forgive us
No, I don’t wonder why, I wonder what he thought it would get us”

If that doesn’t make you download the song, well, you’re reading the wrong blog. That is up there with the Hold Steady for awesome religious lyricism, you just gotta hear this sad, angry ballad of utter melodic loss to believe it.

Anyway, what I’m planning to do is write some stuff now, and then watch Bleak House and write some more, then post it all. I’ll put a little line between the Tomorrow Wendy bleakness and the Bleak House windings. Um… what’s news…
I haven’t done a comprehensive album review here lately, which many have lauded as a sparing merciful move. I might just have to pull out a track-by-track on the latest Sleepy Jackson release though, it’s pretty amazing. I mean, 10 seconds of ‘Devil’s Was In My Yard’ contains more vocal overdubs, gorgeous piano/guitar frills, quirky lyrics, key changes and danceable drumming than some entire bands discographies.
On the complete other end of the aural spectrum, I also bought Syd Barrett’s The Madcap Laughs this week. More on that when I’m far more fucked up than right now. I mean I love it, I absolutely adore it, ‘Feel’ is a completely unknown masterpiece, I mean this track was WAY ahead of it’s time, way outside the idea at the time. Syd was a pretty good innovator… just messed.

Is everyone else enjoying the newfound responsibility of TAX!?
This is probably the first year most of my friends will make 6 grand deadline, as was the case with me, so it’s that time of year! Well, I just feel so growned up. Mammy me a big boy! BIG!
I just wish my tax refund was as massive as I feel.

Sat at home with my 4-track yesterday, because the restaurant was empty so I got to skip the lunch shift and just do dinner. It was the day after Coldplay too, so there was some lagging musical jealousy/impressed-ness going on there. But in general I’m just going through a music week. Next week will surely be writing week, or comics week again. It’s all cyclical. But while I’m in duper-acoustic-harmony mode I may as well use it. I REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY need a band! I’m so bored! I want a band! I want live shows! My loungeroom doesn’t have enough audience members. Stupid Jack is going to Vietnam just as Kier gets back from Melbourne. Plus neither are as desperate as me. Kier already has a band.


Oh well that was bleak indeed.
Even more interesting is the Lexus advertisement just got ‘One Perfect Day’ stuck in my head. Wait… how is that remotely more interesting? Well I thought it was.

Bleak House is excellent because it blends together all of the best Dickensian elements around a distinctly UN-Dickensian centre. Whilst every damn one of his rather overrated and rancid novels seem to have orphans, rain, England, pickpockets and nasty landed gentlemen only Bleak House has a half decent central metaphor. What it captures, infinitely and gloriously, is maundering. Bleakness, endless boredom, bureaucracy, the very colour of grey.

I’d personally like to see Johnny Depp in an adaptation of Perfume. Or… even better… as Rorschach in a Watchmen movie. I take that back. I never want to see a Watchmen movie. NEVER. Not even if Depp, Bill Murray, Wes Anderson and Audrey Hepburn’s fucking ghost were attached. Hmmm… What film adaptations would you like to see? Which do you fear?

I personally look forward to more stage musicals about rock bands. Now that we’ve had a run of successful shows about popular bands such as Queen, the Bee Gees and ABBA I’m hoping more people will follow Gabba Gabba Hey’s lead and make some about more experimental but influential bands. Imagine a White Stripes musical! Or a Mick Jagger bio! The Smiths… some dark, haunting narrative.. a protagonist called William whose life falls apart… now I’m really whirring!

Can it really be like this?
Should people say those kind of things?
What about if they really meant something completely different? Do we deserve to flail for our failures of expression?
Maybe we should have suggested a different possibility.
Maybe we should have acted on our theatrics when we were telling the truth. But now there’s none of that. It’s empty, grey stagnancy. And that means winter. NOW is the winter of my discontent, and no Syd, looks like I won’t be doing my loving in the winter.
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