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May 30, 2006

For Rich: Dr Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Arse

Dag y'all I never understood black why the jocks get the fly girls & me I get the hood rats......

Frittering in a record store today I heard the above in 2 Many DJs form, which cued your stage-right into my head, which kaleidoscoped in turn to compose a memory here in its original image form of:






And there had I a moment of convulsive mirth, just a torso seizing soundlessly afore bemused rows of showtunes. It was good, I hope you are too.

As is evident to the highly trained eye, I was singularly unsuccessful in obtaining an actual photograph of a San Pellegrino Gassosa bottle, so I hope my rendering of a mid-lopped phallus on whose scrotum someone (presumably the lopper) has scrawled "Gassosa", masquerading as said bottle, might suffice.

Convulse with me now, o resplendent frappuccino-gobber.......

Thankyou, my tone-lowering muscles have been well flexed for the day.

May 24, 2006

230506 15:43 BS8 1LN

Lying in the park sun with a splinter of the dilapidated French Caribbean in my hands and liquorice in my molars then
ears shoved in by a dog's larynx hysteria and an almost-man's
voice, he mono-yells "Dunno where she come from, fuck, don even know er name."
His never-human companion sportswear swaggers behind that "Ye should pu a muzzle on er,
but gaunt and grease-clammy it's "Naw, gon ge er put down ge

The sun shone on, the dog barked;
the liquorice tasted of luxe nothing.

May 18, 2006

branding_news.jpg.gif: A One-Act Farce

More Hotmail-related life-balm was found today after signing out and being, as has been so since the beginning of time, automatically re-routed to the ninemsn page, which was very excited to announce that National Nine News is now capitalising on the vulgar voyeurism so many happy bystanders used to participate in just for fun! To wit:

Attention all 9 newswatchers!

Don't just watch the news. MAKE the news.

If you witness a crime or accident, a natural disaster, or a scene of triumph or desperation, don't just be a bystander and watch it unfold. Grab your mobile phone or digital camera and become a 9 newswatch citizen journalist.

You can instantly become a member of the National Nine News team by sending images or information from any remarkable event to our newsrooms across the country. Once received, it will be reviewed by senior editorial staff and if it's good enough it could air on a news bulletin and/or be published on ninemsn.

Check out some of the best shots we've received so far in our
9 newswatch photo gallery.

By submitting your footage, you also agree to comply to ninemsn's terms and conditions.

Send us your footage or photos via the form below or via MMS:

0405 999 999

(You'll need to include your full name and a daytime telephone number so we can contact you to verify your details or get more information. Please keep your attached files to less than 6MB per email.)

One needn't mince words: this is horrible. Yes, bystander footage has yielded many significant documentary images through the years, but there's just something so very creepy about their cracked and wonky eager-beaver mask. Urging docile websters to cast aside human compassion and the instinct to aid one another in favour of what's rapidly expanding to fill the gap, which is the urge to gain any kind of recognition by launching yourself on the world with much noise & little premeditation under the banner of professions previously esteemed for the skills they required, viz. Popstars et al. Or, apparently, by recording the pain of others on your Nokia to fill Nine's Schadenfreude Hour.

After disgustedly letting fly into my spittoon, I re-settled my gaze onto the page and found something mildly less offensive but (heaven forbid) no less inane:

News that's Out There
Out There ... because truth is stranger than fiction

An old man will ride his bicycle 2600 kilometres to the World Cup.

If this is the news that's out there, what's the news in here? I followed this enticing snippet to find headings of a similar ilk inside: NEWS HOME > OUT THERE, OUT THERE TODAY and EVEN MORE OUT THERE. Fortunately for anyone wishing to go all the way out there, ninemsn have helpfully herded all the 'news' items not to be let indoors and left them to mill around in a yard called http://news.ninemsn.com.au/odd. How apt.

It was comforting though, as I fled to the safety of my bookmarks toolbar options, to notice that at least they've got the important issues sorted; under their very poker-faced pap-journalism title of IN FOCUS (small depth of field?), they'd given proper weight to the pressing issues of our day:

Tim Lester
When a banquet with President Bush isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Which is....?

Finally, and with grave implications for us all:

Collecting the wrong fare
Watch as a cabbie is interviewed on the BBC by mistake.

Oh, I don't think I can. Somebody hold me.

May 16, 2006

Exhibitionist comments at large

Hello Nat. We really must stop conversing like this.

The following is not a new thought, nor is it masquerading as a cure-all for Perth's cultural ills, but as a small way of DOing something & getting all those artistic party thoughts out to others so that they may start to talk about said party, thereby making it at least a verbal reality, is anyone interested in starting a magazine? I have little to no (read: no) experience of any variety of publishing, but upon my return to Perth I'll doubtless be deposited unceremoniously into a drained Olympic pool of spare time, so I'd be happy to do the shit-shovelling while I absorb everyone else's glowing wealth of experience. As hinted in previous posts I am better qualified than most to pack others' administrative faeces into self-seal envelopes.
Even within this website is an impressive collection of the skills desirable & necessary to fill an at least quarterly slim volume; I know I've seen enthusing musings to that effect on here before, has anyone taken any such steps?

What is the Perth independent mag situation like at the moment? Being a complete dilettante (pej.) with pretensions to more noble pursuits, I've been mentally rolling naked in the plethora of independent art/fashion/creative writing/sociopolitical-commentary type get-ups available in some discerning book shops here. It makes a welcome change from the dominant glossy gas filling most newsagency shelves, and I can't really imagine being able to put together a more likely group of people to kick something similar off in Perth & about Perth than those who puddle along in & around these pages. Interest & willingness always being, of course, important factors.

So, while I'm still holding this shovel, is anyone up for some printy printy fun?

And while you're looking, let me point you here and..... here. And if your mouse ball isn't getting sore, here.
And, then, there's The Believer & McSweeney's, but I shan't presume to direct you all where you've been already.

'comments' in the title used nominally, not verbally

May 15, 2006

'Customer Service': the loosest possible sense just gave way

Granted, Hotmail is not the finest of spam sieves - really more of a generous colander, but I was perusing my junk mail in the hopes of something promising smiling back at me, bonneted in a subject heading other than, for example, HU:gEc0xR'US (no Lego to be found at that store... I hope). No such luck, but I did extend a wary cursor onto something claiming to be 'Customer Service Cos....' with a subject of '(none)', apparently upon treading briefly into a stagnant puddle of poor judgement. Inside, I found this:

Hi Blah Jones,

Just a friendly note, you qualify for a free lending analysis
for Calebasi


Lucy Pearson
Customer Service

Remove: http://www.cl9090.php

----- Original Message -----
From: "Blah Jones" calebasi@hotmail.com
To: "Blah Jones" calebasi@hotmail.com
Sent: Mon, 15 May 2006 02:11:26 -0800
Subject: Re: Free-Refi-Quote

Please fill out our short form to pre-qualify

Blah Jones

Obliged as I was that they'd (I'd?) sent me a 'friendly note' under my all-purpose pseudonym of 'Blah Jones' so that I could 'pre-qualify', I couldn't help my ordinarily diverted inner minor from stopping mid-egg & spoon race and crying plaintively across the years "Oh agnostic deity, where did it all get so munted up?!"

May 11, 2006

When a creature known as "the hell-serf" could be said to represent your assessed work

Do you think that if one of you cracked a horse whip in Perth, the tip might reach one of my buttocks & send me yelping up the library stairs to do some work? I suppose, however, that this would involve standing up to leave sufficient buttock-snapping space. Which looks unlikely....

Two weeks to go until I'm officially a functioning member of society: "Hi guys, it's great to finally be here"... I think I might hold my own graduation ceremony where I use my sheeny bit of buff-coloured degree paper to snort vast quantities of illicit powders off the dean's starched plateau of a suit-coloured suited back. Then I'll go have a coffee....

Oh Lord, to read things I want to read! *cyclonic sigh* But nay, the guardian of the Geat nation wants his story not only translated but analysed and contrasted with other parts of the same story. Beowulf, why could you not just have said, "You know what? Take it. This holy place supermarke.jpg will one day be bought off by a chain of supermarkets employing more drone-folk than makes up our entire population. I'm going to go have a coffee"

However, here is a brilliantly gory extract , squatting on the head of Seamus Heaney's personal modern treatment, which cheers me along:

Ne Þæt se aglæca yldan Þohte,

ac he gefeng hraðe forman siðe

slæpendne rinc, slat unwearnum,

bat banlocan, blod edrum dranc,

synsnædum swealh; sona hæfde

unlyfigendes eal gefeormod,

fet ond folma.

Nor did the creature keep him waiting

but struck suddenly and started in;

he grabbed and mauled a man on his bench,

bit into his bone-lappings, bolted down his blood

and gorged on him in lumps, leaving the body

utterly lifeless, eaten up

hand and foot.

Neato! A few lines later Heaney endows Grendel (the creature) with the winning appellation "The captain of evil". I'd like to see that hat.... This is what's missing from Australian secondary English curricula; bring on the bone-lappings...

Well, I'm feeling tepidly inspired now. Thanks for listening. Disclaimer on any absent 'T's as well, apparently this keyboard's semester has already ended. It's probably at an Ibizan foam party by now.... shorting its circuits all over the dance floor, 99_00_20_web.jpg how disgraceful. Have done my remedial best, a few minutes ago this more closely resembled an interminable Irvine Welsh convo: "Ah've no go a lo o....."

Well, now I'm just flapping. Enjoy modern English, Beowulf & I are off for a macchiato.

May 8, 2006

The time has come, the walrus said.....

.....to shamelessly throw my wares in 'yo faces'. Have been irregularly twiddling about with an assortment of beads, chains & old cheap harlot offcast adornments for some many months, fashioning them into something of more interest to myself (and possibly others), and here is a delegation of the results. A former work associate (I would offer up excess sliced cheese, he'd bestow my unnecessarily long-winded coffee), like most cafe minions in Bristol, was there funding his way through existence as a photographer & DJ. He subsequently found another bar job in a fancy 'space' for fancy dills & dolls, though apparently his own yuppie sheen had a use-by because he got the rub for not knowing enough about old grape juice. In any case, this meant he had lots more faffing time to devote to his art(s), so when he learnt of my pseudo-jewelling exploits, he appropriated a few lady friends to play models in the makeshift studio atop his parents' pad, thereby plumping up his buff portfolio and my now zygotic one. So heres it is....

liz seymour1 web.jpg liz seymour2 web.jpg liz seymour3 web.jpg liz seymour4 web.jpg
liz seymour5 web.jpg liz seymour6 web.jpg liz seymour7 web.jpg liz seymour8 web.jpg

Img0010-1.jpg Img0018-1.jpg Img0021-1.jpg Img0024-1.jpg Img0027-1.jpg Img0030-1.jpg Img0144-1.jpg

I've stuck up a few auto-recordings taken at arm's length in a French bathroom also, to give one a more panoramic view of my vast range (16 pieces in total, I'm practically the House of Cartier). The tentative plan is for all of the above to hopefully be languishing in a very King St boutique near you (if you're near King St) in a matter of months. Please keep in mind that months also make up years. Otherwise they go to the most attractive bidder, and yes, as with any transaction participated in by me, you may pay in fruit and nuts.
To plug the photographer (sounds like a euphemism - isn't - should be), his name is Ben Young, he's based in Bristol in reality and at www.benedictyoung.co.uk in this delightful parallel realm. All shutter releasing, lighting, direction, touch ups done by him, all jewellery, slap, primping, diffusing & reflecting done by myself.

You like? You want to buy?

May 2, 2006

This started as a comment, then it got fat


Well Pat, a twinge of guilt still burns my vertebrae as I remember my own desperation to escape the death-throe scene of that struggling town, or so I, too, then saw it. But, perhaps aided by a spoonful of nostalgia and a lot of top scribbles from in and around this here website, I fervently wish I didn't have to wait so long to come back. Perth is, yes, in the grip of a vastly proportioned and quite possibly unstoppable machine controlled by who knows how many (themselves fast-expanding) cardboard cutouts, basking in the bleaching glow of suburbia. BUT if, as you and Jane claim, a city is its people, then surely the likes of yourself and your fellow (only slightly) crusty denizens of Perth's nucleus are just as much a part of creating its character as its statistics. Having walked far enough away to be able to look back at Perth and see it in its entirety, I'm not struck so much by the beaming red and green banality of Woolworths' omnipresence as by the colour and joy and sponaneity of what I read and hear and listen to as it emanates from the heads and mouths and doorways and streets of those of the city's extremities throbbing with the urge to see materialised everything its inhabitants feel within themselves and see in others.

When asked from where in Australia I originate, I usually nominate Melbourne, as although the majority of my favourite people are Perthites, I did spend a goodly proportion of my life - certainly those all-important formative years - trawling through the streets and colleges and back alleys of that grid long considered to be nothing but Sydney's poor cousin. And yet, in contrast to even a few years ago, the response I'm now most often met with is not "Oh, right. What's Sydney like?", but a gushing inventory of all the marvellous reports the interlocutor in question has been fed by various nomadic acquaintances. Sydney might still be flash for your cash, but its high gloss veneer is beginning to chip and crack and expose all that which a stay more extended than two weeks would make obvious to anyone not high on the high-rise dream: Sydney is dirty. It is expensive, its inner-city citizens are there for the very reason they can afford to call themselves so. It is the vapid beauty queen, screaming all the way to the dais, while Melbourne has long sat back quietly in the bar waiting, doodling & reading & gradually seducing the interest of its northerly sister's more discerning groupies.

It would seem now that, to an extent, Melbourne is Perth's Sydney, if you will and I may dare. Certainly Melbourne seems to hold far more allure for most of the Perth that I know than Sydney ever has, but then perhaps I sought out those with whom I would feel some civic affinity. Certainly I can imagine a good number of Perth's 'outlying residents', shall we say, unquestioningly inhaling Sydney's smoke (and mirrors - let's not dwell on the practicalities). But then, the same is very much true of Melbourne. I grew up in an area famed for being the wealthiest in the state, though it was hardly evident; unlike in South Yarra or Prahran, these were not beams of affluence concentrated on a single singleton or happily childless couple, but on families of up to five sprogs apiece, and very content in their semi-detached tan-brick haven, thank you very much. If it was good enough for the twin-set besetted blonde in the demo-home brochure, it's good enough for us. And it was, but it's hardly the humming creative mass which, wonderfully, seems to spring to the wider public's mind when the M-word is uttered. Melbourne is not free of the suburban dream; I didn't spend 'the awkward years' zipped into my uniform of Ramones-esque Levis and faded red windcheater just to have that knowledge escape my attention, but those die-hard Melbournites who shunned Sydney's empty kiss-blowing in favour of spinning quietly away at what they loved in the town they wanted to love it in wove it slowly, but excitedly into the - yes, she's going to say it - TAPESTRY of amazing creative efforts that so many buzzing Perthians seem now to aspire to. We don't have to crush the occupation, just try not to be crushed by it. Sit on its head & eat the parasites out of its hair, if it helps to take you forward, but don't imagine that the only way to inhabit a Melbourne or a Montreal is to inhabit Melbourne or Montreal.
I'm as guilty as many others of giving up on the charms of the city that gets lost behind large trees - it took leaving to realise, as is so often repeated. After taking a spidery trail off the beaten Concrete path recently, I saw on a great blog (graffitiperth.blogspot.com) the above piece of graffiti, presumably photographed somewhere around Perth's central metropolitan nether regions, staking its claim within stencilled skyline. I still haven't decided if its tone is facetious or optimistic, but either way, when I came back to reading all the good works strung gleefully between these pages and the offices and homes and cafes of their conception, I couldn't help feeling that in an embryonic fashion, it's the tentative truth. This is not to say, either, that Perth should somehow be holding Melbourne up as its model, or that no result other than a mini-me Melbs replica will suffice, but rather that the slow-release creative energy that has gradually accumulated to fill out the very tempting contours of Melbourne's image is probably the most viable path for Perth's creative community. It seems that in fits of impatience, many former Perth devotees have strode (stridden, strided? Curse you, strong verbs!) across the plains without a backward glance in favour of the here's-one-we-prepared-earlier scene they'd been so fervently trying to bring to fruition in their home town. When I arrived in Perth & revealed my metro-mater, I was consistenly greeted with consternation and barely-ejected questions as to the reason for having taken what apparently seemed, to most people, a cultural step backwards. To me, (though I did have other, far more irrational reasons for having flung myself across the desert), Perth had always been this kind of fragrant and lush flower of a creative outpost with vague hippy overtones. All those I'd ever met of western extraction had seemed tantalisingly interested & interesting, and although I too eventually became jaded by my 3-year stint gazing out at Murray St Mall's human (...) traffic, the energy of the people who continue to sustain Perth's individuality under several buzzing hot lamps still makes me jump a bit in the abdominals.

Perth isn't the new Melbourne, it's Perth and it's got its own brilliance to throw about, though it may still be limbering up. But then it hasn't been that long since Melbourne's unofficial tourism brief began to change from "dagsville" to "you sort of.... have to get to know it" to various superlatives drawled through wisps of the finest tobacco smoke. Melbourne's charms have always been well-dressed, revealing only so much as to tempt the onlooker capable of seeing beyond this reserve to ask it out for a few tasteful drinks (no pokie shacks please). When advising potential visitors I'd always try to convince them to stay a week, longer, or to have a local on hand in case of the briefest toe-dips. I'd like to think that with enough perseverance and a refusal to be asphyxiated, or, at the least, to think of it as asphyxiation, Perth's creativity can puddle along, thriving in its own small way, enjoying where it's at at any given time, until the cumulative effect of so much done for the love of doing it will produce its own effects. To leave before it becomes the Melbourne some want it to be will abort not only the possibility of any creative reciprocation from the wider community, but the eventual emergence of something that is not Melbourne, or New York, but Perth, in all its creative regalia, feeling finally, honestly worthy of the kudos it already attracts, however modest the output.
The efforts of those who provide this forum and others, along with their friends and their friends, and the bands they go & see and the pubs they drink in afterwards, are what will, if they don't let the mall gall make it all seem too futile, eventually get in the way of all the parking meters and the conglomerate behemoths, and what will begin to materialise is that which already hangs in the air just above, waiting to descend & take shape.

I'm coming back, and I'm ripe for delivery. I know I will leave again, because it's what I seem to do, but while I'm there it feels like there's so much to do and take and give back and make and show and screw up & throw about, and I can't wait. I'm coming back, and I can't wait.