http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/ en Copyright 2008 Thu, 31 Jul 2008 10:43:14 +1000 http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/ http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss verbadverb.wordpress.com forget the tumblr thing - i will use that as a link farm/bookmarks bollocks primarily - if you want to interact with me or read anything else i have to say that isn't just facebook fapping, it'll be at verbadverb. RSS now! DO IT!]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2008/07/im-not-here-par.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2008/07/im-not-here-par.html new blog rubydoomsday verbadverb yerknickers Thu, 31 Jul 2008 10:43:14 +1000 i'm finally over her. i just wish my best friend were around to see this. and now, for my next trick: relentless optimism. just you watch. http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2008/07/im-not-here.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2008/07/im-not-here.html break heart love time truth Thu, 03 Jul 2008 22:44:21 +1000 this is where it goes down from here. i think. for now.]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2008/05/redrum-is-dead.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2008/05/redrum-is-dead.html Mon, 05 May 2008 21:57:07 +1000 more than a year. proof enough of the same old dilettante approach i've taken to this thing. it's getting old. which means, it's time for it('s author) to undergo some reinvention. a lot has happened, naturally - love found and foolishly lost, address changed, and fortunes, too (more in weeks to come on that note...). but i am certainly going to be back. it might be a while - i need to think carefully about the next step. i'll be milestone older... 'there's always time' is getting harder to blurt out and actually believe. can't fool anyone else if i can't fool myself. crackbook has made it easier for me to be lazy with the 'rum, which was initially a way of staying in touch. FB does it better; i can't blog anymore without a purpose. the friends i've made through 'blogging' are now: my housemates, reasons to travel interstate, home-fires burning. i don't do it any justice being this sporadic. so i'll be back when the nascent blobs are more clearly defined. i know, i know - quitting your blog is soooo 2006... love http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2008/04/dont-die-of-sho.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2008/04/dont-die-of-sho.html observations Mon, 14 Apr 2008 21:22:43 +1000 housie's journal), my rapid consumption of my first batch of homebrew (turned out great!), the feeding of friends and accidental offending of others, and the purchase and imminent arrival of this... ...further proving my financial management skills have not improved in line with the higher income/expenses. laugh all you like; so-called 'metal' guitars of this vintage are excellent playing instruments, and brilliant to record with. i'm buying it as a fire-up-arse-light to make some comforting sounds of my own again. if i fire up in public with a toneful ensemble, there'll probably need to be another guitar for that (for pure sonic purposes), but i'm growing in the confidence to actually play out with the/a shred-beast. my friend mel helped me confront this, actually, and i realised the coolsie indie-ness of only condoning the reverential use of indie-approved retro instruments is just another aesthetic fascism in reverse: these guitars carry a stigma because a lot of the bands that played axes like this often used an outrageous visual sensibility to compensate for musical lacks. ergo, the only way to shut the critics up is by playing something substantial and awesome with it. i think my 17 years of playing music, 8 years of writing and co-writing original tunes, and 30-odd years of super-broad listening might help there. all i do these days is shred the acoustic, while squealing away off key to exercise the vocal cords. the upside is, the chops are still good as gold, i just dont have anyone to write for. housie is remarkably understanding about the wailing. i thought i didn't have much to say, oddly. but there's stuff to be learned/mined from life hanging sometimes pleasantly, sometimes blandly in this suspended state between desire and action, about normal for me. my foot slipped temporarily into my mouth while back-and-forthing with my favouritest (a pattern we'd somehow managed to blessedly avoid for nearly a year now) over some insecurity she's feeling, me and the housie have weathered our own little storm, i've grown increasingly complacent about a variety of things, and i'm (bizarrely) generally non-plussed by much of what the world has/is throwing at me. it seems for me that 'calm' is a double-edged sword; the absence of many stresses also saps the desire for change. i thrive on change, but the uncertainty of it kills my mental health. turn the volume down or take my foot off the accelerator as i have for the past few months, and i think straight, but my heart quails a little - the upbringing means i'm far too comfortable with a life that doesn't match the (relative) heights i've allowed myself to hit when giving further sway to my more romantic leanings. i like risk. so why don't i anymore? the point (if there is one) is, i have recently got myself back into a position i was in about five years ago, when i risked a lot and lost. i got back to here by systematically restoring some touch points that have provided me with security - photos and music. i've hatched the roughest of plans for a new band, uploaded 700 odd photos to flickr - (check 'em out, do - it's all the past, but it's the sweat of film photography rather than the offhand snapping of digital - not dissing users, i just find that i don't 'think' as creatively with a dig in my hand: the process is part of the art *for me*, and film still wins). i also plan to move in the next 12 months back to writing (at least part time) again - reviews, interviews, etc. i need to flex in some format that isn't the bland diarising i always seem to fall back on here. i need to have a goal (ie. criticism, analysis) for what i write to feel that writing is useful. many journallers are so much more entertaining than myself, that i never bother with that here. plus i'm piss-funny IRL, LOL!!11! so stay tuned. i'll leave you with an image of my old amp, a pure monster, that i have hung onto not because of any material attachment, but because i only throw my heart after something (or someone) that i know has gravitas, warmth, power, potential for the future - something that will facilitate growth, that will give as much as it takes. in a fit of overblown self-congratulation one day, i re-labelled all the controls - boring stuff like 'bass' 'mid' and 'treble' - with terms like 'arse' 'thwack' and 'zing' because i thought they more accurately reflected what this amp could do. in humbug's last dozen or so gigs (the band i used to be in) this amp's sound got me more compliments from soundguys than in the previous 7 years of shows. it will sing again soon. ps. yes, that quote over the name badge *is* a quote from Dante - "Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here." i'd peel such pretentiousness off if every single word wasn't true. ]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2007/03/comforting-soun-2.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2007/03/comforting-soun-2.html observations Sun, 25 Mar 2007 15:19:01 +1000 Flickr, so i will be probs posting piccies there from now on. if i can't get this shit sorted in a week or so, i will allow the redrum to die and simply break ground on a new bastion of navel-gazing excellence. the tranquil looking fish are crosby, stills, nash and young, and they LOVE living in brunswick hella more than st kilda. they are full of vigour and, indeed, a not inconsiderable amount of vim, placed as they are near the sun streaming in through our delightful backdoor window, which has faux-leadlights with a tulip shape that looks decidedly like a pair of inverted cocks. simply dicklightful! the photo above is of the bookshelf by our 'reading corner' which contains merely the overflow from me and the pirates' shared bibliographical resources. i think it's got something for everyone, frankly - all are catered for, from your garden variety pervert (120 Days of Sodom) to your wistful europhile (Le Petit Prince, Lonely Planet Western Europe - in which yours truly wrote the chapter on Northern Italy; the Netherlands edition next to it is my handiwork, too), canonical snooty-noses (the Norton, bard's complete yadda yadda) to nimble-fingered minxes who might want to try a spot of paper fondling, Nippon style. We even have kids books, for, well kids (or the young at heart) and a compendium of the 18 and 19C cussword stylings of those lovely genocidal Brits who founded this fine, remarkably white nation... you are all invited to curl up in the sun in the corner of our kitchen like lazy cats whenever you like and read away, while pirate and i coax perfect espressi out of lucy, and program tunes to soothe or suggest in iTunes, your perfect Rancho-Relaxo style oasis of calm, unassumingly nestled in a quiet street amid the otherwise rapacious nihilistic lefty clamour of the Ghetto of Hate. do come over, do. that is all. ps. LOVE! life in the ghetto pps. if i ever offer to cook you a parma, say yes, because it looks like this - real chicken breast, real ham, real napoli/ragu, and no scrimping on cheese. ppps. eggplant parmas at a day's notice for non meato-philes. pppps. this is why we no longer pay $10 for that poor excuse at the east... ]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2007/02/doh.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2007/02/doh.html observations Sun, 11 Feb 2007 19:33:22 +1000 * pie may not actually be provided. come, bitchez - will be megadoubleplusfun. more postage soon, proms. x]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2007/01/funswick-punch.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2007/01/funswick-punch.html wtf? Wed, 31 Jan 2007 12:45:11 +1000 *** it is 10.36 on a monday night. one of my housemates has been away at a circus convention in wollongong; he just cartwheeled into my room, thrust a coopers into my hand, hugged me hello and bombarded me with all the exuberance i remember having at 19, too. so sweet. neil young is singing about his cinnamon girl (oh to be living in laurel canyon in 1971. *sighs*), and all is well with the world for tonight. this pic reminds me of a time when i was momentarily flush with happiness amidst a maelstrom of heartsickness. everything i love is in it: the wide open sky, a relic replete with a billion stories and lives not too far away, beautiful language and flavours to tempt it into song, and silver halides and peoples i loves... it will have to stand in for sitting in sugardough on sunday, catching myself just happy, though - i didn't have a camera with me, for once. i had a slut red bowl of hot tomato, roasted capsicum and chorizo soup and a plate of crusty sourdough in front of me, and was poring over didion at a tiny one-person table in the corner, and (despite the book being an exploration of what grief and mourning can do to an otherwise rational mind) an uncharacteristic stillness sat beside me. though sad, it's never indulgent. beautifully written, it is a document all the more powerful for its measured detachment in circumstances where a little indulgence would actually be easily forgiven. earlier that day, the ATM had ripped me off $50. the gal at the caf had burnt my hand to the point of blistering by spilling hot oil on it. nothing could make me angry. my total lack of angst shocked me. for years, i had been told 'let it go' and words to this effect, being someone prone to obsessing. it was like riding a bike; i could do it once i stopped *trying* to do it. maybe it was the memoir, maybe it was the music i've been listening to lately, maybe it was nothing more than the blazing summer-y sun and hope just loitering by that horizon i'm in love with, a cheeky smile splashed across its gob. i've come too far to not know what to do with this: happiness doesn't have to last - i don't think it's in its nature. in the book, didion talks about loving someone 'more than one more day'. for ages, i've been thinking about who and what i love more than my next breath... moments like these. juicier for their unexpectedness. *** ]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/12/the-weight-is-a.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/12/the-weight-is-a.html observations Mon, 04 Dec 2006 22:33:39 +1000 what a difference a month makes... i looked in an old (physical, book-type) journal the other day and saw this line i'd written: "... i fly this holding pattern with a pilot's patience, and a passenger's longing for landing." though i was talking about a soldier girl, so far away, who made my head spin around, i can only smirk when i think of the restlessness and impatience that, no matter where i go and how i grow (or resist growth), seems always a part of me. in every aspect of my life. will be starting a new gig in a few weeks that won't require much of my passion, but will need most of my energy. but i'm content to circle now, whereas as a younger man i would have been champing at the bit, wanting specific changes to happen now/10 minutes ago/ yesterday. the changes i want to make will take time. and money. i can give myself to this, create a basis of stability for a few years, then shift. can't i? it can suck, thinking and dwelling on how one might not be in a particular position if one hadn't made such bad choices, and it can even suck thinking that a new direction is a compromise, however positive. this choice made me, rather than i it: right now, i want more stability. i can only get that from this steady, steady new trajectory. but rather than it being a fearful, conservative choice, it has taken tremendous courage - the daily grind is not who i am, and though i do an awesome imitation of someone who is capable and solid there, it is not my natural terrain. i feel like an animal in the zoo must; it's life, like, but not as it should be. i can only grit my teeth, project the gains i can make in my creative endeavours and charge on in, making ongoing reassessments about whether i am getting the satisfaction - overall, in life - that the job merely facilitates/provides. i chose it because of the implications for my real life. i've been serving up a stilted, limited version of myself to people in my world for months and months now. amazingly, this watered-down version i've been - in terms of audacity, not honesty - has somehow made me still able to be seen as attractive and vibrant to some people, even though i haven't been a me i'm really proud of for quite a while. i've been accepting limitations, and acquiescing under challenges i would normally dig in my heels and fight against for so long; this was never me in a previous, prouder incarnation, and i've loathed it. but i finally feel some of the fight coming back, and there's work that needs to be done. work i can't do if i'm too dependent on any one person. the knowledge that i had hit the bottom and have started on the upward part of the arc again made me make a change this weekend to a wonderful relationship i've been in for the past six months or so. to end one phase, but only ultimatley to become something better, even if it means we miss out on some fun with each other in the short term... i'm moving soon, with someone i was seeing, but am not anymore. because we know we're good together. because we will be great at living together. but we came together in a way that was more comfortable and friendly than explosions and doppler shifts, more gently 'tested' than a frantic collision, and we want to keep getting the goodness of each other without the burden of expectation. some of our closest know, some don't; some understand. some don't. none of this matters: i - and she, as far as i know from the honest words we've shared on the matter - know it is the right thing. some might see it as cynical. i'm far from cycnical; in the past i've been struck to my knees under the weight of my own saturation in love, buoyed through horrible things on the lightness of my own heart at waking next to someone and just sitting, watching the quiet miracle of her breathing, her aliveness, wanting to die right in that moment of observing her sleep, my summum bonum, the happiest experience i could ever possibly have, and all i could ever want. i am continually humbled by any and all affection people show me; on a good day, i am thankful, and grateful, and do my best to reciprocate. on a bad day, i wonder how i could possibly deserve such a gift. but somehow these days i'm generally much more the realist about how to have respectful and mature relationships even in the absence of the arrows and butterflies. i'm not immune to love, it's not even 'harder' for me to fall than it once was (as if we have any say in that!). i just accept that you don't 'choose' who you fall for - that's why they call it 'falling', it's not a *step* you take, it's a stumble that can hurt you on landing or give you more wild, heady forward momentum than you know what to do with... i don't want someone i care about to be with anyone who's not being or giving their all - even if the 'anyone' who's not being or giving their bestest and mostest is *me*. i ain't kicked myself to the curb before, but i don't feel bad about having done it. it's not about thinking 'she's better off without me' or me having 'low self-esteem', it's about seeing what we're *actually* good at being for each other and not imposing any retrofit Couple™ kits on it; being able to stand back and assess what we really do and mean for each other, what's good and bad, and how best to emhpasise the strong and minimise the weak. i'll fall in love again, as will she. but, "... to find someone you love, you've got to *be* someone you love." so. i've got work to do. heartfelt thanks for all the sofars, soons and will-bes, wheelie. i've loved every minute... x]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/11/better-daze.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/11/better-daze.html observations Mon, 13 Nov 2006 20:13:44 +1000 a quick meme, with apologies to sub for the lateness. life's been. 1. Three things that scare me People dumb enough to believe in 'Intelligent' Design or limitless economic growth. *shudders* Enclosed spaces and restricted movement My talent for unwittingly hurting people I care about 2. Three people that make me laugh Clunk Liverpool supporters; nothing like scouse wit. Fits 3. Three things I hate the most Cowardice People with no spatial awareness; dicks who can't move in crowds, who stop dead (with flow behind them) can't estimate space, don't look when coming out of doorways, can't merge. all should die. 'Front' masking limited ability; greatness doesn't need to announce itself, it's always ready 4. Three things I don't understand How frequently Naked Emperors get away with it Why people give a fuck about material 'stuff', who focus more on shit they own over who they are. Nationalism. How can a place (geographical/physical reality) own 'values' (abstract, ideals influencing behaviour/social exchange)? 5. Three things I'm doing right now Contemplating poverty Recovering from a sudden fit of spontaneous blubbing Applying for jobs I don't want because all the good jobs are about who, not what, you know 6. Three things I want to do before I die Find someone I trust enough to live and make babies with. I'm cool with it not happening, it would just be lovely. i found two, but they both left. Make one really amazing work of art, musical, photographic, i don't care - something worthy of leaving behind so the few people who knew me and who touched my life might look at it or hear it and be reminded 'yeah, that's him. all he wanted to do was give us something to know him by'. Love as unreservedly, courageously and passionately as I did the last time, risking everything. This is less aspirational of course; I know it will, eventually, happen. I just wish it would happen while i still feel capable of using my changing energy levels to their best ends. 7. Three things I can do Write, though I don't offer anything on this journal as evidence. Take good pictures with any camera in any lighting after two minutes of familiarising. Travel with a light step. I'm never happier than when going somewhere new. *Honourable Mention: wail a rock guitar lead break like a fucking possessed man. 8. Three ways to describe my personality Brash?Arrogant (I don't feel it, but i know people think it) Playful Tender 9. Three things I can't do Wait Relax Bite my tongue when someone is being rude, aggressive or unreasonable. 10. Three things I think you should listen to M83, Before the Dawn Heals Us. I stole this description - "my bloody valentine with keyboards". Enough said. Sufjan. Godboy rocks, sincerely. The Go! Team. Ass-shakin' party music par excellence. I can't dance to save myself, but nothing can stop me from moving to this album. I'd dance to it to save YOUR life. Proof that music to make you move doesn't have to be a metronomic bleepy drug soundtrack, but actual people-playing-it organic music. 11. Three things you should never listen to Governments. They should be listening to you. Anyone rebounding from a long-term relationship. Your head; at least, when it's trying to shout down your heart. 12. Three things I'd like to learn To get out of my own way To do what i should, not what i want Money; how to be good at handling it while still not giving a shit about wealth, status, power etc. 13. Three favourite foods Pasta, if i'm making it Mushrooms in just about any configuration Pho (and noodle soups in general if they're fresh) 14. Three beverages I drink regularly water red wines the milk of human kindness... 15. Three shows I watched as a kid Match of The Day Countdown Anything to do with space (Battlestar Galactica etc) 16...Three people I'm tagging none. the stallion doesn't tag (private - and very bad - joke). *** it's been a strange and frustrating time since the last post; the imminent job loss morphed into actual unemployment, despite picking up some freelance gigs here and there. this time last year (subtracting a few months) I was so broke I had to sell my guitar to get bond together for a new place. i'm so stretched at the moment that i may have to flog THAT guitar's replacement to make rent next month. and today is a special anniversary. the birth of someone whose very existence bolsters mine. an old friend, a best friend, a perfect lover, a spiky travel companion, a lifetime's affection. the only sense the world has ever made. she's way away on the other side of this huge rock, kicking massive career goals, sharing a life with someone more solid than me. for three years now, i haven't been able to say happy birthday properly. for one of them, i was over there. i gave her some magic shoes, dreamwalking shoes to put on while imagining yourself in another life. she hadn't settled yet, london was still pushing and challenging. i wanted there to be a link between me and her and there. but i was a link to a life she wanted to leave behind; i might have been a good thing at a bad time, but good or not, i was part of that time, and had to be severed along with the rest of it. i see that now - back then, all i could see was the bloodletting. mine. the next year, i sent her a movie of her past and a poster-size print of her spiritual sister, the good bits, so she wouldn't forget. she has a terrible memory. she called me, weeping, and thanked me. and still i hardly heard from her, forging the new in east london. 2005 was crazy. i sent her endless cups of tea, but it was a tiny, desperate flare sent up in the darkness our relationship had become. when she came to visit in january, i acted my socks off just to convince them i was sane and okay. and what of this year? i have nothing but every space between every breath and beat to offer my b. i was feeling dejected this morning, and marty, one of our mutual bestest friends had posted this lovely song on his own journal. by dumb coincidence, i recently put this on a mix disc. it felt like a gift. sure, i'll admit to having a soft spot for christopher eccleston, but then i put it to you that few other actors could take a concept so simple and make it scan. is there a point? can i tie this up? i've been pretty down, which in turn makes me feel guilty, cos i'm scared i won't be very good company for those closest to me these days, (even though we are remarkably good at talking plainly with each other) or because i have ability and skill at some things and then feel i must be flawed in some other way if i can't then turn that into opportunity or success in other parts of my life. i'm my own harshest critic right now. but the antidote to such sadness and ill-timing and things just not going my way is not more moping and bitching, is it? i'm far from the pollyanna type; i've chowed down too many fluoxetines and xanaxes to ever be accused of that, and even the birthday girl in question has painted me with a cynic's brush. but i think this clip is about remembering that the other way is a better tactic for digging yourself out of the hole you stand in. today, better than any drug or therapeutic gambit is the simple knowledge that someone who shook me to the very core is in her moment, is a star. she will be first and foremost in her world, showered hopefully, even in tiny fractions of the joy i've seen her bring to others (her gift - drawing people in, making them feel valued, eliciting truth), and know she's given me. in metrics i can never repay. she is hope and trust in human form. i take happiness and hope from merely knowing of hers. i never just wanted her, i wanted to be more *like* her, too. ain't that all love is? happy birthday, b. r x ps. apologies to bloglines users; i am a linktard. ]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/10/your-life-can-c.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/10/your-life-can-c.html observations Mon, 09 Oct 2006 13:28:16 +1000 a bonus! it can be tough to get good drummer pics, but somehow with this one everything just fell into place of course, this week the drones were also in town and musically they are an entirely different beast. i'm not even going to post the pics of charmingly haggard frontman gareth liddiard looking like he's in dire need of an exorcism - the music itself is a perfect evocation of demons being expelled. the drones are pretty much at the very top of their live game right now, a delicate balance of thunderous squalls and burbling sighs contained by a skein of truthfulness that's just like a spider's web - gleamingly thin and fragile-seeming, but with a tacit tensility you never doubt for as long as liddiard and co are wrenching such sounds from their strings and skins. they're not particularly commercial. no one knows how long they can last. they're 'critics' darlings', though it's becoming embarrassing to use that particular back-handed compliment (usually implying crap sales and limited appeal) and seems even harsher when you look at another 'moody' australian act getting euro big-ups on the strength of their live shows: i like the howling bells also, but their much more 'polished' and rehearsed musical take on the darker aspects of human emotion and behaviour play as positively sanitised next to the drones' diseased, spitting fury. maybe it's a sydney slick versus melbourne grit thing, or maybe it's nowhere near as simplistic as that. after all, the drones did kick off in my sleepy hometown (perth), a hometown as isolated as there is in this outpost land, and still somewhat characterised by a simmering undercurrent of unspoken threat, redolent of our convict past. a city that's home to serial killers and misanthropes, where restlessness has few real outlets outside the socially sanctioned binge drinking and contact sports. what if you care for neither? where are your people in a paranoid town that thinks it's a city? it's utterly captivating watching the drones vacillate between doubt and knowing on a stage in front of you. it might have been my last chance for a long, long time. fiona was feeling under the weather, rui was chilled, mike bantered ruefully with the crowd about a brutal hangover. but could you tell? the unique manic edginess of the day after an xxl night seems ubiquitous in the drones... in other news, i shot my first wedding in 13 years last saturday. the happy couple have not yet seen the fruits of me labour, but i was bricking it a little, i have to admit. and i didn't even find out until i got to the ceremony that the groom's pa was an AWARDED PHOTOJOURNALIST OF SOME 40 YEARS EXPERIENCE!!!! gee, intimidated much? but i'm well happy with the results, and 99 percent sure the bride and groom will be, too. i knew it was a good sign when they walked down the aisle in the mid-afternoon sun in the garden courtyard of a fitzroy bar to teenage fanclub's 'about you' - one of my favourite ever rock songs about being slapped silly by love - and their first dance as hubby and wife was to oasis' 'slide away'. meh, i hate those mancs, it's the indie-tastic impulse and the desire to grow old disgracefully that i salute. paunchy thirty (and approaching-forty) somethings got seriously down to the stone roses, much air guitar, nostalgia and mayhem ensued. i can't post any pics until i get approval, but it was a beautiful day, made more beautiful toward stumps by the bride entreating me (after a good eight hours on my feet and snapping away like a mad bastard with two cameras) to 'put the bloody camera away and come and have a dance!'. and dance i did. ]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/09/angels-and-devi.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/09/angels-and-devi.html rock shots Mon, 18 Sep 2006 21:37:59 +1000 why is it a perfectly charming evening can be disrupted by the actions of one cocktard? one moment it's all champagne, cucumber sandwiches, a friend's hen's do, eating cock with a local arts maven (plus ro and e from the previous week's frolics) and trading anecdotes on mediterranean swearing with another new friend, the next you're picking through your own gender politics, frantically trying to figure out if it's okay to knock some venomous dwarf's teeth through the back of her angry neck. isn't it always the way? disclaimer: i use the term dyke advisedly. anyone who knows me well will be aware of my solid awareness of queer politics, both personally and theoretically. i have many gay, bi and lesbonic friends and acquaintances and, thankfully, they're all of the strain who try - precisely because of their own experiences of marginalisation and intolerance - not to pre-judge people at first meetings. i understand that anger and militancy are stereotypes often unfairly appended to 'unattractive lesbians' in particular, and more broadly as a general category. i never do this; i judge people (if at all) on their actions, how they appear to engage with the world and whether or not the sum of their passion and compassion (claimed, implied or otherwise) is manifested in their observable behaviour. this chick was just a fucking cunt-axe of the lowest order. picture: i am minding my own business, having a wonderfully buoyant conversation with some newly acquainted friends of my lovely, who happens to be sitting down the other end of a long trestle on the rooftop deck at madame brussels. for those who haven't been, it's a sweet place, with a kitschy, faux garden party aesthetic happening (inside, mind you; astroturf, white garden furniture etc) and all were having a quite mildly raucous good time. so the host sidles up to me, gestures towards her loveliness and what can only be described as 'herve villechaize with a vagina', deep in not-entirely-comfortable conversation. hostie: "hey r, you might wanna go over there and rescue e." me: "really? what, from the tufty gnome in the ill-fitting bad suit? i'm sure e can look after herself." hostie: [raising an eyebrow] "mmm, i know. but this one's a wild one." me: "hmm, well. here they come [as e makes a rapid exit from that table back to ours]. sure it's all fine." poisonous leprechaun saunters over, hot on the delectable e's heels. introductions and small talk ensue. at this point we are getting along fine. gollum de generes: *something inaudible* very hot woman. great tits, don't you agree?" me: [amused] "but of course, they are mighty fine." gollum: "i'll bet they feel as good as they look" [slides hand inside e's top, under the bra, obviously going the full grope, yet making eye contact with me, challenging.] me: "do you really think that's cool?" [trying not to give fuckarse de rossi the rise she so clearly wants. e is calm, not reacting. much.] e: "your hands are a bit cold... [now getting more exasperated] and would you mind a little less nipple action, thanks?" me: "hey, that's out of line..." e: "r, don't worry about it, it's okay. just leave it." i attempt to turn back to my conversation with the others, trying not to overhear e negotiating this homonculus' (unwanted, please remember) hand off her boob, as if she should need to, and am doing a good job of pretending to be cool with all of it until i hear: xena the warrior hobbit: "why, because i'm bold enough to do it? [turns to e]. he's just a straight guy, he doesn't know how to touch a woman. don't worry about him. he's just a typical, repressed, uptight straight guy." this, after having known me for two seconds. needless to say (but this is me...) the veracity of this claim is, at best, highly questionable... i won't write what i spat at her, only because my parents (and some younger rellies who are probably already scarred for life) also read this, and might be a bit shocked. it was enough to make ani di fucko pipe down for half a second. after dinner bint: "you see [smug smile]. typical straight guy, can't handle..." me: [as calmly as i can manage, given that, if she were a feller, she would've been gargling her molars by now] "look, i'm not pissed because you're handling 'my woman', i don't fucking think of her as my possession in any sense. i'm angry because what you just did was socially inappropriate; you've made EVERYONE sitting here feel uncomfortable - it's simply fucking RUDE, okay? it's just poor fucking manners, and even though she is being cool about it, frankly i think you fucking owe her an apology." an assortment of shouting, everyone in my corner and this one little turd trying to bash me into the box she'd built before finding out ANYTHING about me at all. enter host, politely but forcefully frogmarching our toad with the 'wandering pads' off to cool down. thank you, hostie. the upshot of all this? look, i've negotiated vast amounts of sapphic traffic in my time; you can't be involved with the performing arts without encountering it, never mind having some of your closest friends go through their whole 'coming out' arc in the time you've traversed with them, from being kids to growing into mature functional relationship participants. as some of my companions observed, the viciousness with which this particular soapboxing lesbian set-up the scenario (she had earlier bragged to e about her penchant for/skill at 'turning straight women' - thereby fetishing the resistant heterosexual gal in EXACTLY the same way ignorant young het males often fetishise lesbian subjects in the context of porn - the 'i'm man enough to turn you' phenomenon) was such that it was obvious she'd intended deliberately to push my buttons. she did. but not the one she expected. what shat me was not her actions but her purpose - she went out, much like over-testosteroned guys do, *spoiling for a stoush*, but her kind of stoush rather than the direct physical sort. it's almost laughable that what triggered my anger was not someone fondling my date (who can totally take care of herself), but rather being underestimated, misread, presumed so much like a class of person i quite proudly consider myself wholly distanced from. i have actually made a concerted effort throughout my adult years, and in both academic and normal daily life, to better understand the politics of difference and challenge bad faith in bigotry and prejudices wherever i see them. she could not have offended me more in suggesting my ignorance (of sexuality, difference or anything else) had she never even laid a hand on my companion. i guess i owe her for proving my theory that there are only two kinds of people in the world: decent folks and fuckwits. gay, straight, black, white, what the fuck ever - if you don't fall into the happy half of that first and most important social categorisation, be prepared to be told. i had to wrestle with the fact that, had this event occurred with a man in her place, pacifist or not, my will to violence/direct physical action would most certainly have been triggered. not because e is 'mine', not because she couldn't or wouldn't do it herself, but because the disproportion of physical strength on the one side would - for me - vindicate a morally questionable action on the other. (although defence of self and those one cares about is, conceivably within certain contexts, not the same thing as violence...). ultimately it was but a speed-bump on an otherwise barmy, lovely night; caught up with other lovelies, watched the reds beat west ham 2-1 (sorry any west ham fans, but that agger strike was magic, you must concede...) and went home with my fondled to an even barmier lie-in. unleash the foulest stream of invective you like at me if i ever ire you, just don't ever call me a 'typical man'. and shove 'repressed' and 'uptight' straight up your (un-lubed) jacksie while you're at it. there are some tags i won't wear comfortably. ps. cracker (if you wind up reading this), sorry if you feel i've lambasted your mate too harshly. i'm sure in other contexts she's fine, but on friday she was about as appealing as a fart-flavoured chupa chup. ]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/08/les-be-friends.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/08/les-be-friends.html observations Mon, 28 Aug 2006 12:58:49 +1000 the tourism ad says: 'swap the remote for the remote'. howard for costello? could it be any truer? do display ad guys dream of eclectic puns? or am i pulling my own phillip k dick with that one? i need another job. not as in 'i am wistfully dreaming of better employment' but as in, my work (finally, after a year!) realised that they and i are incompatible (fuck, really? i could have told them that after week one) and politely invited me to start interviewing. if anyone knows of anything going that's vaguely publishing, specifically editorial, writing, photographic, layout or whatever - let me know. of course, anyone reading this (all three of you, hi, btw) is probably in a similar boat, so i understand if it's crickets and tumbleweeds time. in the meantime i will try to avoid applying for shit that demeans me and my expensive education (thanks, baby boomers). not to mention my high IQ, international work experience, passion, energy and creativity. on being overeducated and underemployed/under utilised, is it any wonder my 'generation' is associated with the adland-invented musical genre of grunge? mind, i'm split between hating the sound of our own complaints and feeling 'my generation' has a lot to whinge about - however ill-defined we actually are outside the convenient marketing/demographic label that 'gen x' essentially was/is. still, i have been riffing with a few people about how us x'ers might have to save the world; the y kidults will be so debt-addled and fat that they'll be completely socially useless by thirty-five or so, and the boomers will all be dying/too old for politics, so we might finally get a chance to wield some power with a bit of conscience and aplomb. speaking of which, i was at an is not party on the weekend that featured more than the usual quota of twenteen-somethings, and, standing with my little enclave of late 20s/early 30s pals (as luck would have it, i was amongst a bunch of incredibly sexy, witty and talented women, including this gal, this gal, this gal, this gal and had just been introduced to this new gal) when i was bombarded by waves of irony while watching the bands on the bill. both were solidly professional, but in very, very different ways. Tic Toc Tokyo were cute, tight and completely derivative, in an oh-so Y cold, distant, franz ferdinand-y way; the Basics, drawing on a back catalogue of even older beatles-y, cream-y references, were utterly charming and engaging, even able to improvise a version of 'wipeout' when the vocal PA crapped it (though sadly denying us their sublime three part harmonies). fuck, call me stereotypical but that's what live performing is all about - banter, interaction, improvised stupidity and fun - not a perfectly struck pose. that grey gradient between emulation and homage is so, so blurry. it struck (though didn't surprise) me that the 'fringed faction' seemed to be enjoying the retro stuff way more than the angular twanging proffered by their coolsie peers (i have no idea how old the guys in the basics are, but TTT looked exactly like their own audience), and this despite the fact that the basics' blustering, ballsy pop rock wouldn't even have been easily referenceable (?) by the kids as the soundtrack of their parents, but more likely their *grandparents'* (in some cases) reactionary 40s. it's too much in the realm of 'taste' - and thus not disputable - for me to conjecture about one band having any more or less 'substance' than the other, but i do reckon a certain heart is attributable to respectful pillaging of the past, homage that uses an older source as a jumping off point for something else, rather than being a simple copy of something current. the rawness and 'willingness to fuck up' in the basics was beautiful. i liked what TTT were doing, it just didn't touch me at all. the basics shook my ass. charles rennie mackintosh put it better than i ever could (i am still thinking about this as another tattoo someday, so firmly do i agree with it): "there is hope in honest error; none in the icy perfectionism of the mere stylist." ]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/08/remote-controll.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/08/remote-controll.html observations Sun, 20 Aug 2006 17:07:51 +1000 this gal: Grab the nearest book. Open the book to page 123. Find the fifth sentence. Post the text of the next 4 sentences along with these instructions. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.Tag five people. these are my completely un-stage managed, totally, 100% true results. And this gal can vouch for me, cos she loaned me the book... "The Minotaur remembers one woman and two men. They took turns, the men, one inserting ping pong balls into the woman's vagina while the other knelt, impossibly far away, on the other side of the room. She lay on her back, knees bent, feet flat and legs wide apart. Each time a man pushed a ball inside of her the woman hoisted her bottom from the floor, took aim and ejected the white ball in a high, slow arc into the waiting mouth of the second man, some ten feet away." if i was TRYING i could not have made that up! the book in question is The Minotaur Takes A Cigarette Break by Steven Sherrill - it's actually a poignant character study of... well, the Minotaur, dropping out of monster life and killing time waiting for hope to arrive in small town southern USA. it's actually quite intriguing and quirky, and the above is probably the only remotely titillating passage IN THE WHOLE DAMN BOOK. so. odd. my limited cohort of co-bloggers have all tagged each other, so this meme dies with me. yes, i was that little prick who always tore up chain letters, and did my life go to shit? hey, hang on...]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/08/a-meme-that-mak.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/08/a-meme-that-mak.html wtf? Thu, 17 Aug 2006 23:08:05 +1000 ... but then the lights go up and the unit tuning on stage looks like this pretty soon, this fine sweaty young gentleman is four-to-the-floor and it's all ... and a bit of... until, before you know it, our gentle troubadour has been driven to... *gasp* drink. scotch. BOOB SCOTCH! ladies and gents, i give you the shy, the retiring, the quiet... bob log III. crowd were well and truly OWNED by the log man at the east last tuesday. forget one man band, he's a one man freaking rock circus, with the devil on his slide hand and angels in his sly asides, patter that got no less than FIVE svelte young lasses up to sit on his knee during hot bottleneck-thrash anthem 'sit on my knee'. what. a. man/machine (love, naturally). ]]> http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/07/his-robert-of-l.html http://journals.concrete.org.au/redrum/archives/2006/07/his-robert-of-l.html rock shots Thu, 27 Jul 2006 22:16:38 +1000