OH HAI

I´M IN UR ROOM

POSTIN´ON UR BLAG

 

the signified.

is that a promise? yes

well, no. yes, it is

for the moment. i do mean it.

i’m talking seriously. i mean

as much as i can possibly mean, on

a friday night. if one does not know

what one wants, then one

can not know what one wants to say.

that is: yes, i promise.

 

intertextuality (for/from tim)

we used to go to kensington to get drunk. there was a granny flat out the back, but all the grannies were back in sri lanka i guess, or probably passed on, more likely. so we could get drunk in relative peace. then go wandering, get lost in the golf course. the ground was deeper on one side of the fence. you can get in that way but you can’t get out, trust me. i remember from last time. you were too pissed last time. and so were you. you were fine last time but you’re too pissed this time. no, we can’t jump that fence, it leads to a swimming pool. we can see the pool. nobody is calling 000. this way, back to the highway. away from the cop car. next time we’ll bring a bodyboard and ride down the hills. last time we’re here, with it. one of us is gone, the rest are scattered. the first of the gang to die. one day we’ll break into the athletics track. do a couple of laps. why are you dressed like a bumblebee? be quiet while we walk past his parents’ room.

 

tips

if you want to steal a beer tower, do it from a bar you don’t like. do not alienate yourself from one of the few bars within a monstrous city that you actually kind of like.

do not clean your paint brushes in the bathroom adjacent to your bedroom. forget what your painting teacher back in spain said. go to the bathroom downstairs, where you don’t have to deal with it.

listen to music in french! even if it is leonard cohen, even if it is only the chorus.

if you have to be at work by seven thirty tomorrow morning, be asleep before one thirty-eight. ferchrissakes.

if you live in surry hills, move. do it, for god’s sake.

 

spic-o-file

why is it that every time i come home even slightly drunk, the only thing i want to put on is the soundtrack to hable con ella? and why do i feel, when i read spanish, how i used to (and still do) when my grandfather explained something intimate to me, how to fix something, or a story from his childhood? why do i feel like they are telling me something more generously?

also, has anyone ever felt like organising an investigation into what the hell is going on inside their doona-cover? how can it go so bad?

 

heard from a drunk on crown st.

man whothefah-n ‘atdog fah’en black  ‘n  fah’en any -cough-  ‘n i give ya twenny cents fr a blowjob?

i don’t think he was talking to me.

 

this is the end.

so, i’ve finally finished my last class for semester. that makes fives years study through this institution, though of course one and a half of that was kind of in a different institution, in a far, far away land (not engadine). my first comment is that i’m worried that the kids nowadays don’t seem to go to get drunk and try to pick each other up after the last class anymore. now i didn’t particularly want to pick anyone up, but i did want a beer.

 

today

- a run before the rain

- coffee and banana bread

- editing

- reverse garbage odyssey (desk chair, fly screen, latches, highly commended sashes, cotton placemats)

- scrambled sultan’s palace + old school coffee (a.)

- getting home, getting changed

- castlereagh street, middle-aged middle-class bitch bumped into, old mates bumped into, drinks, chats, vegetarian pizza and wedges.

- beer towers, maloboro lights, peter s.s, more beer towers, more beer towers, more ciggies.

- motorbike accidents, pissing in the park, getting home.

- one last fucking long neck, piercings, a single drag of a joint.

- blog update

- recursion?

 

mangled

mangled, is the term i would use to describe my state last night. completely fucking mangled. i completely forgot to get people to help me with my raymond carver thing. i forgot to make a mid party post. at maybe six am, upon returning from the judgie, i opened one of my three really good spanish wines, by shoving the cork into the bottle with the but of a fork. we drank it all on the rooftop as it got progressively more convincingly daytime. as if it hadn’t been emphatically daytime when we left the judgie.

now that i’ve had a shower and some breakfast, at 6pm, it’s time to make a real start to the day and get that uni work done.

 

all is cauliflowering

we needed staples. can we open the boxes to check if they’re the right size? no. she gets ron. the size on the side of the stapler doesn’t ring a bell for ron. he believes that they do not stock that size. ron should know. ron looks like a man who knows about staples. staples and whisky. well then, we’ll have to just buy a new staple gun ron, we don’t have time for mucking about. he suggests an industrial staple gun, but they don’t stock them. ron is giving advice we can’t take. ron is not helping.

ron says: what you guys ought to do, are you guys on the computers? course you are, is go onto rapid dotcom or comdotau or whatever, and type in model rapid-fire f- 1….. 6… 8 4, they oughta have something there to tell you what staples it takes, that way you make use of your staple gun, it’s not a complete waste. you go on there, and you find out. otherwise you can’t use that gun.

we try to explain to ron that we don’t have time for that. that we stole the staple gun. we don’t care about the staple gun. what we care about is you, ron. stop talking. stop breathing. stop drinking. you’re dying, ron! you’re rotting from the outside in! you need to see a doctor, ron. that white stuff around your nose isn’t normal. i got caught on the wrong side of the officeworks draught of you ron and i couldn’t even listen for the smell of you. it was like the time i forgot that there were used sanitary pads and condoms in my bedroom bin for like a month. it was terrible, ron. it was awful. a man is not a sanitary pad disposal unit! you need to get these things out of you, ron. all your bits have cauliflowered, and they’re fermenting. please, ron, forget the staple guns. save yourself ron. save yourself.

also, there are a few pics…