Man, this flu is nasty. Really had to declare that, am vvv over it!
Am speechless/struggling, weighing up ideas. In my palms they all feel like weights, not quite ready to be tossed into the air with my attachments.
More later.
21 August 2006
14 August 2006
A week ago and never declared. . .
There is a lovely snippet of sunshine on a hill that I'm staring at from my desk. If I wasn't aware that it was the winter dip of August, I'd be thinking that it was early evening mid January. Despite being tagged by a decent hacking cough, weird upset digestive system and the encroaching thesis due date, there is that lovely shift in the air of seasonal change and future possibilities.
10 August 2006
Bon Nuit
Sometimes
when it all feels too much
going to bed at 8.13pm makes all the difference
And sometimes
when it all feels too little
staying up with a bottle of red and late night radio
makes all the difference
when it all feels too much
going to bed at 8.13pm makes all the difference
And sometimes
when it all feels too little
staying up with a bottle of red and late night radio
makes all the difference
8 August 2006
Conflictions
A very random, pre-full moon day.
Latest personification of random: the random blog button. . .very interesting. . .I luv chance and all that. I left a very random comment on a very random dude's blog. . .something about home deliveries as long as you know the post-codes of Singaporean districts. . .
Provided some bored techno-whiz-chic with her 3.15pm entertainment for the day:
Q - are you on dot.net or dot.com?
A - I have no fucking idea. . .sorry
Q - why didn't you call us earlier?
A - I was in denial. . .sorry
anyway, she had a good time, or had me on speaker phone. . .she kept on muting her side so she could piss herself laughing in comfort I suspect, and who could blame her with my unique ability to over-apologise at such moments. Modumb?
Just fed my parents and a delightful new friend: ate way too much beef and the two dogs (also each others delightful new friend) wrestled on the tradishnal rug. . .Lily aims for collar removal, Freya aims for a good ole rest. . .two meals a day of late and very little exercise. . .
Never ever watch the film Lord of War if you can help it: Nicholas Cage attempting to be ironic and clever about arms trafficking and failing awfully. A good example of how irony ups the requirements of skill; (in this medium) acting, script etc. A good example of what occurs when these requirements aren't met; that which is meant to be critiqued is instead condoned. Actually, watch it by all means, but my take is that it is a movie that really needs scrutiny. Just watch the profoundly political become eerily apolitical.
Did anyone else notice the war-ness of Sunday, obviously more so than any other day for it to warrant comment (debateable!). It was the anniversary of Hiroshima. The ABC was obsessing about atoms, Einstein, the attempts to co-exist the two theories of Gravity and EM2 (apparently the tension between those two is to be seen to be believed), mushroom clouds in grainy shades, 6.30 pm news, 7.00pm news, 9.30om news all focused with deadly accuracy and throughout, a phone call from a friend serving in Iraq and then the above movie. All too much, but who are we to bury our heads in our quaint worlds?
Rants aside. Am listening to something thunderous and jumpy on Classic Fm and debating bed and my left elbow is beginning to itch 'acutely'.
Latest personification of random: the random blog button. . .very interesting. . .I luv chance and all that. I left a very random comment on a very random dude's blog. . .something about home deliveries as long as you know the post-codes of Singaporean districts. . .
Provided some bored techno-whiz-chic with her 3.15pm entertainment for the day:
Q - are you on dot.net or dot.com?
A - I have no fucking idea. . .sorry
Q - why didn't you call us earlier?
A - I was in denial. . .sorry
anyway, she had a good time, or had me on speaker phone. . .she kept on muting her side so she could piss herself laughing in comfort I suspect, and who could blame her with my unique ability to over-apologise at such moments. Modumb?
Just fed my parents and a delightful new friend: ate way too much beef and the two dogs (also each others delightful new friend) wrestled on the tradishnal rug. . .Lily aims for collar removal, Freya aims for a good ole rest. . .two meals a day of late and very little exercise. . .
Never ever watch the film Lord of War if you can help it: Nicholas Cage attempting to be ironic and clever about arms trafficking and failing awfully. A good example of how irony ups the requirements of skill; (in this medium) acting, script etc. A good example of what occurs when these requirements aren't met; that which is meant to be critiqued is instead condoned. Actually, watch it by all means, but my take is that it is a movie that really needs scrutiny. Just watch the profoundly political become eerily apolitical.
Did anyone else notice the war-ness of Sunday, obviously more so than any other day for it to warrant comment (debateable!). It was the anniversary of Hiroshima. The ABC was obsessing about atoms, Einstein, the attempts to co-exist the two theories of Gravity and EM2 (apparently the tension between those two is to be seen to be believed), mushroom clouds in grainy shades, 6.30 pm news, 7.00pm news, 9.30om news all focused with deadly accuracy and throughout, a phone call from a friend serving in Iraq and then the above movie. All too much, but who are we to bury our heads in our quaint worlds?
Rants aside. Am listening to something thunderous and jumpy on Classic Fm and debating bed and my left elbow is beginning to itch 'acutely'.
6 August 2006
Machinations Apologis
Apologies from techno-funk me. Just realised that I'd created some exclusive zone of "bloggers only" in the comments section. . . .ooops. And haven't worked out link-creation yet. . .but slowly slowly . . .
5 August 2006
Recent Caperings
Meal of the Week: as prepared by 3ish year old aspiring chef: Diced chorizo with caper sauce, elegantly arranged on large white plate with fork. Fantastic.
Today I enquired about Prada perfume, bought muted red gloves in shock, and had terrifyingly close encounter with ex-boyfriend. Actually that reads wrong. . .it was close but not that close, in fact I ran and there was no eye contact. It still made me drive home in a panic and forget to do required errands as planned for post-glove/perfume consumption.
I also drove part way down the Midlands Highway through a lovely fog and with music on the radio that made me feel as if I was part of something choreographed (Glenn Gould playing Chopin). The sheep, all blended with damp and low sun, made me nostalgic for a smaller island than this one. I drove back up the part way of the Midlands Highway into the sun and shreds of burnt up fog; my dog sleeping in the back until I start overtaking, at which point she leaps up to feel the acceleration head on, tongue to my ear.
And now I am exhausted and yawning fog into my computer screen: don't get me bitching about my damn wood supply and how long it takes to get my fire started! You don't want to know.
Also, black dog, has just devoured second lot of stitches and will not be sleeping in my room tonight if her current wound licking session continues thus far. You really don't want to know.
Today I enquired about Prada perfume, bought muted red gloves in shock, and had terrifyingly close encounter with ex-boyfriend. Actually that reads wrong. . .it was close but not that close, in fact I ran and there was no eye contact. It still made me drive home in a panic and forget to do required errands as planned for post-glove/perfume consumption.
I also drove part way down the Midlands Highway through a lovely fog and with music on the radio that made me feel as if I was part of something choreographed (Glenn Gould playing Chopin). The sheep, all blended with damp and low sun, made me nostalgic for a smaller island than this one. I drove back up the part way of the Midlands Highway into the sun and shreds of burnt up fog; my dog sleeping in the back until I start overtaking, at which point she leaps up to feel the acceleration head on, tongue to my ear.
And now I am exhausted and yawning fog into my computer screen: don't get me bitching about my damn wood supply and how long it takes to get my fire started! You don't want to know.
Also, black dog, has just devoured second lot of stitches and will not be sleeping in my room tonight if her current wound licking session continues thus far. You really don't want to know.
1 August 2006
The Cinnamon Addiction
I once bought a tiny little bottle of cinnamon oil for an astronomical price. I was trying to break away from the lavendar addiction; explore the scent possibilities. I was somewhat deterred by the incident in which I jumped into a car and a little way down the road, the driver said "mmm, who's bought along cinnamon scrolls?" Decided then that perhaps I didn't want to be associated with edible substances, particularly those so decidedly "Banjos".
Years ago, my mother prescribed for my 'depression', sage and turmeric which she would arrange delicately on a bed of ricotta cheese, itself spread on pumpernickel. She even pre-packaged tiny containers of it to carry with me whilst I travelled around South East Asia. (And fresh sage, when it is roasted upon potatos, manages a particular kind of crispyness.)
I will always remember my first experience of chai tea at a forest festival in Jackey's Marsh. And just today I have drawn the link between that comfort mug and my dad making hot milk with honey and cinnamon as an after-rainy-school-day treat.
Cinnamon is the happy comfort spice that they advocate for staving off mid-winter slumps and bumps and every morning I consider that as I powder my porridge with the soft brown spice.
Years ago, my mother prescribed for my 'depression', sage and turmeric which she would arrange delicately on a bed of ricotta cheese, itself spread on pumpernickel. She even pre-packaged tiny containers of it to carry with me whilst I travelled around South East Asia. (And fresh sage, when it is roasted upon potatos, manages a particular kind of crispyness.)
I will always remember my first experience of chai tea at a forest festival in Jackey's Marsh. And just today I have drawn the link between that comfort mug and my dad making hot milk with honey and cinnamon as an after-rainy-school-day treat.
Cinnamon is the happy comfort spice that they advocate for staving off mid-winter slumps and bumps and every morning I consider that as I powder my porridge with the soft brown spice.
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