including shameless consumerism (hot jeans)
some loud music
and time-shape wrangling with dear friend
I have solutions, a better feeling stomach
AND a hot pair of jeans.
I shall work less hours, leave town earlier and switch!
around the thumb tacks that I had driven far too deeply into the proverbial map on the wall . . .
It hopefully means no more childcare and a chance to knuckle down with my boy
on a happier medium of Life. You know, that old rag.
25 June 2007
Fury on the rocks
This afternoon I agreed to an 8 week extension of my current contract
and ever since I have been
irrationally, steamingly angry.
Which is pretty funny
and perhaps, just a little revealing.
I am so angry that my belly feels as if I have swallowed hot rocks.
and ever since I have been
irrationally, steamingly angry.
Which is pretty funny
and perhaps, just a little revealing.
I am so angry that my belly feels as if I have swallowed hot rocks.
21 June 2007
Stuffed
I LOVE anchovie-stuffed green olives.
(They are like a mouthwater (sic) of summer: sea water gulp)
I am eating them right now.
They taste damn great.
They make me stink.
I spent a day at my friend's house.
It was nice. Super relaxed and drifty and conversations
are easier when time is allowed to just be that system
we don't have to pay as much attention to as we do (I do)
Three kids doing laps around the house
lego, swords, maiming,
morning tea blends into lunch
blends into post-school
rush of snacks and tears and loud crazed excited voices.
Left-overs for tea and then four children slicking around
the spa
diving and snorkeling and loud loud screaming
Do you remember childhood baths with friends and cousins?
I was watching these kids and laughing and physically remembering
skin and skin and warm water and the laughter of it all.
(They are like a mouthwater (sic) of summer: sea water gulp)
I am eating them right now.
They taste damn great.
They make me stink.
I spent a day at my friend's house.
It was nice. Super relaxed and drifty and conversations
are easier when time is allowed to just be that system
we don't have to pay as much attention to as we do (I do)
Three kids doing laps around the house
lego, swords, maiming,
morning tea blends into lunch
blends into post-school
rush of snacks and tears and loud crazed excited voices.
Left-overs for tea and then four children slicking around
the spa
diving and snorkeling and loud loud screaming
Do you remember childhood baths with friends and cousins?
I was watching these kids and laughing and physically remembering
skin and skin and warm water and the laughter of it all.
18 June 2007
Slow Cooking Here
Yo Yo Ma Baching away
Heater doing its best
Osso bucco lingering
Hair is big: teased, and dreaded
and I'm having a Bloody Mary party
Everyone invited.
Heater doing its best
Osso bucco lingering
Hair is big: teased, and dreaded
and I'm having a Bloody Mary party
Everyone invited.
13 June 2007
Attending the Details
The last few days have been . . . interesting
I call it The Fear.
Dis-ease.
Translates into inertia ie. scared stiff.
I hate it!
Partly, mostly, because I cannot find the seed (kind of like extracting oxalis from your vegie patch, all those horrid, brown pellets to sift out) of this perturbation.
So, although I couldn't find the seed, I did find a kind of sieve for extracting the worst of the heavy brown pellets. This phrase that began to hum around my head: attend the details.
And so I turned to housework. The fine detail stuff. Tended the altars, lured cobwebs from the corners, blah blah.
Achieved simple things, widened the goal posts. God . . . tedious.
But I did have this very unexpected moment of realising that my work keeps me ticking: this bizarre work ethic thing. I was a little . . . exhilarated . . . (almost embarrassing!) to get dressed and to walk into town and the panic room therein. But how to turn this ethic onto my own, self-designated work?
And afterwards I got to play a newly completed violoncelle which is more than a little amazing in the scheme of creating things your own way.
I call it The Fear.
Dis-ease.
Translates into inertia ie. scared stiff.
I hate it!
Partly, mostly, because I cannot find the seed (kind of like extracting oxalis from your vegie patch, all those horrid, brown pellets to sift out) of this perturbation.
So, although I couldn't find the seed, I did find a kind of sieve for extracting the worst of the heavy brown pellets. This phrase that began to hum around my head: attend the details.
And so I turned to housework. The fine detail stuff. Tended the altars, lured cobwebs from the corners, blah blah.
Achieved simple things, widened the goal posts. God . . . tedious.
But I did have this very unexpected moment of realising that my work keeps me ticking: this bizarre work ethic thing. I was a little . . . exhilarated . . . (almost embarrassing!) to get dressed and to walk into town and the panic room therein. But how to turn this ethic onto my own, self-designated work?
And afterwards I got to play a newly completed violoncelle which is more than a little amazing in the scheme of creating things your own way.
9 June 2007
Dead
(The title was the word of my most recent 'dictionary reading'. Interestingly, prior to the reading I was about to title this entry Hibernation . . .)
Am coiling up a little these days. Taking thoughts and ideas very slowly,
walking a little slower around the house, writing lists and completing a task a day.
An energy saving spell before imminent upheavals that are BIGGER UP, literally into a different hemisphere.
Sometimes it seems that Things happen and with only the
slightest, most gentlest of nurturing touch.
Touch that neither shoves Things into place, nor becomes oily and complacent.
An I-Ching reading:
Hsien (wooing) . . . the influence shows itself in the big toe.
"A movement, before it is actually carried out, shows itself first in the toes."
My big toe twitched, arched and prepared so long ago it is hard to believe that this motion is nearing the movement of leg and arm. This journey, that begins in September or thereabouts, is like many journeys, and actually began long before departure.
Am coiling up a little these days. Taking thoughts and ideas very slowly,
walking a little slower around the house, writing lists and completing a task a day.
An energy saving spell before imminent upheavals that are BIGGER UP, literally into a different hemisphere.
Sometimes it seems that Things happen and with only the
slightest, most gentlest of nurturing touch.
Touch that neither shoves Things into place, nor becomes oily and complacent.
An I-Ching reading:
Hsien (wooing) . . . the influence shows itself in the big toe.
"A movement, before it is actually carried out, shows itself first in the toes."
My big toe twitched, arched and prepared so long ago it is hard to believe that this motion is nearing the movement of leg and arm. This journey, that begins in September or thereabouts, is like many journeys, and actually began long before departure.
30 May 2007
Lunar Scorpio
there is a lovely moon plumping up at the moment
am brooding away . . . peacefully it feels.
another journey is being kind of tacked into some framework:
a house to stay in Italy north.
We shall hire a car.
I am designated driver.
I have to get to Bilbao though,
and Grenada, and Madrid . . . Paris perhaps?
Pushing in thumbtacks into green shapes
on blue backgrounds.
I am also newly soley house responsible
I am seeking quotes for new bath rooms.
I am recently told that the elderly lady who lived in this house before us, died in the bath. Was found there by our neighbour. I go and stand at the door of the bathroom. The old claw foot has suddenly grown magisterial with death and solemnity. The toll of a dripping tap is imagined and sad and I am grateful that I have pressed my back into that old ghost many times without knowing. My next bath becomes an apprehensive first rite. I shall be gentle and not too curious.
am brooding away . . . peacefully it feels.
another journey is being kind of tacked into some framework:
a house to stay in Italy north.
We shall hire a car.
I am designated driver.
I have to get to Bilbao though,
and Grenada, and Madrid . . . Paris perhaps?
Pushing in thumbtacks into green shapes
on blue backgrounds.
I am also newly soley house responsible
I am seeking quotes for new bath rooms.
I am recently told that the elderly lady who lived in this house before us, died in the bath. Was found there by our neighbour. I go and stand at the door of the bathroom. The old claw foot has suddenly grown magisterial with death and solemnity. The toll of a dripping tap is imagined and sad and I am grateful that I have pressed my back into that old ghost many times without knowing. My next bath becomes an apprehensive first rite. I shall be gentle and not too curious.
29 May 2007
The Pleasure Principle vs The Reality Principle
It is ridiculous:
how much enjoyment I get out of sitting in a 'bar/restaurant"
by myself
with a glass of red wine
when it is raining and dark outside
while my child is at The Party of The Year
(for a whole hour and forty-five minutes)
when I can scribble and watch and read and Nada
is on my mind.
I am alone
I am utterly content
I am entertained
I am in a social sphere that I don't have to interact with.
The only words I say in that entire ninety-five minutes are:
- I'd like a glass of wine thanks
- shiraz
- cheers
and later, when an oblivious, self-absorbed suit doesn't adjust his body to allow me to exit
I touch his elbow and mumble, oddly and yet tellingly,
- sorry
(This is funny because much of my time spent in my corner was marvelling at those voices that can split through five scattered conversations, bar music, staffing requests and traffic noise in such places as this: the most notoriously noisy, slate floored establishment in town. Performers spend hours developing this skill and this suit who had such a voice, who I apologised to, this pompous opinionated shit, is probably an accountant. But I shall acquiesce and think, actually, it is a very unfortunate thing, because quite possibly his words are everyday humble words yet, via sheer projection, they appear as the full volume of arrogance.)
Anyway, I cannot adequately describe the bliss of that hour and a half.
And quite honestly, I think only a mother would understand.
how much enjoyment I get out of sitting in a 'bar/restaurant"
by myself
with a glass of red wine
when it is raining and dark outside
while my child is at The Party of The Year
(for a whole hour and forty-five minutes)
when I can scribble and watch and read and Nada
is on my mind.
I am alone
I am utterly content
I am entertained
I am in a social sphere that I don't have to interact with.
The only words I say in that entire ninety-five minutes are:
- I'd like a glass of wine thanks
- shiraz
- cheers
and later, when an oblivious, self-absorbed suit doesn't adjust his body to allow me to exit
I touch his elbow and mumble, oddly and yet tellingly,
- sorry
(This is funny because much of my time spent in my corner was marvelling at those voices that can split through five scattered conversations, bar music, staffing requests and traffic noise in such places as this: the most notoriously noisy, slate floored establishment in town. Performers spend hours developing this skill and this suit who had such a voice, who I apologised to, this pompous opinionated shit, is probably an accountant. But I shall acquiesce and think, actually, it is a very unfortunate thing, because quite possibly his words are everyday humble words yet, via sheer projection, they appear as the full volume of arrogance.)
Anyway, I cannot adequately describe the bliss of that hour and a half.
And quite honestly, I think only a mother would understand.
26 May 2007
Return
phew. . .sorted.
it was a little unnerving to be 'locked out' of my blogslice.
my head isn't at all locking any ideas for the filling today:
all a bit full, and weary and (newly identified) low after the 'high'
that goes with High Intuition days.
I have a bunch in a row, enough to get hooked,
and then I use it up and am left a bit brain pregnant . . . and no, I am NOT clucky. Although I did have
a weird 'let down' reflex dream this morning but that is another story entirely.
I went and saw Macbeth last night (Bell Shakespeare Co).
I watch live theatre with the senses of a child: I catch myself sitting, crouching on my chair, with my mouth open and my eyes popping and I think my face might be expressing my emotions without me realising it . . . all that so-called adult self-control (impulse control anyone?) out the window YYAAAYYY
off to be shadow-ey around the house
it was a little unnerving to be 'locked out' of my blogslice.
my head isn't at all locking any ideas for the filling today:
all a bit full, and weary and (newly identified) low after the 'high'
that goes with High Intuition days.
I have a bunch in a row, enough to get hooked,
and then I use it up and am left a bit brain pregnant . . . and no, I am NOT clucky. Although I did have
a weird 'let down' reflex dream this morning but that is another story entirely.
I went and saw Macbeth last night (Bell Shakespeare Co).
I watch live theatre with the senses of a child: I catch myself sitting, crouching on my chair, with my mouth open and my eyes popping and I think my face might be expressing my emotions without me realising it . . . all that so-called adult self-control (impulse control anyone?) out the window YYAAAYYY
off to be shadow-ey around the house
1 March 2007
Home and Contents Insurance
Iconic Sensory Moment: feeling grounded as I peeled garlic for a meal.
To me it is natural that garlic should be in such a moment - the feeling of weight leaning into one hip socket, down to knee, down to foot and toes and floor and earth and just feeling Presence in the Moment. Frankly I don't know how better to explain it. Does it require it?
Q and I found treasure in our backgarden this afternoon: handfuls of sparkling green jewel beetles (not bugs I am firmly, 4 year oldly told) and another handful of yellow lichened pieces of walnut tree, dismantled months ago but still littering the yard.
Correction: today I spent time in this space and played house in it and by small clean ups in corners it transformed back into a Garden. If I was so inclined I could post a photograph of these small offerings that are now arranged on our table - vignettes, altars. I simultaneously cringe and love how this blog realm makes preciousness.
Apparently it is a corker of a full moon growing in our midst.
I have had sudden extreme feelings of loss in my life, and yet, have been driven to easily complete a multitude of chores that I have steadfastly ignored for weeks.
And have been enacting a different kind of nesting whereby things are Discarded, Sorted and Spaced rather than Collected, Hoarded, Snuggled.
This year, all two months of it, feels powerfully, positively stalked.
Momentum/Momentous
Today I discovered I have been driving la bomb for the past 12 months without any insurance
Last week a woman in another headspace/worldspace raced across a road to follow me at my shoulder and again, my weight swivelled in a socket to catch her front on: it was her breathing that caught me. In her face I could see that she was absent.
It turns out this was a reminder incident and dot points join. A phone call from a distant friend last Tuesday, this absent rushing woman and the spontaneous visit of other dear friends missed for a year. They all connect to one person and many people: a huge Catholic church in the south, The Beach Boys, a restless lady with flair, funeral and wake crashing . . .
God Only Knows Benjamin Rootes I know how to boil a pot of water orright?!
xxx
To me it is natural that garlic should be in such a moment - the feeling of weight leaning into one hip socket, down to knee, down to foot and toes and floor and earth and just feeling Presence in the Moment. Frankly I don't know how better to explain it. Does it require it?
Q and I found treasure in our backgarden this afternoon: handfuls of sparkling green jewel beetles (not bugs I am firmly, 4 year oldly told) and another handful of yellow lichened pieces of walnut tree, dismantled months ago but still littering the yard.
Correction: today I spent time in this space and played house in it and by small clean ups in corners it transformed back into a Garden. If I was so inclined I could post a photograph of these small offerings that are now arranged on our table - vignettes, altars. I simultaneously cringe and love how this blog realm makes preciousness.
Apparently it is a corker of a full moon growing in our midst.
I have had sudden extreme feelings of loss in my life, and yet, have been driven to easily complete a multitude of chores that I have steadfastly ignored for weeks.
And have been enacting a different kind of nesting whereby things are Discarded, Sorted and Spaced rather than Collected, Hoarded, Snuggled.
This year, all two months of it, feels powerfully, positively stalked.
Momentum/Momentous
Today I discovered I have been driving la bomb for the past 12 months without any insurance
Last week a woman in another headspace/worldspace raced across a road to follow me at my shoulder and again, my weight swivelled in a socket to catch her front on: it was her breathing that caught me. In her face I could see that she was absent.
It turns out this was a reminder incident and dot points join. A phone call from a distant friend last Tuesday, this absent rushing woman and the spontaneous visit of other dear friends missed for a year. They all connect to one person and many people: a huge Catholic church in the south, The Beach Boys, a restless lady with flair, funeral and wake crashing . . .
God Only Knows Benjamin Rootes I know how to boil a pot of water orright?!
xxx
19 January 2007
Attendance
This week I -
attended two board meetings and could see the possibilities
blew a minor gasket at work that needed to be blown
walked quickly everywhere for long distances, sweating off inertia all the while
stood on a High Street with strangers in warm night air and scrawled over the sky looking for a comet. Found it. Watched it slip between earth and sky
sat in the corner of a large room and knitted and listened and nutted out stuff like anxiety and recovery
made basil pesto I am still thinking about
slept beneath a sheet and felt to be the perfect temperature
swam across a basin of water and back and plan to double the distance next week
perched on a rock and discussed panic attacks
made art that I like where its going
opened up an atlas and let the pages open to a country to aim two passports toward
watched planes depart for, and arrive from, an island I need to touch base upon
hatched ludicrous and delightful plans based upon buttery rolls of Romance that will never be consumed
attended two board meetings and could see the possibilities
blew a minor gasket at work that needed to be blown
walked quickly everywhere for long distances, sweating off inertia all the while
stood on a High Street with strangers in warm night air and scrawled over the sky looking for a comet. Found it. Watched it slip between earth and sky
sat in the corner of a large room and knitted and listened and nutted out stuff like anxiety and recovery
made basil pesto I am still thinking about
slept beneath a sheet and felt to be the perfect temperature
swam across a basin of water and back and plan to double the distance next week
perched on a rock and discussed panic attacks
made art that I like where its going
opened up an atlas and let the pages open to a country to aim two passports toward
watched planes depart for, and arrive from, an island I need to touch base upon
hatched ludicrous and delightful plans based upon buttery rolls of Romance that will never be consumed
4 January 2007
The Modesty Swivel
Today was a lesson in how from one hour to the next, a day can swivel from the ordinary to the extraordinary. Naturally, this swivel can take place upon a millisecond but I haven't the patience for millisecond analysis': the day has been long enough as it is.
So, the swivel was the moment that my son turned from baby to boy and I don't want to make a big deal of that so much because it happens and I'm in no mood to make nostalgic whimsies of it but still, holy fuck, did I witness something huge today. It was society and children and modesty and Lord of the Flies and a scenario where I truely did think, o fuck the lotta you . . . altho I had to gather myself to do it.
It was my favourite summer evening pastime. The 5 o'clock swim at the basin. I didn't have the head for a swim but the Q did and so my mum went to do her thing across the basin proper and Q and I went for the pool. A concrete, 50's homage to summer cut and run. So, I realised that we'd forgotten Q's bathers, and he wasn't wearing any undies, but what the hell, Q was in the water before that was an issue. And then I noticed: my darling boy, with that massive smile of bliss in the water was creating a scandal. He was nude. He wasn't just nude, he was Naked (nekkid) and boy, did he create a splash amongst the kiddies. They did double takes, they nudged each other and giggled, they pointed and gulped chlorine-wee in their excitement and I realised quicksmart (but always a little too late), that some slight shift in age had occured in the past twelve months. That lengthening out of my child's body had all these Modesty Ramifications.
So how does one deal with this scenario? For a while there I was feeling awful: guilt ridden and responsible for putting my child in this position of exposure, and I wasn't thinking Prying Eyes, I was thinking Hurting Words. But then something extraordinary happened, a swivel amidst a melee. I just thought Fuck It, and the reason I thought, Fuck It, was that Q, amazing little wonder who taught me a Big Lesson today, was completely and utterly oblivious to the Scandal that his joy was creating. And, (this is the killer) his joy forced me to stand my ground and stare down his would-be taunters with a beatific smile that dared them to think that this was weird. If I had reacted any differently, I would have simply reiterated what the little 'upholders' of social decorum were plonking on the water. And so we had to create this little bubble of dignity/bravery/glee where neither of us had to say a word to anyone and we were quickly left to do what we were there to do: cool down like everyone else.
This year is fast sorting a lotta shit out! I adore a Big Edit. (Can you tell I've recently read The God of Small Things?)
So, the swivel was the moment that my son turned from baby to boy and I don't want to make a big deal of that so much because it happens and I'm in no mood to make nostalgic whimsies of it but still, holy fuck, did I witness something huge today. It was society and children and modesty and Lord of the Flies and a scenario where I truely did think, o fuck the lotta you . . . altho I had to gather myself to do it.
It was my favourite summer evening pastime. The 5 o'clock swim at the basin. I didn't have the head for a swim but the Q did and so my mum went to do her thing across the basin proper and Q and I went for the pool. A concrete, 50's homage to summer cut and run. So, I realised that we'd forgotten Q's bathers, and he wasn't wearing any undies, but what the hell, Q was in the water before that was an issue. And then I noticed: my darling boy, with that massive smile of bliss in the water was creating a scandal. He was nude. He wasn't just nude, he was Naked (nekkid) and boy, did he create a splash amongst the kiddies. They did double takes, they nudged each other and giggled, they pointed and gulped chlorine-wee in their excitement and I realised quicksmart (but always a little too late), that some slight shift in age had occured in the past twelve months. That lengthening out of my child's body had all these Modesty Ramifications.
So how does one deal with this scenario? For a while there I was feeling awful: guilt ridden and responsible for putting my child in this position of exposure, and I wasn't thinking Prying Eyes, I was thinking Hurting Words. But then something extraordinary happened, a swivel amidst a melee. I just thought Fuck It, and the reason I thought, Fuck It, was that Q, amazing little wonder who taught me a Big Lesson today, was completely and utterly oblivious to the Scandal that his joy was creating. And, (this is the killer) his joy forced me to stand my ground and stare down his would-be taunters with a beatific smile that dared them to think that this was weird. If I had reacted any differently, I would have simply reiterated what the little 'upholders' of social decorum were plonking on the water. And so we had to create this little bubble of dignity/bravery/glee where neither of us had to say a word to anyone and we were quickly left to do what we were there to do: cool down like everyone else.
This year is fast sorting a lotta shit out! I adore a Big Edit. (Can you tell I've recently read The God of Small Things?)
17 December 2006
Duck Duck Goose
An exercise of tag:
4 jobs i have had
1. blueberry picker
2. apple thinner
3. MS Readathon envelope licker
4. museum attendant
4 Movies I could watch over and over (or, movies that I remembered liking alot)
1. The English Patient
2. Pride and Prejudice (ditto Ms S-S)
3. Short Cuts
4. Struggling: I can't remember the movies that I have loved
4 places I have lived apart from where I live now
1. Melbourne
2. Flinders Island
3. Hobart
4. Devonport
4 tv shows that I love (or used to when I was still watching tv)
1. ummm
2. Spicks and Specks
3. Gardening Australia?
4. The Movie Show?
4 places I have been on hols (the glamorous sounding ones)
1. Beuamaris
2. Vietnam
3. Laos
4. Japan (but they didn't feel like a holiday, they felt like a mission)
4 websites I visit daily
1. hotmail
2. abc news
3. mystic medusa
4. justjared for the trashiest of the trash
4 favourite foods
1. lamb chops/stew/roast
2. rice in all its guises
3. yoghurt
4. muesli
4 places i would rather be at
1. Flinders Island: in my granny's living room
2. in a cold gallery in a far away country
3. in a tent with my head out the door and the rest of me in a sleeping bag at dusk in a 'wilderness' landscape
4. a restaurant eating food I can't afford to prepare for myself
4 people I am tagging
umm I have no friends. . .Colette? Micah? anyone?
4 jobs i have had
1. blueberry picker
2. apple thinner
3. MS Readathon envelope licker
4. museum attendant
4 Movies I could watch over and over (or, movies that I remembered liking alot)
1. The English Patient
2. Pride and Prejudice (ditto Ms S-S)
3. Short Cuts
4. Struggling: I can't remember the movies that I have loved
4 places I have lived apart from where I live now
1. Melbourne
2. Flinders Island
3. Hobart
4. Devonport
4 tv shows that I love (or used to when I was still watching tv)
1. ummm
2. Spicks and Specks
3. Gardening Australia?
4. The Movie Show?
4 places I have been on hols (the glamorous sounding ones)
1. Beuamaris
2. Vietnam
3. Laos
4. Japan (but they didn't feel like a holiday, they felt like a mission)
4 websites I visit daily
1. hotmail
2. abc news
3. mystic medusa
4. justjared for the trashiest of the trash
4 favourite foods
1. lamb chops/stew/roast
2. rice in all its guises
3. yoghurt
4. muesli
4 places i would rather be at
1. Flinders Island: in my granny's living room
2. in a cold gallery in a far away country
3. in a tent with my head out the door and the rest of me in a sleeping bag at dusk in a 'wilderness' landscape
4. a restaurant eating food I can't afford to prepare for myself
4 people I am tagging
umm I have no friends. . .Colette? Micah? anyone?
22 November 2006
la chambre
Yesterday Q and I swapped bedrooms which I think is one of my all time favourite past-times. Room alteration!
As a child I would regularly undertake such a process. It would require documentation. I drew up room plans, to scale, each article of furniture accounted for. It would take me a weekend and the night it was completed, I slept the heavy, calm sleep of the rejuvenated and purged.
As I write, a moment of perfect timing: the choral music of Tavener (sic). It'll make you meditate no matter how hard you are fighting.
My bedrooms have become the most pared back spaces of my life.
But now I can rest a little easier on rubbish nights. Q had taken to climbing out of his bedroom window to meet the rubbish truck. I would be woken up by intuitive tugs: Q's voice outside at 5.30 am talking to the guys. A little unnerving to say the least.
On the weekend I stripped wallpaper in my hall way. In other words, maps of paper countries and continents flukily took shape and spread their boundaries. But, have finally done with the rank as shit salmon painted wallpaper that was offending my very soul.
As a child I would regularly undertake such a process. It would require documentation. I drew up room plans, to scale, each article of furniture accounted for. It would take me a weekend and the night it was completed, I slept the heavy, calm sleep of the rejuvenated and purged.
As I write, a moment of perfect timing: the choral music of Tavener (sic). It'll make you meditate no matter how hard you are fighting.
My bedrooms have become the most pared back spaces of my life.
But now I can rest a little easier on rubbish nights. Q had taken to climbing out of his bedroom window to meet the rubbish truck. I would be woken up by intuitive tugs: Q's voice outside at 5.30 am talking to the guys. A little unnerving to say the least.
On the weekend I stripped wallpaper in my hall way. In other words, maps of paper countries and continents flukily took shape and spread their boundaries. But, have finally done with the rank as shit salmon painted wallpaper that was offending my very soul.
14 November 2006
s' aviser
'to rumble'
ah, I think my life has begun to rumble again and, as a gorgeous friend of mine noted recently, the cues of fear are shared with that other emote-grip, excitement. I'm sure my nostrils are flaring and my eyes are darting even as I write.
The rumble is the sale of a dear little house with a whole lotta baggage! I am loving that I have absolutely no idea as to the shape, quality, or soundings of the future into which I and my loves are about to be dropped. Or, less abruptly, placed.
Mighty Q is obsessed with the world atlas. Every day, he asks me to draw him a map of a different country.
ah, I think my life has begun to rumble again and, as a gorgeous friend of mine noted recently, the cues of fear are shared with that other emote-grip, excitement. I'm sure my nostrils are flaring and my eyes are darting even as I write.
The rumble is the sale of a dear little house with a whole lotta baggage! I am loving that I have absolutely no idea as to the shape, quality, or soundings of the future into which I and my loves are about to be dropped. Or, less abruptly, placed.
Mighty Q is obsessed with the world atlas. Every day, he asks me to draw him a map of a different country.
12 November 2006
Se remettre en marche
So time is waddling on and I am plumping myself up on a diet of ideas, phantasies and potentials. Sometimes, stones chink together, people-stones, and everythings sparks and fractures a bit and little idea-fires smoulder away, flame up, burn down, and then the re-gen starts to shoot green spikes. The last couple of months, this is what my bubble has been harbouring.
Quelle coincidence?
A couple of nights ago I had one of my rare, vivid and remembered dreams. My childhood home burnt down because a ladle in a pot had been left on the stove. My distress woke me up: I think I was yelling into my mobile, trying to go through the steps of an emergency call. Then, a conversation with my co-owner of this house, and I am suddenly gripped by the idea of selling this home, my home, and being a bit domesticity-vague for a while. The ironic emphasis being, that I have recently been organising myself loans for renovations - bigger gestures of nest-building and via a series of sparks:
un arret
l'arrivee
allons
la chance
some bridges may be burnt.
I recently came across this snippet, wired to the virtual ether:
. . . I was the only thing to break down on Monday, but I like to do that every once in a while - things always seem rebuild themselves on a more secure footing . . .
Recently the walnut tree in my garden had to be dismantled and it was a beautiful thing to watch. I am not sure if my own on-going process of dismantling has always been an attractive thing but, perhaps for once, I feel like I am about to become the active one in its initiation.
Just like Lego.
Quelle coincidence?
A couple of nights ago I had one of my rare, vivid and remembered dreams. My childhood home burnt down because a ladle in a pot had been left on the stove. My distress woke me up: I think I was yelling into my mobile, trying to go through the steps of an emergency call. Then, a conversation with my co-owner of this house, and I am suddenly gripped by the idea of selling this home, my home, and being a bit domesticity-vague for a while. The ironic emphasis being, that I have recently been organising myself loans for renovations - bigger gestures of nest-building and via a series of sparks:
un arret
l'arrivee
allons
la chance
some bridges may be burnt.
I recently came across this snippet, wired to the virtual ether:
. . . I was the only thing to break down on Monday, but I like to do that every once in a while - things always seem rebuild themselves on a more secure footing . . .
Recently the walnut tree in my garden had to be dismantled and it was a beautiful thing to watch. I am not sure if my own on-going process of dismantling has always been an attractive thing but, perhaps for once, I feel like I am about to become the active one in its initiation.
Just like Lego.
26 October 2006
Hats Off!
All done. . .and, as if to make up for all the last minute horrors of formatting stresses and printing chaos' that I endured (because I was slack - no doubt about it) throughout undergrad, today was surreal and easy and indeed, almost fucking nonchalant. Wonders will never cease.
It was so odd holding these bound up little things and thinking, is that what all that was about? What was it about again? oh yeah, some book. an old one.
So now. . .where is that list I constructed all those months ago as to what I was allowed to do post-essay?
See you all soon eh? Gin and tonic on the patio and all that. I might even be able to arrange a view.
It was so odd holding these bound up little things and thinking, is that what all that was about? What was it about again? oh yeah, some book. an old one.
So now. . .where is that list I constructed all those months ago as to what I was allowed to do post-essay?
See you all soon eh? Gin and tonic on the patio and all that. I might even be able to arrange a view.
21 October 2006
Head Peace
A nice off shoot of this current writing thing is that I can now categorise how I like to write. Ie the props that I need to sustain the flow/focus etc
For instance, I have just realised how dependent I am on:
The head covering. I suspect I may look a bit comic actually but I am completely addicted to either the hoody hunched over the keyboard or, as at present, the new sun hat, pulled low over my eyes. Thinking cap. Keeps my vision low and focused. Something.
And the music is just crucial at low times for energising: Alison Krause, Gillian Welch and Kimya Dawson.
And when it stalls and all locks up indefinately I go weild the hoe and smash it up a bit.
For instance, I have just realised how dependent I am on:
The head covering. I suspect I may look a bit comic actually but I am completely addicted to either the hoody hunched over the keyboard or, as at present, the new sun hat, pulled low over my eyes. Thinking cap. Keeps my vision low and focused. Something.
And the music is just crucial at low times for energising: Alison Krause, Gillian Welch and Kimya Dawson.
And when it stalls and all locks up indefinately I go weild the hoe and smash it up a bit.
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