photobooth

this photobooth made me look like i have dirt running down my neck. damn chapel st.  i don’t, really.

i deleted the fashion blog because i was lazy- isn’t that appalling!???
i know i’ve been really, really bad at blogging lately- i’m sorry! just insanely busy and my camera is still broken. i’ve managed to lose around 4-5 kilos since jamie left, which is the single perk.  he also set up his own photography website, go look!

ultimate frisbee tournament tomorrow for the Victorian Teacher’s Games. pumped!!!!

i have also decided that i’m going to do nanowrimo. someone else do it with me!

ALSO, i am obsessed with finding out what the background music is on this site- FRAVSHOP.COM. they not only have GREAT clothing, I have had the background music on loop for at least an hour.

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merh.

my camera is broken, my boyfriend has gone back to england, my house is a mess, i’m sick and i don’t know what to do with myself. i’m sitting on the couch crying, eating peanut butter from the jar with my finger.

woooooooooooo.

Versailles

I finally got a film back I’d taken in Paris and Cork, Ireland. No prints yet, but I scanned the negatives and I thought these came out alright. Currently incredibly pissed off at the owner of the Mill Markets in Ballarat, because he/she decided two days before my exhibition that putting stalls in the artspace would make more money. Hence, no exhibition.

Today I spent far too much money on wool, and spent an hour and a half in the doctor’s waiting room. Now my house smells like bacon.

Tired.

I really like my job, but I have far too much responsibility for someone who has just come out of uni.

My camera is still broken, which is hella frustrating and is affecting my ability to blog due to lack of photos.

I am now a redhead. That’s right. Full on ranga.

Today I got a pay rise and back pay. And what will I spend it on? That’s right, dentistry.

Merhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Update on knitting: 1/8 of scarf completed. I’m rockin’ it.

Today I am going to learn to knit.

For the past two weeks Jamie has been dragging me to the gym every day. I ran 10km on Monday, and I was so proud. Now, my hip is screwed and I can barely walk. Why am I telling you this? Because screwing my hip means I now have time to blog whilst Jamie is at the gym. I have a couple of things to update you on:

• My exhibition “the aesthetic of imperfection” has now changed date and venue. It will now be at the Ballarat Mill Markets, which is awesome because a lot more people will see my stuff. The opening is on August 7th, 4-6.
• My LC-A+ is still broken.
• I have salvaged a few photos from the film the LC-A died whilst taking, and have just scanned the negatives- no prints yet. I imagine the prints will be significantly different.

• I have purchased wool, and tonight I plan on learning to knit.

I will blog again soon! I miss you guys! I’m just making the most of having my boyfriend here, and that generally doesn’t involve sitting in front of the computer.

Brownies!

My friend Geoff has very recently become rampantly passionate about Box Brownies. These were taken with a Six-20 Bullseye. To convert 120 to be compatible with a 620 camera, he shaves around the edges of the 120 spool.

This is the backyard of my cottage, featuring me and Kerry. I believe in the second shot I was attempting not to fall off the little wall of bricks. I like the light leaks. I also like my cottage.

In other news, we just realised that the mulled wine we made in the slow cooker a week ago, is in fact still in the slow cooker today. We are reheating, mulling, consuming. Is that disgusting?

Jamie leaves England tomorrow, and will be with me by Tuesday night. Completion.

UPDATE: To drink mulled wine that has been fermenting for a week is an error.

Thank you for reading.

Hello. My name is Ash. I am 23 years old. I am a paediatric physiotherapist.  I like sweet potato. Today a man came and put new light bulbs in my house and they hurt my eyes. The hairdresser put a steam globe over my head and it made my eyelashes stick together. I have a new old hat and some sweet shoulderpads. Thank you for reading.

ADDITION: can someone bring me some lollies plz.

EXTRA ADDITION: it’s ok, I went and got some from the petrol station.

Oh hallo, Mr ghost.

True ghost. I swear. Just floatin’ around in the house. Smenaaaaa.

I am horrendously irritable. It’s lasted a week. I’m hoping it goes away soon. Tonight I’m getting my hair done, which may help. It’s a month until my exhibition and I’m sooooo disorganised. I want so many things I can’t afford. I have 5 kilos too many on me at any given time. I’m sick of rude people. I’m sick of people talking mindless shit. I can’t tolerate it. I am a cynical semi-hermit.

I’m also going through a massive “I have no talent whatsoever” phase, which depresses me and makes me entirely unmotivated, and makes me feel like anyone could pick up a camera and take photos of similar or better quality and character.

BUT.  I don’t do this to impress people. I like the photos I take. No one else can take photos like I can, because they reflect me. They’re different, imperfect, and I have complete ownership over every one of them. (I have to keep telling myself that)

Sex pistols

This is a photo of my mum and dad back before I existed. If you look carefully you can see that it says “Sex Pistols” on the wall behind them. This will always be my favourite photo. It sits in a frame in my lounge room.

6 days until I drive to pick up Jamie from the airport. Still not feeling real. He has some new photos up he took with his Diana Mini, you should go look!

I bought a pair of denim shorts off ebay, and they arrived with a free “versace” white vintage singlet. It was odd, but no complaints 🙂

5 months of missing you.

It’s been exactly 5 months since the day Jamie and I met. It’s also  been exactly 5 months since we decided we had to spend the rest of our lives together.

It’s been 4 months and 25 days since I’ve seen him.
He is here in 16 days. It’s going way, way too slow.

Ah nu!

I went out with Geoff and Liam this weekend, armed with both LC-A+ and Diana mini. Photographs will ensue. In the meantime, I’m running low of quality shots to blog! So here’s one of the State Library, Melbourne. It’s not overly exciting.

Hardcore detox atm, until Jamie gets here in 35 days.

Officially a Physio.

I have graduated, after working full time as a physio for 4 months. It’s sort of an anticlimax. This is Alesha and me- she told me to blog about her.
THERE YOU GO LESH.

What WAS exciting was finding out I got onto the Dean’s Honour List, for being in the top 5% of all La Trobe University graduates for 2010. HOORAYYYY.

I got a headache today, because I couldn’t move my head and crack my neck because of those stupid caps you have to wear.

In other news, 40 days left.

Candids on the internet- Y or N?

I’m interested to know what people think about taking candid photos.

I love candids, and I see a lot of them floating around on blogs; particularly on fashion blogs. I wouldn’t mind if someone posted a candid of me, but I know some people would. Is it OK to post them as long as their face isn’t showing? Or do you just post them regardless?  I don’t often find the opportunity to take a candid shot as I feel if people saw me, they would think I was some sort of creep and possibly chase me down the street.

This candid, for instance, is of a painfully cute little girl chasing seagulls with a stick. I feel it’s ok to post it on a blog because her face isn’t showing. If her face was showing, and for some reason her parents saw her posted on a 23 year old amateur photographer’s blog, I feel they would be totally pissed off.

I need opinions!!!

Ballarat.

Ballarat.

People jump on your car when it is parked outside your house.
People steal your mail from your mail box.
You get kept awake by people cutting fully sick laps.
People wear slippers in the supermarket.
Haggard men follow you making cat noises;
and the girl with the slicked back pony tail who works in the shop always wants to talk to you that tiny bit too long.

BUT

It has incredible op shops.
The local art scene is doing alright for itself.
You can afford a wonderful place for the price of a shanty in Melbourne.
There is a place that does incredibly good pizza.
When you go out, you are usually dressed better than 98% of people;
and the entire town is a lomographers dream.

I’m still counting.

4 months of love today.

46 days until I see him again.

Probably not going to let him go back to England. Even if I have to chain him to my house.

Daniellawl.

Today is Daniel’s birthday. Daniel is one of my best friends. I ruv.

LEINAD. HAPPY DAY OF BIRTH.

Go visit his blog, I enjoy it.

In other news, I almost passed out today at a dance class. Full on, black-in-front-of-the-eyes semi pass out. I think today I may have eaten too many plums, and not enough bread. Or something. Isn’t that how it goes?

I got my Diana Mini in the mail. I’m hoping Ballarat decides to stop being a bitch so I can go out and take photos of it on the weekend. I’m not sure I’m going to survive this winter.

My hair is no longer black.



And now I can barely afford to live for the next two weeks.

Also, the affair I’m having with a communist from London has been uncovered. I will now be moving to London instead, to be with him. Sorry if that ruins your fairytale, everyone.

High tea

We went to high tea for Kerry’s birthday. It was pure indulgence.

I had an excellent night tonight, out in Melbourne with friends for Dellie’s birthday.

I would also like to stress that I am in fact NOT going to top myself.
A few people have been concerned about this after a previous blog… I wasn’t aware I came across so emo!

I get very upset sometimes.

I blame things from the past; people, environments, situations, myself.

I believe that some demons and insecurities, you  live with your whole life. If they can’t be eliminated, it’s best to ignore them, look after yourself  and just get on with it.

It’s time for a demon cleanse, and I have a lot of the little bastards.

Sorry!

I know I haven’t been as good a blogger lately, but I’ve been feeling like shit, been insanely busy and having a mini creative rut. Tonight, Jamie made me feel a whole lot better, by showing what he really thinks about my intelligent mind-

I shudder to think of what our children are going to turn out like.

I’m getting a film back tomorrow, with some good shots (I hope) of friends and Melbourne. Will scan/post/attribute words to ASAP.

Wait here.

Impatience makes you forget that you only own the present.

Who reads this??

Lomo LC-A+

I’m getting from 100-250 views a day, and about 10-15 people have commented on my blog, total. I’m really curious as to who the other people are who are following my outbursts of bullshit and creativity. If you follow my blog regularly, could you comment this blog? I’m just really curious as to who the other 100 people are. I’m sure they’re not a different hundred every day.

I’m off to Melbourne now, to see my lovely friends, drop one particularly lovely friend off at the airport, do an NDT course, work at the hospital and go to Kerry’s “High Tea” birthday party. I’ll be back Sunday, with photos.

My Diana Mini has been held up in postage apparently, but I’m saving the Velvia and Sensia for it. Agfa attack this weekend. Book to read on the train this week- Albert Camus, “The Plague.”

69 days.

I want to live here.

And I could paint, and draw, and write, and not be bothered by anyone. We would have each other, and wouldn’t need anything else. Fill our cottage with art and music and words. I’d have a step-through bike with a basket, and go and get fresh vegetables in the morning. We wouldn’t have a TV, because there is so much to see and create. Lazy mornings with an endless teapot and books and blankets. Someone please, send me there.

[no idea where this picture is from, sorry to whoever I should credit.]

Steam.

[please note, this was written a long time ago. jamie and i are as sickly happy as ever. in other news I GOT A TYPEWRITER!!!]

Grapefruit juice.

I put one of my drawings on the wall today (Excuse the terrible quality of the photograph). I was quite proud, really, to have produced something I felt was worthy of putting on the wall.I’m getting proud of my little house, too. It’s looking better all the time.

Today I have had water and grapefruit juice. That’s it. I’m attempting a hardcore detox/feel better/wake up sort of plan, but man. Grapefruit juice tastes like shit. I’ll let you know in a week or so if it actually works.
I’m going to go and write for a couple of hours now. It’ll keep my mind off the fact that my body is burning billions of toxins and each and every one is going to make me feel like I’ve been trampled on.

Cage

Study sciences. Study specialist math. Study languages. Dux your highschool. Get into a course that requires a 96. Get high enough grades to be accepted into the academic society. Don’t do drugs. Don’t smoke. Don’t have sex. Graduate. Get a good job. Mingle. Don’t get tattoos in places that show. Smile at patronising people. Go to clubs. Wear colours. Eat 3 meals. Take out your piercings. Don’t waste your time on things people don’t understand. Date guys who don’t waste their time on art and music or smoke or look weird. Work full time. Hide your dreams because they are ridiculous and make people look at you with disappointment and confusion. Become a grade 2, a grade 3. Do a masters. Do a PhD. Open a clinic. Get married to someone with a successful career who doesn’t waste their time on art or music or smoke or look weird. Have children. Own a house. Get an investment property. Go to SE Asia for holidays. Read Twilight. Read Harry Potter. Read the Bible. Watch current affairs shows about neighbours from hell. Listen to Fox. Listen to NOVA. Believe in God. Don’t get angry. Don’t criticise. Be organised. Be tolerant.  Be a success. Choose reason over love.

Be what you SHOULD be.

I just re-read this, and realised it’s sort of like the opening to “trainspotting”. It’s not. It’s my frustration. I hate society, and its expectations. I want to escape.

Once upon a time

Jamie wrote a blog about me. He’s incredible. I am so, so lucky.

The other half of my duprass.

Back home.

Tonight I am at Geoff and Kerry’s. Kerry is cleaning, I’m drinking a green apple UDL and trying to decide whether or not I have enough energy to go and get pizza. Geoff is watching “Teen cribs” and Chani is trying to dye her hair without turning her neck black. I finished “Slaughterhouse 5” today by Vonnegut.

In other news, I fell in love all over again last night. Although, that happens most days. Jamie.

Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.

Poets and Thieves

This was taken outside my friend Nathan’s shop,  Poets & Thieves, Victoria Ave, Albert Park in Melbourne. It’s a gorgeous little second-hand bookstore run by very good people. Nathan found for me a first edition Green Eggs and Ham, complete with a kid’s drawings all through it with white-out. The child was coincidentally called “Jamie”. It now takes pride of place on my bookshelf.

Sweet shot

Taken at Daniel’s 21st. Lomo Fisheye 2

an antisocial commentary.

[THE FOLLOWING IS A SMALL EXCERPT OF A LONGER PIECE I AM WORKING ON]

He opened the black moleskine and printed the words in lower-case.

“antisocial commentary.

she has the lyrics of “meat is murder” meticulously and illegibly scrawled onto her forearm with a sharpie. she smokes pink elephants halfway down and stifles her gagging with san pellegrino. she hopes to find someone here she can be dependent upon but they must have wealth and taste and culture and street cred and tattoos of obscure concepts in obvious places. in her mind he sees her across the room, she glances and does a walt-disney-esque bat of the eyelids and he is instantly hers. he takes her to his sharehouse in the inner northern suburbs and puts a hat on the doorknob to prevent the seven housemates wandering in while he has her bent over a cardboard cutout of the great robert zimmerman and watches himself in the mirror. they smoke a joint afterwards and ash into a plastic water bottle. he offers her some food knowing that there is none, and knowing she will decline because she looks like she has never eaten. he is bored and wants her to leave immediately. she is complete and has her life with him planned out. he’s gotten his load off and so has the guy in the bedroom next door. “

Where is Dick? Dick is Rick.

Today I bought my little sister her own copies of the “The Faraway Tree” series by Enid Blyton. Tonight, we sat down and she read me the first two chapters. I WAS SHOCKED AND APPALLED.

Not at my sister’s reading ability, or the actual story, but the names of the characters have been changed!!! MY BELOVED DICK AND FANNY NO LONGER EXIST!!!!

These are changes I am aware of-

• “Dick” has now been replaced with “Rick”  (Due to the obvious slang association).
• “Fanny” is now “Frannie”. Dear God. We all know why this is.
• “Jo” is now “Joe”- because apparently Jo is a girl’s name now.
• “Bessie” is now “Beth”. That is just pointless.
• “Dame Slap” – who used to use corporal punishment on naughty children is now “Dame Snap”, and she simply yells at people. I’m guessing this was to avoid promoting corporal punishment.
• Instead of saying things like “Good gracious!” , “I say!” and “Why, it’s simply ENORMOUS!” Joe now just says “Wow” a lot. That makes me want to kill myself.
• Mother packs the children doughnuts in the new version. In the old version, they got sandwiches, chocolate cake and apples, and it’s quite likely that doughnuts didn’t even exist.
• Instead of looking “fine” dressed as a clown, Fanny (Frannie) now looks “the real thing.” SPEW

This is political correctness gone mad. The book has lost so much of its charm, and I’m sure Enid Blyton would be rolling in her grave. I’m sure there are other changes, if you know of any, please let me know so I can add them.

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Perhaps if I stop thinking, it will stop counting.

 

 

I feel somewhat like a zombie today. I speak to people, and look them in the eye, but I’m not really looking. I look beyond their faces, through distance, and through them. My mind is somewhere entirely different. I don’t exist here. Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I like it. Maybe I’m just talking shit.

I’ve started to read again. Today I wandered around Hobart and bought the works of Oscar Wilde, Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut, A Short History of the World by H.G Wells and the poems of T.S Eliot. Yesterday I read Cat’s Cradle by Vonnegut. I can’t stop, and I haven’t felt like this since I was about 13, and had to go to the optometrist because I was “over-reading.” I’d read all of Dickens by the age of 12.

I didn’t read, at all, my entire way through university. I guess this is because I would read about the anatomy of the cerebrum, then about the cause of Parkinson’s disease, then about research methods, then about what ever who-gives-a-fuck topic they gave me next. I hated reading, and I hated books.

I’m excited by this newfound love I have. Let’s hope it lasts, because I’d love to regain my vocabulary.

I also nabbed four (1 year)  expired Agfa 200 films for $4 each, a 200 fuji slide expired by a year, and 6 month out-of-date fuji chrome 100. I’m going to save them for the new Diana mini I’ll be picking up as soon as I get back to Melbourne.

I got an LC-A+ film developed today, but I can’t scan any until I get back from Tassie. It was a 400, and the photos aren’t particularly interesting, but there are a couple of good ones of friends.

I’m sitting in a Library, and there is a timer in the corner. I have 14 minutes. Perhaps if I stop thinking, it will stop counting.

Stained glass novels.

I despise organised religion. However, I find some of its creations stunningly beautiful.

I decided this morning to write a novel. I don’t care if no one reads it. It will say what I want it to say. So far, I have an idea, a protagonist and an ending. I’m fairly sure the rest is just filler.

Stay tuned for excerpts!

why tarantulatrash?

I get asked a lot why my blog is called “tarantulatrash”-

The original idea came from one of my favourite pieces of writing, “Tarantula” by Bob Dylan.
Tarantula is a book of complete nonsense. Dylan used stream-of-thought writing and created a whimsical, confusing and melodic series of ideas/situations/mind-exploding nonsensical bullshit.

I see Dylan’s tarantula as  “fuck you” to society- he knew it was nonsense. He knew no-one would understand it, at all. He wanted to see people “create” meaning from within the nonsense. And indeed, they have. It highlights how crucial interpretation is in the value of art. To be honest, if anyone else had written this piece it would likely have never have reached publication. Instead, it has a cult following. I love it.

“…. You must have something to do in your real life – I understand that you praised the piece you saw yesterday entitled “The Monkey Taster” about which you said meant “a nice work of butter carved into the shape of a young man who likes only African women” you are an idiot – it doesn’t mean that at all…I hereby want nothing to do with your hang-ups-I really don’t care what you think of my work as I now know you don’t understand it anyway…I must go now-I have this new hunk of margarine waiting in the bathtub – yes I said MARGARINE & next week I just might decide to use cream cheese – & I really don’t care what you think of my experimenting – you take yourself too seriously – you’re going to get an ulcer and go to the hospital-they’ll put you in a ward where you can’t have any visitors-you’ll go right off your nut-I really don’t care anymore-I am so bored with your rules and regulations that I might not even talk to you again-just remember tho, when you evaluate a piece of butter, you are talking about yourself, so you’d better sign your name…see you if you’re lucky at Mrs. Keelers cake festival.

Yours,
Snowplow Floater

p.s – you’re my friend & I’m trying to help you”

la la la la

This is not how it looks. Jamie had a hole in his pants, and I was inspecting it.

I have decided that moving to England is really my only option. I am going to apply for my registration to work as a physio in the UK later this year, and I will most likely be there by mid 2011.

I feel so, so relieved to have made a decision. I choose love.

Send me over.

Now.

Would you drop everything to move 10,000 miles for love?
I don’t know what’s stopping me. I’m not sure I’m brave enough.

A retort so ridiculous I couldn’t respond.

I recently commented on this blog.

“Over the past forty years successive governments have betrayed the indigenous white working class population of this country, our manufacturing base is practically non-existent, we have had every one of our home based industries sold from under our feet to foreign conglomerates which have in turn meant our manufacturing base is non-existent, the time when a 16-year-old could leave school and find a decent apprenticeship is long gone, everything today is short term contract based work, no job today has security which means one cannot look to the future and plan.

The majority of unskilled work now goes to foreign immigrants and this is causing great antagonism and anger, we are constantly being told by New Labour that foreign immigrants only do the work our supposedly lazy Indigenous workforce refuse to do, this is utter rubbish, the foreign workforce has driven down the wages of our workforce to the stage it is unable to survive on the wages that the greedy employers pay the migrants, If this continues and immigration is not HALTED then we will see civil war in this country.

We must protect our indigenous white workforce before others get employment, we must also give our white indigenous population first pick when it comes to social housing, schooling, and all medical services(NHS).

In some parts of our country we have over 150 different languages spoken in some areas, this causes great hardship on local services, schooling for our children suffers as the numbers of children expected to be taught increases/class numbers.

The other serious problem in our country today is the problem of the Islamization of our country and the hatred from Muslims of our country, our government has closed its eyes to this problem for too long and we are having to pay the price, the politicians have tried to socially engineer our society to be an ethnically diverse country, this experiment has been a complete failure and is destroying the indigenous populations culture and way of life, people need to sit up and look at what is going on around them…………”

My response-

I am Australian, and I will soon be one of those terrifying immigrants you speak of, to move over to be with my boyfriend. (Who in fact, is in the “Debate” part of your blogroll.)
I will be working for the NHS as a physiotherapist for children with disabilities, an area that is always lacking in skill and staffing.
Should they keep me out? Or is it ok, because I am white?

His response-  (If you could call it that)

It makes no diffrence to me what colour you are as I have previously stated on this blog, (NOTE, he specifically refers to his “white workforce” in his blog) I am talking about numbers and cultures.

Islam does not fit in with the western culture just as the wests does not fit in with Islam, they are totally seperate ideologies and cannot live side by side.

As for you coming over here and working for the NHS i think it is wrong, we have plenty of qualified people here already but they wish to leave their country of birth because they see their country having no future, they do not wish to bring their children up in a country that will not defend itself or protect it’s own heritage/culture or people.(I’m fairly sure this sentence comes to the general conclusion that “all the qualified people have left England, and there are no children here now, hence you contributing to our public health system is wrong”- WTF?)

And finally, yes they should keep you out, why? because we don’t need anymore here like your boyfriend……

OH, TOUCHE’. I AM OFFICIALLY SHUT DOWN.

I didn’t actually even know how to respond to that, it was that ridiculous.

How can people like this exist, and actually have supporters? Am I the only one that is actually shocked by the ignorance and stupidity of this guy? PLEASE comment to this post, I need to regain faith in humankind.

I want my holidays!!

While we’re on the topic of soft grain, I think that’s what gives this image something. This is Daniel. Lomo Smena Symbol.

Work is manic this week. It’s the last week of term, which means there are deadlines for reports, everyone is tired and my most used phrase today was “I’ll organise it next term”.

I want a typewriter.

Does anyone have a typewriter they want to get rid of or sell for cheap? I’m fair broke, and all the ones on ebay are going for up near $100. I could pick up from Ballarat, Geelong, Melbourne or Bendigo. It would have to be in working order, of course, and I don’t really want an electronic one. Thanks! Tell your friends! Tell your friends’ friends!

I AM SO EXCITED!!!!

I’m currently sitting waiting near my front door, as Jamie has informed me that someone will soon be knocking on it with a present. I AM SO EXCITED!!!!!!! And he is freaking out, because if they’re late, and I have to leave for work, the plan will be foiled. But I AM SO EXCITED!!!!! This photo is of Gianna. Lomo LC-A+, first roll I ever took. I was a little drunk, and every single photo came out moderately blurry.

daniellawl

Daniel is one of my good friends. He does some pretty cool pieces. He also has a blog called droconuts which has some pretty sweet stuff on it, so go look at it.  These were done by him- (the third one down is going to be pasted on a wall somewhere, therefore is currently in separate pieces)

This I took of Daniel’s bedroom cupboards. This was when it was a work in progress, I don’t have a photo of the finished product unfortunately! (Lomo Fisheye 2)

I also have two of his pieces on the walls of my house. Daniel is good!!!1!1!!

We’re not all that normal

Today Geoff, Kerry and I entered Dan Murphy’s with the intention of purchasing a bottle of wine.

We left Dan Murphy’s with 17 bottles. 17.

This of course, eventuated into a ridiculous photo being taken.

We then got Jamie on Skype, and judging by his facial expression he certainly appreciated our efforts.

We’re not all that normal.

THANK YOUUUU

I’ve hit 1000 views in 13 days! THANKS GUYS!!!!! And to show my appreciation, here is a very attractive  photo of me in my emergency hat.

I’m not really sure…

Luke and Liam, circa New Years 2009? Lomo LC-A+. One of my favourites. Liam looks so utterly content.

It’s Friday, thank god, and I’m about to have a massive weekend

– Sister’s 21st dinner tonight in Bendigo (Happy birthday Paigie)

-Go to see Geoff and Kerry in Melbourne

-Work tomorrow morning at the Children’s Hospital

-Help Gianna drive things around in the afternoon

-? Gig on Saturday night

-Drive back to Ballarat Sunday

-Aquatic rescue course Sunday afternoon

So amongst all that, I MAY not have time to blog. We’ll see how it goes.

Off to work. blerghhhhhh

There are no longer dancers.

“ There are no longer ‘dancers.’ the possessed.
The cleavage of men into actor and spectators
is the central fact of our time.
We are obsessed with heroes who live for us
and whom we punish…
We are content in the ‘given’ in sensation’s quest.
We have been metamorphosised from a
mad body dancing on hillsides to
a pair of eyes staring in the dark. ”

Jim Morrison, The Lords and the New Creatures.

R.I.P Jim.

Tattoo by Adam at King of Rings, Bendigo.

Roller Derby

New sport of choice = Roller Derby. I start “fresh meat” sessions next week, hopefully. I’m attempting to drag people from work with me.

I figure it will be easier to drag myself to roller derby, than to the gym.

St Pat’s day and Buckfast.

It’s St Patrick’s day, so I thought I’d post a photo from Ireland. (A charcoal I did of this image is in my blog somewhere, one of the first posts I think)

The week I spent in Cork was ridiculous. I didn’t go to bed earlier than 6am once, gained about 5 kilos from eating chips with garlic mayonnaise, and was introduced by a certain Australian guy to the most lethal wine I have encountered –  Buckfast.

This shit is brutal. It’s packed full of caffeine, has a high alcohol content and is so sweet you can drink half a bottle at the same rate you would swig a can of coke.  There is controversy surrounding it for “causing antisocial behaviour”. I can’t remember a lot that happened after my encounter with Buckie, but I’m sure that night could be put under the “antisocial” umbrella. From memory, the night ended with myself and another backpacker wandering the street at 4am looking for a hotel room, when we already had beds back at our own hostel. Buckfast=Mess. I would most definitely drink it again.

Before the Buckie experience began (we were seemingly already blurred). Notice the massive bottles of 3 Euro Tesco cider. We were all class in Cork.

Happy St Pat’s day guys! Thanks for reading my blog by the way. I’m so pumped that people are actually reading it 🙂

90 DAYS

There are only 90 days left, until I see Jamie again. I’ve never been one to count down to things, but this time it’s different.

Jamie lives in Leicester,  England. I live in Victoria, Australia. It’s possibly THE longest distance relationship two people could have. The last time we saw each other was the 3rd of January. He’s coming to Australia on the 15th of June. I have never been so excited about an event that is so far in the future.

Jamieeeeee come here nowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

To call it art?

This is an old blog, from another blog, I am about to reblog.

Whilst in my second year at uni, I began to unintentionally collect a barrage of metcards in the bottom of my bag. A daily part of metropolitan life, these little cards of annoyance are generally always either left on the train, or expire 3 minutes earlier than required to get through the automatic gates. The only thing that metcards are in fact good at, is being drawn on in a shitty fashion with ballpoint pen whilst waiting for public transport. Over time I have accumulated quite a few which have been drawn on by friends, strangers and of course, Chopper Read.

At an exhibition opening in Collingwood, (or was it Richmond?) after sipping on free beer, making my humble judgement on the work displayed, and making semi-intellectual conversation with artistic types, I elegantly ran to the nearest pub to urgently go to the toilet. On my way back, with two friends accompanying me, I saw who else, but Chopper Read standing hunched over a painting on the ground, which he was splaying paint on out of a squeezy bottle in the manner in which I would put tomato sauce on my chips. Not being one to miss an excellent opportunity to cavort with earless criminals, I allowed myself to be convinced to tap on the window. The result?

My own piece of Chopper paraphernalia, and an exquisite art piece in itself. Perhaps I should switch to using squeezy bottles?