shoes off

optic nerve

2009-11-13T17:05:00.004+11:00

You know how it is. There you are, exploring an abandoned mental asylum and picking up metalic shrapnel off the dusty ward floor, wondering what dust is when there is no human skin shedding into the air, and thinking how lucky you were to be given the chance to install in this sundrenched, ghostly room and that this was undoubtably the highlight of your week. Then the very next day you come across Ralf Kempken and suddenly real estate at the top of the week's podium gets very tight indeed.

I was in local shopfront gallery Oh Really yesterday afternoon with Punk Monks Clare, Alex, and Kaitlyn when I came across Ralf Kempken's optic nerve-tickling work for the first time. In his own words:

'The development of the screens are essentially an extension of the stencil. To me the stencil always appeared to be more than just a tool for reproduction and repetition. Inherent are also the ideas of the pattern, ie. the original model, plan or sample and the template. These are used for forming shapes, repetitively. My interest in the screens is based in the context of them being "templates of perception". But not in regard to sense perceptions in the eye. Optical art explores these ideas well and demonstrates how fallible our visual perception really is. My screens are to be thought of more as an internal process. On how we perceive our emotional and physical environments through screens of our own making. [read the rest here]

Now, usually I would try to find a picture of some of Ralf's similar work to give you a feel of what got me so hot and bothered. [oh, go on then...]

*lovingly pinched from Ralf's website. Go check it out, there's more!

But thanks to the wonders of modern technologists and FreshlyBakedGallery.com, you can actually check out the works virtually. You don't get the sweetly organic physical experience of your eyes adjusting to your position in the room, but you do get a pretty cool online gallery experience.

Media140- You guys should totally make out.

2009-11-05T10:23:00.008+11:00

disclaimer: when I'm not being a punk monk, I work as an analyst for Media Monitors and as a media producer with enigmatic emerging outfit Long Play Creative. I was invited along to Media140 as a liveblogger and twitterer. Darling arty blog readers, have you averted your heavily kohled eyes? I'm about to get all corporate. Please don't hate me because I'm employed. We are all The Man. I'll start tweeting about digital graffiti again tomorrow, promise.

Considering I'm at a Media140 conference entitled "The Future of Journalism in the Social Media Age", I've been hearing very little today about the future and an awful lot about the present. As a result, my thoughts have been straying to the past.

July 2008, specifically. That month we all sat down in essentially the same configuration in the ABC's Eugene Goossens Hall for the Future of Media Summit 2008. Back then, journalists were spitting on the bloggers who were supposedly predicting the death of their profession, bloggers were flying their freak flags proudly, and there was generally an air of uncertainty, fear, hope and revolution. In short, we were passionate.

Over a year later, the room has subdued somewhat, with bloggers and journalists politely sharing the bagel queue. The forum's focus, in turn, is on normalising the use of Twitter and other social media platforms in journalistic practice, rather than relegating social media to what we were calling citizen journalists but have now graduated to the lofty title of pro-am.

The stand-out exception was the Australian's Caroline Overington (@overingtonc), who repeated the tired death prophesy of the existing media models, and seemed to be suggesting that the ABC's dominance of social media and ability to provide free online content would lead to the national outlet being the only source of political journalism in Australia. As I mentioned earlier today, the likelihood of a single institutional voice dominating political discourse is simply unlikely in a user-generated age. I look forward to the Murdoch monetisation revolution that Caroline hinted at, and I genuinely hope that it is more imaginative than a subscription model.

@Stilgherrian's call for a discussion of the future of journalism that isn't all doom and gloom and instead engages intelligently with the possibilities before the industry is timely. What is missing from today's discussion are innovative partnerships between journalists and business. While success stories of "learning as you go" such as @leighsales are great examples of journalistic use of social media under the current model, these examples are hardly innovative.

I should clarify that when I talk about business partnerships, I'm not talking about paid comment or PR. Quite the opposite. I want to see joint ventures between the best minds in journalism and the brightest innovators in the digital media industry. Surely it's time to grow together instead of simply reacting to mutually external developments.

The vision of the journalist as curator is one springboard for a discussion of how these partnerships could work. Last week, the Australia Council's Revealing the Arts forum exposed the gaping ideological divide between arts institutions that revere institutionalised curation and the practicing artists that reject it as obsolete. The media industry does not need to polarise itself in this way. Like talented artists, journalists have the skills that are valued by their aggregating institutions. But this shouldn't stop journalists from experimenting with, to borrow a film term, non-theatrical release. Journalists are free-thinking practitioners and should be encouraged to step outside the theatre of the established media outlets. Mark Scott's ABC Open Project is a step in the right direction, but it is not the end of the road or the model that commercial media necissarily needs to adopt.

Perhaps if we started to think about innovative ways to integrate journalistic craftsmanship and ethics into digital media development, the future would be easier to discuss practically and passionately.

Other Corner Shops

2009-10-06T19:29:00.007+11:00

Former Corner Stores from nils on Vimeo.

Nils Crompton's clever take on The Corners Project was a definite highlight at last night's post-T.I.N.A Kino #30 at Fraser Studios. The crowd was sighing lustfully throughout, clapped wildly afterwards and I didn't clock a single bladder running off to take a bathroom break while it was screening. Nicely played, Nils.

While our algae-hued Corner Shop didn't feature, I felt somehow that she was creaking in approval at this imaginative showcase of her near-invisible sisters.

You can check out Nils' thoughts on his work over at his creative web log.

want to exhibit your work and take home a share of the tip jar?

2009-10-06T18:48:00.010+11:00

First up, this isn't a traditional gallery situation. The organisation that I work with, Punk Monk Propaganda, are teaming up with Sydney bands Hailer, The Prayer Circle, Driftwood Drones and Wade Jackson on 17th October for an event at the Factory Theatre in Marrickville called Born In The Doorway. The idea is to extend people beyond their normal, passive, gigpig selves and create a mutual space where creativity can roam free.

It occurred to me that while we're herding this captive, creative audience into The Factory, we should also expose them to some more polished local colour. Which is why we sweetly offer a space in the room to your wares.

You can exhibit your work however you like- mount, project, set up a stall, superglued onto beer coasters, whatever you please. I am meeting up with the AV dudes at The Factory on Thursday morning, though, so if you've got any special requirements please give me a heads up so that you're not disappointed when you rock up on the night.

Importantly, this will also be a way for you to put your cap out and busk a little. We know as creative types ourselves that often you slave away on your work to not get much back monetarily from the people who get to enjoy it- and to be fair, your avid fans might simply not know how they can give back to you. We encourage you to shake the tip jar around in front of your work on the night, and without promising that you'll be living like kings the day afterwards, we do promise a few shy smiles when kindred spirits throw their church change into your pencilcase.

All the details of the event are in the link above- get in contact with me to reserve your spot.

Feel free to repost/forward this on to any other artists you know.

Big love,

KT

splashing galaxies

2009-09-23T11:34:00.007+10:00

The Hopetoun Hotel, last Friday night. Hailer, Sister Jane and Wade Jackson provided the grooves for the launch of Hailer's latest offering, Sunny Letters. It was a new way of working for Alexander and I. While we've always worked "live" having to focus on getting feeling and emotion out of the projections rather than just a pretty image was a new challenge. The forced improv meant that we came up with a whole new set of tricks, worked out a few colour mysteries that had been keeping us up at night, and generally honed our craft in an intense couple of hours.

If you want to see our improved moves, we're putting on a display at the fundraiser for the short film project Kelly's Blues at Sydney Film School on Saturday night and will be projection bombing our liquid galaxies onto some tall alleyway walls for Algae Rhythm 0.05: PORTALS.

The photographs in this post are lovingly borrowed from Fastlane's Faster Louder photoset- check out his whole set here to spot your pretty face in the crowd.

(sun)light exposure

2009-09-18T11:56:00.004+10:00

Tonight, Alexander and I will be throwing some liquid light shapes onto the walls of the Hopetoun. The Sunny Letters Exposure is just the first instalment of a couple of holy unions between Sydney band of music men Hailer and Punk Monk Propaganda.

If you're still hungry for the sun after today's warm rays have sunk away, come and get exposed with us.

electric jug lover

2009-09-07T14:13:00.010+10:00

I went to the first Vanquish last week. Before I start rattling about matters jug, a few observations on the Vanguard's new first-Wednesday-evening-of-the-month affair:

Slimy Things are Australia's self-billed "most exciting sci-fi rock band". Their leading man wears a mad scientist's lab coat and there was a fellow dancing in their devoted crowd wearing a horse's head on his own crown. I can report that I, my fellow punters, and everyone that I've since shown photographs of the man-horse to all found this pretty exciting.

Besides the floury-based $16 pizza, the specials are a classier-than-Carlton $5 beer and three different $10 cocktails, of which the Golden Eagle is my pick. I can't remember exactly what was in it and that should be evidence enough that it is worth your tenner.

The projection behind Psychonanny & the Baby Shakers was very cool indeed. If that was you, get in contact. We could make beautiful ~~love~~ light shows together.

That Jug Man

My friend Filthy Lucre was the man who invited me along to Vanquish. For context, he is a music nut and will squash you like a bug in music trivia. He's also a gun at ancient mythology trivia- handy man, that Filthy.

Somewhere in the pre-Golden Eagle haze of last Wednesday night, we were talking about 13th Floor Elevators and he was saying how much he hated Tommy Hall, the electric jug player. His argument was that a jug player shouldn't have been leading the musical direction of a band as obviously talented as the 13FE.

"That jug guy... he fucked it all up. They were such a talented band- if it hadn't have been for that fucking jug guy."

I have to disagree. I am definitely buying what the 13th Floor Elevators were selling, jugs n all:

In today's electric jug researching adventures, I came across a band of gentlemen who have dedicated themselves to the worship of the electric jug and other DIY instrumentals- The Crabapple Creek Electric Jug Band. Folk out with your jugs out.

punks do it mushroom style

2009-08-24T16:21:00.010+10:00

Last Saturday night, Ron Mann's excellent nature porn documentary KNOW YOUR MUSHROOMS played to a sold-out Red Rattler theatre as part of the Possible Worlds Canadian Film Festival. Big love to the Festivalists for inviting Punk Monk to throw together the installations for the evening. A playground like the Rattler is a treat for us, from its industrial warehouse street to its velvety lounge chairs.

On a day like last Saturday, you can find yourself on the floor of the Corner Shop studio cutting out giant fly agarics out of cardboard and covering them in alfoil while listening to Andy throw together an emergency psychadelic playlist. In the room next door people frantically fold lovingly complex zines, and the other Punks are out on wild mushroom chases and black light adventures.

Then somehow, by the time darkness falls, you have fantastical humans- most of whom you'd only met on the internet until they rocked up- turning an industrial streetscape into a glowstick accented circus fireball while video and liquid projections pulse from the road, past Clare's mushroom village textile explosion through to Michelle's experimental visual soundscape inside.

The images without Susie's watermark are Tanya Hoang's. The rest are courtesy of Susie Stavert. You can see some of Andy Finn's fine photography from Saturday on Victoria's blog awolmonk.

how I almost forgot the round rainbow mirrors

2009-08-18T11:29:00.012+10:00

One of the girls I live with has started a new tradition of buying a new CD for herself every sunday afternoon, and it's made me want to spend more time with my eyes closed.

When I first left home it was all about books and music. I spent whatever money I could pull together on books that I would stack up against my wall because I didn't have a bookcase. Everything else went on gigs and the CDs and tshirts to remember them by. I rarely buy CDs anymore, even though I do see quite a few gigs working at The Gaelic. These days a lot of my play time is spent in cinemas, screenings or in front of a television or computer screen watching the way people make their visions move. But DVDs just aren't all that beautiful (why is that?) and the tactile artifact of the CD, and the precious way she carries them from player to player, reminded me of my parent's record collection and the way they used to talk about the magic of record sleeves and the sensitivity of vinyl grooves. CDs used to be the soulless new development in music, but now that they're mostly compared against a single iTunes line on a flat screen, any touchable musical artifact seems antiquated and a little bit holy.

The upshot is that my flatmate's been sidetracking my cinema-centric mind, and I am totally benefiting from the influx of new tunes that are wafting down the staircase. Today she turned me on to her latest obsession, The Weepies. True to my latest evolution, I couldn't help but notice their adorable video clips.

While I was listening, my grandma popped up on google chat and started telling me about the eight whales her and my papa had just seen at the beach at the end of their street in Cudmirrah. While my papa ran back to their house to get the camera and grandma just hung out on the beach watching the whales, the bus from the old folks home pulled up. Grandma said that all the elderly people were so happy to see the creatures. It might have been the Weepie melodies, but there was something about that quiet, happy meeting of the whales, my not-so-old grandma and the bus full of ancients that has meant I haven't been able to stop smiling all morning.

MIFF'd

2009-07-31T14:00:00.011+10:00

In between dashing into the parallel-universe Melbourne podjob to smash a deadline or two, I managed to cosy into a hard-backed cinema seat and see a few flicks at the Melbourne International Film Festival last week. I've already tweeted about what I thought of the films I saw, but once more for those in the back, with notes:

Our City Dreams: interesting fem artists in NYC portrayed without any curation of thematics, narrative or location. [The film told each artist's story one after the other, in blocks that reminded me of the trapped bird feel of a gallery room. The edit was completely uncreative and jarred uncomfortably against the otherwise intriguing stories of these free creatives. There wasn't any sense of why we were in New York, which leant the film a kind of assuming arrogance that its content unfortunately did not support]

All Tomorrow's Parties: brilliant for chucking on after you've trundled home from a festival. Not so much if unmunted in a cinema. [does however contain some awesome footage of Nick Cave performing No Pussy Blues and some interesting interviews with various artists, but as a whole, a film where you could easily walk out of the room to grab another beer from the fridge and not feel that you've missed anything on your return. There was a little too much footage of wasted festival goers to keep me entertained for the full duration. Even people at festivals don't want to see other stoned people at festivals. Out of context it's just a bit creepy]

The Beaches of Agnes: memory as humble and tactile cinematic installation. Unsophisticated, in the very best possible way. [I recommend not only that you see this one, but that if you have a chance, see it in a cinema. It is designed for a cinema screen and this film feels, more so than the others I watched at this festival, like such an intimate gift when you view it as it was intended to be seen]

Prime Mover: a few decent gags hidden under yet another predictable Aus caricature comedy. Found the protagonist entirely unendearing. [This is a shame, as I was looking forward to this film. I'm really craving an indie Australian comedy that doesn't trade on jokes that died in the early 90's. Also, what is the deal with Aus films using pointless animation lately? I had the same graphics gripe with My Year Without Sex- I find it really distracting when there's no diagetic connection]

Outrage: doco outing closeted gay American senators will make you question the rights of private citizens compared to public citizens. [this one raised some serious moral questions for me. I'm an advocate of letting people come out in their own good time, and I think outing is immoral. Still, I've never applied this private opinion to public figures who have the right to decide whether or not I deserve the same rights that would be considered human rights if I was currently sleeping with a dude. It's a tricky topic, and definitely one that should be up for debate. See it.]

Outside the darkened theatres, I developed the biggest interior design crush on the MIFF festival lounge at the Forum. The blue-lit roof, strung party lights and cosy round booths all collide to make the perfect space to argue with your friends over whether or not that film you just saw had any magic to it. It's one of those cosmic holy places. If I was still in Melbourne, I would still be sitting there, smiling shiny-eyed up at the roof. I'm a total deviant for a well lit room.

So, now you know. Next time you're trying to woo me, stock up on coloured globes, gels and fairy lights.

lynching

2009-07-17T21:51:00.008+10:00

Before July smacked me about the head and sucked my dazed form into into a seemily 24 hour a day work vacuum, Teddy and I threw a David Lynch inspired installation together lovingly for Kino Kabaret in our capacity as punk monk space magicians. Not that we had to use much punkdust to make the velvet-draped Red Rattler look Lynchy. Dermot and I also got up to some loopy video antics with tuneful performers MA on the night.

The evening also featured a trippy installation film from Dermot called in plastic, rapt. It's not available on the interwebs yet but here are some taster frames.

p.s if you haven't been following David Lynch's Interview Project, I suggest you get into. Think of it as reality television, but with interesting characters and less sadistic humiliation rituals.

razor play

2009-07-06T11:11:00.005+10:00

Last night, after treating a few of us to an orgasmic roasted feast at her amazing new pad, my friend Fee lead us down a few dark Darlinghurst alleyways to the East Village hotel. There we got a taste of the new locative art gaming project, Razorhurst.

The deal is that you rock up at the pub and grab a shiny little GPS device, and then run around the streets of Darlinghurst like the Depression-era sly grog runner you've always wished you were. You get to move illegal booze between Darlo's historic bars, snort a bit of cheeky (virtual?) cocaine and have to literally grip your GPS tight and run away from the razor gangsters lurking around every dark corner to stay alive. The game also intigrates some really cool old video footage from a documentary about this lusty, cut throat period in Sydney's history.

There were still a few technical issues when we tried to play last night, so we didn't get very far. But this is a very cool concept and a funky new way to interact with Darlo's already mysterious (and sometimes dangerous) streetscape. Despite the buggy tech fail, I'm still intrigued enough to go and try to play again. After all, half the fun of experimentation is finding out why stuff doesn't work so that the artists can work on making it work better next time.

Razorhurst runs from July 5 to 31, Sunday to Thursday, 5:30pm to 9:30pm.
It's totally FREE. How depression is that.

little girl's games

2009-06-30T15:30:00.011+10:00

I've been playing the addictively haunting game The Path a bit lately. I love it in all its lolita emo babygothness and I want to plug myself into the scariest part of our upstairs hallway, turn all the lights off and let the wolf get me again and again. But I'm a busy girl this week with kino kabaret shoots to organise and red rattler installations to create so at this stage I've been playing it on trains with Ax instead.

I didn't pay for this game- it was a sneaky present from the girl coz she can be gorgeous like that- but for once, I would have gone out of my way to pay for The Path. I haven't ever been driven to spend my coin on games- I imagine this is mostly because when we were kids, my brother would bring them home while I was off in my room with my head buried in a book, so having new games loungeroom-delivered meant I never thought to buy them. And honestly, I didn't really miss the playstation, the gameboy or the xbox when I left home. It scares me how much I've been missing out on by not paying attention to this kind of storytelling.

moral of this fairytale: gaming is a lot more fun when you don't have to fight your obsessive gamer-genius little brother for the controller.

Being (over?) familiar with indie filmmakers and musicians and those who voraciously consume their creative spawn, this new little obsession has sparked my interest in our geeky cousins, the indie gamers. I was poking around on the Path's creators Tale of Tales' website, and was not entirely unsurprised to see that their next project Fatale is inspired by Oscar Wilde's Salome. As soon as you start toying with a notion, suddenly you'll see it everywhere. We're currently in pre-production for a Salome project shooting in spring.

Lucien Lévy Dhurmer's vision of “Salomé”, as featured on Tale of Tales. This painting nails what I love about Salome stories- the consuming eroticism of the young girl who is more in love with victory than any man.

Just one last bit of image stealing before I run off to Kabaret tonight- this is the sisters of The Path reimagined by the talented Sarah Lomba as bears. Cutesplosion much? (via Game Set Watch)

night by avatar

2009-06-17T13:51:00.005+10:00

There was no single photographer at our latest Punk Monk happening; instead, an unplanned and informal parlour game of pass the camera began early in the evening and continued on into the night. From this fractured diversion sprung some seriously lovely documentation.

After the obligatory photo set from Monday night's Algae Rhythm 0.03: TURN ME ON DEAD MAN was posted online yesterday, an interesting phenomenon began to mushroom in the land of the punk monks. Everyone's online avatars started appearing in the mysterious monotone of our conspiracy-themed gathering.

It's interesting to me that in one night, through the multiple visions of our friends and colleagues, almost all of us found an image of ourselves that fits the avatar criteria of representing a personally (if momentarily) idealised version of our faces.

And so, here we are. Some of the Punk Monks, and a few of our nearest and dearest, captured as we want to be seen.

NB: if you want a full account of what went down at our third Algae Rhythm, shift your browsing eyes to AWOL monk.

turn me on, dead man

2009-06-15T13:54:00.008+10:00

(GD cred to the always arousing Matt Ravier)

After a long two weeks of sitting in dark theatres soaking in the varied delights of the Sydney Film Festival, it's time to stretch your shapely legs out of their cramped State Theatre position and join together to see your friends, lovers and artful colleagues in full colour.

Tonight is Punk Monk Propaganda's third Algae Rhythm intermedia installation evening. Curators for AR 0.03 include Punk Monk's own Dermot McGuire, Kino Sydney's resident vivacious pin-up Karina Libbey, and film academy darling and conspiracy theory junkie Kathleen Williams. RSVPs are tight at The Corner Shop and places have all been filled for this suspicious inquisition into pop conspiracy and the questionable history of common knowledge. But we love a mysterious stranger. So get in contact if you're intrigued and you want to come and play in the night.

naked pink walls

2009-06-10T10:39:00.011+10:00

On Saturday night we took a night off from SFF to have a winter colour festival of our own. My flatmate and I wallpapered our kitchen with our local newsagent's generosity and invited our most creative art-jamming friends in to splash some paint, glue, and imagination around in an attempt to make some soul to hang on our naked pink walls.

Bear was in vintage form as documenter and muse, and you can see and read it all from her angle here.

gunshots, gingham and greed

2009-06-04T15:53:00.011+10:00

SFF kicked off with with a really tasty pilgrimage to Mother Chu's Vegetarian Kitchen. The miso sauce tastes like delicious gravy which I've been craving SO badly since I went vego, even more so now that the weather has turned London on me. Need to go back and check out the rest of the menu when I have more than half an hour to reverse-vomit my food. I was in a really inexplicable panicky rush before dinner; must have been generously taking on some of the opening night stress that was blowing over from George Street and the State Theatre.

We skipped the feel-good footy flick to check out The Agony and The Ecstasy of Phil Spector, and from all reports, we didn't miss out. I only heard a couple of cheerful reviews of Looking for Eric, but most people I spoke to seemed dissapointed.

Spector, on the other hand, was brilliant. I haven't laughed out loud that much in a film in a really long time. I love the feeling of being in a packed cinema and hearing all the different kinds of laughs explode at once. Spector is an incredible character with perfect comic timing, and I found his celebration of himself above all others completely endearing. The documentary itself was well paced, but i found the onslaught of information at times was irritating. If I'm reading a quote, I don't want to be listening to a voiceover and listening to a pop tune vocal at the same time. I also would have liked to have seen a bit more older footage of Spector himself rather than the media circus surrounding his trial. The constant court CU montages annoyed me after a while. Having said that, I loved the film overall, and walked out convinced he was innocent. You can taste test the first few minutes of it here.

We then made our way down to the water to see Bluebeard. A few smashed champagne glasses and a choctop disaster later, we sat back to enjoy Catherine Breillat's interpretation of the classic fable. I'd read some really good things about this film; that it was a feminist reimagining, that the director was known for dealing explicitly with sex and violence. I was expecting a glistening black fairytale told through a little girl's horrific imagination, but I was disapointed. It wasn't a feminist reading at all; if anything there was a glaring commentary on the equality of evil between the sexes. I liked the script but the art direction felt at worst forced and distracting and at best undercooked to me. I quite enjoyed the two gingham-aproned narrators but I thought that the cuts to them could have been more elegant and their inclusion in their storyworld more fantastical. The blood-skating scene missed the mark completely for me. The blood wasn't dark enough, the child wasn't sinister enough, the corpses weren't abject enough. Corpses were a bit of a problem in this film, apparently. The dead father was visibly breathing while they mourned him, which is always distracting. However, on the most part, this felt like a well acted film that in the end was poorly captured.

We collected our thoughts at Tank Stream, which is surprisingly quite nice on a Wednesday night, before we got word that OVSS was all go and we made our way over to the always horrific Est for the afterparty. The crowd was for the most part distinctively lame. Wall to wall boredom with a little bit of celebrity shine glittering about the place. Though there was this really cute girl in a ninja turtles shirt who wanted to hold my hand all night. Vic and I threw some punk technicolor on the dancefloor inamongst the superdrunk suits. And the CC and dry from the open bar lifted my post-Bluebeard funk fairly quickly. I'll augment these tales with some pictorial evidence just as soon as I decide which pictures contain the least litigious looking champagne sluz.

flying bombshell

2009-06-03T13:32:00.004+10:00

for a little over a day, my best friend was back in town and we hid from the rain and we ate savoury things at small tables and the world felt normal again.

i woke up and it was winter

2009-06-01T14:30:00.005+10:00

I don't think I turned my lipstick red radio off between 1996 and 2003. Led Zeppelin and the Doors ruled the cars and the backyard. Jethro Tull played in the lounge room when no one was practicing the piano. 702 chattered constantly from behind the jug in the kitchen. Aretha Franklin pumped out of the family room over the vacuum cleaner. And in my room, the little red wireless on the floor by my window was constantly tuned to Triple J.

Mid way through last month, the Lucksmiths, one of the bands that played to me in my bedroom while did important teenage things like cutting out shapes for my wall collages and writing passionately all over my inflatable chair with permanent marker, announced that they're doing a farewell tour in August. I'm going. Band wakes slay me. Is that perverse?

human dependant

2009-05-27T16:49:00.004+10:00

I now know that if you announce you're going to be learning a new language, that people will immediately start speaking to you in that language. The very language that you've just pinpointed as one that you do not understand in the slightest.

I've also noticed that the kind of persons that delight in engaging my blankest of expressions always have a big smile on their faces when they start jabbering in french. So I figure I'm at least making these people happy through my, admittedly charming, ignorance. But hear me now, french aficionados: it is important to note that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, so if you told me where the fire exits were during that little performance, know that I will be relying solely on my survival instincts.

On the subject of smiling, this project prompted a pretty big one today. I came across tweenbots via the Frankie blog- these splendid little creatures are a testament to human-robot relations.

what would Barbarella do?

2009-05-25T17:57:00.008+10:00

I've been thinking recently that if something scares you, it means you should probably be doing it. I've been considering what it is that I am actually scared of these days. To clarify, not things I have a physical allergy to and simply try to steer clear of (kiwi fruit, cats) or consciously avoid due to a panic attack inducing irrational phobia (footbridges, keira knightley).

As childish as it is, I'm still afraid of trying things I'm not naturally talented at. The first few years of being free and easy and out in the world on my own have allowed me to create a beautiful supportive microcosm to play and create in. But the risk of being surrounded by beauty is forgetting the thrill of danger.

So, as a result, things I'm rubbish at that will be addressed in the coming months:

1. French. Not the entire race; I don't fear you, frenchies. But I can't understand you, either. I'm not that bad at learning new languages, but I hate sounding dopey when I'm learning, which is pretty vain and a ridiculous reason to avoid learning. So when Ky cajoled last night about signing up with her for a ten week Alliance Francaise course I said yes. Classes are on a Saturday morning at 9am, so there's two things I'm petrified of being knocked over in one go. Languages and weekend mornings.

2. Gyms. I'm genuinely untalented at anything athletic. I used to run my sports uniform under a tap at high school so that my PE teacher couldn't make me run in a wet t shirt. The only time I've ever even stepped into a gym was during uni when i needed to capture some atmos sound. But lately I've been thinking that maybe I'm getting too old to avoid all of this exertion stuff that everyone else seems to get off on. So by the end of the next month I'm going to at least go and check out the gyms around newtown and pretend that I don't feel physically ill at the thought of jumping around in front of other people. If any other inner westie fatties want to join me on this, it'd be nice to have some company.

I'm comforting myself with the hope that both learning french and looking skinnier/being able to lift heavier objects can only be beneficial to my otherwise hedonistic lifestyle. Worked for Fonda.

i pack in a rush

2009-05-19T11:32:00.005+10:00

It's always been my way. I think this habit is connected to some need to feel like the decision to run was spontaneous and the thought of forgetting something essential gives me delicious thrills.

My girl whisked me away on a tour of her favourite places in Melbourne over the past four days. The essential item that I forgot this time was my camera. This was actually quite okay because it meant I was soaking things in to record them instead of outsourcing that function.

I'd never been to the southern city before, which amazed me more and more as I wandered around town. All my friend's exclamations over the years rang true in living colour- I am more suited to living there than in Sydney. The art on the walls, the stories in the laneways, the complexity of the cocktail mixes and the sound of the music escaping from makeshift stages all resonated and it felt good to be home. Still, when she asked me would I live there, I said not yet.

I'd prefer to argue with Sydney about her short comings and try to change her than live where the fight's already been won. For a little while longer.

new favourite doorways:

bimbo- for the chocolate infused vodka, the retro indian collages on the bathroom walls, and the darkness
fad gallery - for bar staff who look boyishly excited when you order by taste instead of off a menu, the laid back patronage, and the stencily rotoscope looking works.
prudence - for the vintage scrabble board, the resfreshingly closed-plan room layout that made you feel like you had snuck into some fabulous nanna's house, and the cosy leather couches.

prime-time animals and bringing Dave to me.

2009-05-12T12:27:00.012+10:00

Andy the Beardy Sound Man: so it appears that my ex flatmate from Brisbane has his own TV show.
Me: about what?
AtBSM: I think it's just Dave being Dave. On TV.

Dave Being Dave on TV (officially billed as A Dave in the Life) premiered on SBS last night. I missed the original broadcast. I was at my girlfriend's house eating nutella cream pavlova and watching the NRL getting massacred on Four Corners for its ongoing attitude towards women, including controversially, naming Matty Johns as the central character in the disgusting abuse of a 19 year old New Zealander while touring there with the Cronulla Sharks. I truly have no words for the kind of men that would treat a girl who is basically a child with such animalistic disrespect and not recognise it as intimidation. I leave you to face your mothers.

So seeing as my screen time was otherwise occupied last night, I was pretty pleased to discover that SBS were streaming the entire episode online this morning. I'll be honest, this show isn't the best content I've ever seen. The writing needs some time to mature. But I have to congratulate SBS on their courage and their intelligent distribution approach.

A Dave in the Life borrowed much from Safran and Theroux, and while our hero didn't have quite the same charisma as either of those cultural curiosities, I was relieved that something like this was going to air. The first episode was a light look at Australia's shock jock culture that touched on our national acceptance of racism and bigotry as long as it's all part of 'showbiz'. It allowed the lowest common denominator to shine through on its own without ridicule or judgement, and encouraged a conversational debate between two different sides of Australian culture. Its host has a sense of humour about himself and a humility that is refreshing in a world of self-aggrandising career comedians.

It's even more encouraging to see that SBS had the sense to make sure that the entire episode was available online after broadcast. It's this simple recognition that linear broadcast is no longer an appropriate way to reach a mainstream audience that will differentiate the content leaders in the media in the next few years.

Somehow, though, I don't think Dave will ever rise to the status of a hero of family viewing time quite like Matty Johns. More's the pity.

cicadas

2009-05-08T11:47:00.007+10:00

I know it's been terribly remiss of me not to share the fantastical adventures of Monday night, but what with Algae Rhythm 0.02: PSYCHOCHEMICAL absorbing every fibre of my creative and financial being, it's taken until this week to set up the internet at my new place.

I think considering that April's itinerary read thusly:

Moving my personal effects from one side of King Street to the other with my Dad
Twenty-something birthday
Byron Blay Bluesfest roadie
Defragging after Byron
Bondi art exhibitions
90's timewarp Big Heavy Stuff gig
Co-organisation of an art jam wondercluster involving two mind-blowingly elusive overhead projectors
Helping move The Warehouse to The Corner Shop
An intrepid inner-western suburban basketball WAGS adventure
A few shifts at the Gaelic, including a hellish three hours of old skool happy hardcore that made me want to kill anyone with a munter grin
That media consulting thing I do to pay my rent

... that it's okay to still feel like I've only been in my new house for about three days, despite having moved in on April 5th.

It's been a dead set heartache trying to get the internet hooked up at the new house- the little flashy lights on my very flashily priced modem are still not working. As soon as it is it'll be Operation Blogsposion, I imagine. In the meantime, check out Vic's pictorial recollections of Monday night for a taste of what you missed, or a double dip into where you were.

the cradle, the jet plane and the wonderlab

2009-04-22T15:21:00.009+10:00

On Sunday Punk Monk Propaganda had an epic digs-shift from our Warehouse cradle to the big-girl's bed that is The Corner Shop. Only a block down from the old space, The Corner Shop smells sweetly of new paint and possibility. We moved the earth with shopping trolleys and discovered a new toy in the paperbark climbing tree just outside the back door. Vegetarian sausages and a few dark bruises later and the well-exerted punks and kinoites warmed the new home quietly with a few beers, deciding to leave the first truly crazy sex party for Night Two. Victoria and Davey snapped away over the day- feast your eyes over at Vic's blog.

Monday was the re-scheduled Kino #24. Old and new faces sheltered from the rain in the Sydney Trapeze School and snuggled in to get a cozy hit of the latest from the Sydney kinoites. I was on bar duty for some of the night so missed a few flicks when I couldn't quite absorb what was happening out of the corner of my eye. There were three Punk Monk films shown, all with a spicy Adelaidian flavour from our recent south west adventure: Dermot's Haiku 4, and Victoria's fleshy easter treat Chick Addict and experimental mobile flick Jet Plane, second in the Loves Me Not series and completely shot using mobile capture devices. I also loved Ang's film Sadness Breakfast Tea.

We've still got access to the newly emptied Warehouse, and so are transforming the former studio into a psychadelic intermedia wonderlab for Algae Rhythm 0.02: PSYCHOCHEMICAL. I've co-curated this one with Alex Papasavvas, and as head alchemists we're especially excited to start swapping chemicals with you all on May 4. If you're interested in coming along to Algae Rhythm, then drop me a line and some guestlist magic can happen. If you're one of the first 30 to RSVP on facebook then you get a personalised copy of our Algae Rhythm collectable zine.

Algae Rhythm 0.02: PSYCHOCHEMICAL

May 4, 2009
The Warehouse, Alexandria (opposite the Australian Technology Park)

20th Annual Byron Bay Blues and Roots Festival

2009-04-17T17:04:00.005+10:00

The advice given to the girl who ran out into oncoming traffic in front of our digs on Shirley Street by her ever lovin man:

I would tell you the end of the story, but the cab driver who hit her ran off and never came back. Neither did the girl who got hit.

23

2009-04-06T11:07:00.004+10:00

Presents at midnight and kisses in door frames in full view of the street.

I love birthdays.

Flamenco a go go

2009-03-31T17:41:00.006+11:00

I'm curating the next Algae Rhythm event with Alex Papasavvas, and at the moment we're on the hunt for flamenco dancers for a light show installation. The brief is below- if you live in Sydney and this sounds like the kind of crazy stage you want to be stomping all over, let me know on the deets at the bottom of the brief.

Algae Rhythm 0.02 (May 4, 2009)- Dancer’s Brief

Punk Monk Propaganda’s second intermedia gallery night Algae Rhythm 0.02 will focus on lost organics and found vibrations, and aims to reconnect the humans in the room with the biology that drives their innate need for creation.

A central feature of this evening will be a liquid light installation. In the heady days of psychedelia, liquid light shows were an integral part of the experience of the music. In the early experiments at the shows of psychedelic musicians such as the Grateful Dead and Big Brother and the Holding Company, the liquid in the projector (coloured oils) was impacted on directly by the vibrations of the music. We’re hoping to achieve a similar effect with the vibrations created not primarily through the music, but rather through the dancers.

We will have a small, low stage set up for amplification so that the dancer’s steps will be creating the vibrations that impact the light show.

We are particularly interested in these dancers being familiar with the flamenco style, as it is given to the kind of loud stomping that we need to make our projector work. We are very open to co-curating with the dancers involved, and feel that the dancers should be as much a part of the creative process as the projectionists.

When considering this invitation to participate, feel free to start thinking about the following aspects of the installation:

MOVEMENT: you’re welcome to make the dance as free form, traditional, unrehearsed, or experimental as you wish. You are the expert in this form of expression. Draw on your craft’s heritage and use it to express your creativity.

MUSIC: while you’ll be dancing in a flamenco style, feel free to experiment with the music that you’re dancing to. It doesn’t have to be traditional.

COSTUME: performance through costume design has always been an integral part of the Punk Monk story. Feel free to be as traditional, creative, non traditional or bizarre as you see fit. We create new meanings by fusing the confused- you’re encouraged to play.

Algae Rhythm nights are by their nature small, organic gatherings of creatively supportive participants (max 30 people). So whilst you will be performing, so will everyone else in the room. Our approach is that all participants walk in as artists.

If you do choose to play with us, you’ll be required on the evening of Monday May 4, as well as for a couple of hours for some testing before the actual event.

For any questions, clarifications, explanations or distillations, please feel free to contact Punk Monk curators Alex Papasavvas and Kate Taylor directly through the details below:

e: kate@punk-monk.com
m: 0466 452 919
a: The Warehouse, 84b Henderson Road, Alexandria

Mojo and the Earth

2009-03-30T10:15:00.004+11:00

\

Mojo Juju and the Snake Oil Merchants are my new favourite thing to do in a dark room with strangers.

Unfortunately before I saw them at the Vanguard on Saturday night I had a massive steak at the Rose and had a little meat-drunk nap during Earth Hour. The nap itself was really lovely. It's only unfortunate because we left the light on while we snoozed. Sorry, Barry.

Algae Rhythm 0.01

2009-03-27T17:08:00.013+11:00

I blow for fun::

we film things we think are pretty::

crowd saucing::

the zine 0.01::

we like to watch::

bless your bliss::

Photography by Dave, Stevie, Alex, and maybe Victoria. (ed- just stevie and dave.)

For more info on Punk Monk Propaganda's first intermedia happening Algae Rhythm:: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=60169142594#/event.php?eid=68873469592

wedding belles

2009-03-18T11:03:00.003+11:00

I want to time-share marry both of them.

zoom crash

2009-03-18T10:55:00.004+11:00

What is wrong with walking? Surely with all this networking technology going around there's no need for anyone to get anywhere that fast. It only takes 20 minutes to get to the other side of the CBD, ffsake.

Electric Scooters for Everyone

Algae Rhythm

2009-03-16T17:56:00.007+11:00

Punk Monk is launching a brand new night of inspiration and intrigue called Algae Rhythm. Do let us know if you want to come and play with us under the blue green moon.

The official speil, penned heartrendinlyohso beautifully by Victoria and Clare:

Punk Monk Propaganda's new interactive monthly one night only gallery is on the launch pad, ready for take-off.

An organic evolution partially influenced by progressive experimental thinkers including Alan Turing, Ada Lovelace and Andy Warhol. ALGAE RHYTHM is a juxtaposition of the ever-changing & dynamic world of colliding interfaces and the pulsing fabric of visually undefinable zeros and ones which mesh it all together.

Building from the traditional idea of the "film screening" night where like minded film & art lovers congregate feeding their passion for the screen, ALGAE RHYTHM, seeks new meaning and method. An informal exhibition of any form of art/expression/discussion, we aim to experiment with new or forgotten ways of discovering, sharing and creating.

Each event will feature a curated film screening in symbiosis with other activities. Each curator should consider an idea behind their event, which could be a platform for a pseudo exhibition using many art forms (photography, music, video art, short film, podcast, science experiment, group project...) or could focus on a particular theme or director or a topic of interest. It should not be limited to any traditional ideas of a generic film screening and in the same way not limiting to what individuals can bring to/take from the night. However, the main idea is to create an involved and stimulating night and to explore new terrain.

Unfortunately there is limited space in The Warehouse, and the only fair way to select people is the 'ole 'First in Best Dressed' method. So RSVP ASAP and be one of the two dozen!

Please bring a delicious edible dish and grog (if you are so inclined) to share.

If anyone wants to contribute/curate a future event the world is your oyster. No idea is too big or too small. The connections don't necessarily have to make sense. Somewhere there's a possible world that they do.

"I never am really satisfied that I understand anything; because, understand it well as I may, my comprehension can only be an infinitesimal fraction of all I want to understand about the many connections and relations which occur to me, how the matter in question was first thought of or arrived at, etc., etc."Ada Lovelace

birdless tresses

2009-03-11T13:10:00.003+11:00

When we were small and my brothers didn't want to wash their seriously manky hair, my mother would read us Judy Zavos' Murgatroyd's Garden, which was illustrated gorgeously by Drahos Zak. It is still one of my very favourite books of all time, and sadly appears to be out of print these days.

This moleskine design is pretty reminiscent of old Murgatroyd's mane. When I came across this in the Frankie blog, I had a tingling feeling all across my scalp and a terrible craving for children's shampoo. Or at least a pet bird for my hair.

happy 'gras

2009-03-10T13:06:00.003+11:00

trance

2009-02-19T17:01:00.002+11:00

those little rotating vimeo geetar picks are hypnotising, no?

after the summer

2009-02-19T16:09:00.006+11:00

Things have been percolating softly all through the blistering heat of January and the disappointing rain of February. The very-nearly band found a drummer, there were sweet summer romances popping up like mushrooms, and punk monk continued to coalesce under the warehouse swelter.

We made this in the rain on Valentine's Day:

You Are Not Bleeding from punk monk propaganda on Vimeo.

It showed at Kino #23, alongside another punk monk film, Fakir Love, which Victoria filmed in the Knitting Factory in New York and did mostly on her lonesome (sound extra editing credits go rightly to Andy, a new punk). I love this little film. World Zombie Day documentaries with flying suspension dwarves get me every single time.

Fakir Love from punk monk propaganda on Vimeo.

lame

2008-12-16T15:44:00.002+11:00

Is when you bug people to come along to something that is usually really cool, and then on the night that they come, there's some lame shit ugly stuff that makes everyone uncomfortable, and they leave at intermission and miss your stuff.

Have Mercy

2008-12-12T10:51:00.002+11:00

Mercy Arms played last night at work. I was really impressed- definitely would have paid money to see them. Besides sounding pretty, they are genuinely interesting to stand in front of. Kirin Calunan is bjork and jarvis cocker's shirtless, bounding love child and lead singer Thom Moore is as engaging and understated as their tunes.

The crowd was small (though apparently their largest over this tour), only just over 200 folks by the looks of it, but o my sweet lady, weren't they shiny. I think I even saw a couple of spray tans in there. Which always look stupid in the rain.

There don't seem to be any videos online that really capture their live thing. This is sort of close, but probably better just to go to their myspace to get the feel-up.

messy christmas

2008-12-08T18:59:00.004+11:00

My flatmate shot down my brilliant idea to have a kiddy pool full of red and green jelly for festive wrestling purposes at our inaugral Christmas party. So now I need help in coming up with a new party activity, or maybe even several. Over the day the suggestions have evolved into a mass naked honey nut scrabble activity. I'm still taking suggestions.

I saw Baseball and the Mountain Goats over the weekend. Baseball seriously put shovel to dirt. The MG were pretty tired and their music isn't as energetic either, so it was kind of this warm up, cool down kinda gig. I had a good time. It wasn't too weird being there with the ex lover and i really like my new mountain goats shirt. It's long in the body the way that doesn't make me look like I want to show my belly button off to the streets and it looks like a white shirt that's gone through the wash with some bright red socks.

Also, I got namechecked on http://onlythemovie.com/. I need some kind of interpretive dance move that is half thankful-blush-for-reading-my-crap and half strut.

the you in every song

2008-12-05T12:09:00.002+11:00

I'm going to see the mountain goats tonight. My little brother first introduced me to "No Children" years ago and I've loved their yearning, witty, apocalyptic folk ever since.

The ex lover will be there tonight and that's a little weird. Our song was "Old college try" and our breakup album was "Get Lonely". The music is pretty integrated into the way we grew into and out of each other.

I'm still learning whether there is music i can take with me or if some songs should be left in the past.

when the festival is over

2008-12-03T12:46:00.004+11:00

I saw Only and Tout Est Parfait last night at the last night of the Possible Worlds festival. At first the long, languorous trekking by Only's two adorable protagonists, Daniel and Vera, frustrated me. Then I realised that I recongised this maddening, horizonless feeling that was pressing on my chest. It felt like being a kid again, the future stretched out before you and a whole other future stretching out beyond the first. This beautiful, natural little film didn't just remind me of being twelve. I actually had some kind of physical chemical reaction and felt twelve again. Only also featured what has to be one of the best on-screen kisses I've ever seen. That kiss captured all of the awkwardness and the uplifting joy that comes with every peircing transformation in that magical period of pre-adolescence.

In fact, if the little boy had been sitting on the swing and the little girl had run away straight afterwards, it would pretty much have been a faithful dramatic re-enactment of my first kiss. I think his name was Sean. I've lost all my diaries from that time.

The soundtrack from this film was brilliant as well- I'm not sure if this is the name I read on the credits, but I've been listening to these guys today and it's a similar sweetheart-indie kind of sound, so it does give you the general vibration. http://www.myspace.com/theenvelopes

The night began in innocence, and then Tout Est Parfait ripped it out from beneath us in the most achingly beautiful way. This story of suicide, friendship, and family was a delight to watch. The conversations afterwards were just as challenging. One person suggested to me that it was so difficult for many people to watch because it simply cut too close to the bone- the bone being their own suicidal thoughts or attempts. I've never, ever contemplated suicide personally. I don't think I'm hard-wired for it. I found I reacted to the film in the same way that I react to death generally; I find the ceremonies of death intensely life affirming, intoxicatingly so. Some of the people I watched it with had the opposite reaction, like the film was a portal window into some kind of terrifying abyss. We were all drunk on our own wildly disparate emotions afterwards, which I think might be the mark of universality.

The journey from the discovery of childhood to the pain of adulthood was a testament to Matt and Marianne's hard work. Anyone can put on a party- but creating moments in people's lives where they walk out feeling more excited about the possibilities of the immediate future is a gift, and one we are blessed to be able to share with them all year round.

Young People Fucking

2008-12-01T14:29:00.002+11:00

Check out our pregame:

Photography by Victoria Waghorn.

The Crunch

2008-11-27T11:38:00.007+11:00

I've decided that due to The Crunch, and exchange rates and other factors, that I can't make it over to DC in January. Which sucks.

But on the upside I scored a free trip up to Byron in January instead.

Life lesson learnt today: Recession = free hippy holidays.

Punk Monk Propaganda is taking off too- crazy US distribution deals, an awesome new partnership with the very funky Scream Kings, a radio show, and a galaxy of really exciting projects for the new year. I'm so much more comfortable when I have all of these moving and shifting horizons, they make it easier to live in the future.

Matt Ravier blogged a really great interview with Vic recently that explains everything we've been up to and where we're heading. It's a long read but a good read.

Dermot and I are screening the emergency film that we had to write yesterday morning in the cab and shoot five minutes after writing when the brothel fell through AGAIN. I'm still really passionate about our original 1 minute silent sex film idea and hopefully we can use the idea in the coming months. Pending a few compression hiccups it should be screening at the sold-out Young People F**king tomorrow night with other kino 1MSSFs. Our film is called Afterglow.

Here are some screencaps of the film. The actress is Donna Hogan.

2008-11-24T15:32:00.001+11:00

this is my favourite song of all time. i only just discovered this vers today.

wildhearts and onions

2008-11-21T04:45:00.002+11:00

two things i discovered tonight:

-I am more than a little bit in love with the wildhearts. They played at my work tonight and I was all starry-eyed, especially to "beautiful thing, you". Apparently they trashed kerrang's office one time in the 90's. Only about 200 people turned up tonight though- how do folks not know of this band? I thought they were the kind of half-remembered buried thing that funkyindietypes got off on. I've got this sneaking suspicion that indie is a high school clique rather than a scene anymore.

-If you try to eat your cold half-kebab hours after you put it down in front of the computer, all you taste is onions.

metallic

2008-11-20T13:02:00.003+11:00

i find metal music one part relaxing, two parts fascinating, one part beautiful and three parts owch.

recession = poledancers

2008-11-18T16:11:00.003+11:00

According to this: http://tinyurl.com/6mcj4c

I imagine they'll be spilling out onto the streets of London soon. Twirling backwards from traffic lights. Trapezing from street lamps. Get ye to London, financial lost puppies. There's gonna be a few openings in the sex industry.

i look like astroboy

2008-11-14T12:25:00.003+11:00

reactions to the new haircut, which was kind of a happy result of a language gap between me and the cutter:

"Did they install rocket boosters in your feets as well??"
"You'll always be beautiful to me..."
"But you like it, right?"

International Space Travel and Katie's First Hooker Pad

2008-11-12T16:41:00.005+11:00

katiedyd: i'm going to an inauguration party on January 20th, i've decided.
internet: so? once again, you've proven yourself utterly unremarkable.
katiedyd: i'm going to one in DC! with sophie, who i haven't seen since London two years ago!
internet: i can be in DC whenever i want. i am all places, always.
katiedyd: fuck you, internet.
internet: omnipresent network-state trumps psychotic bouts of schizophrenic internal dialogue, always.

In another episode of "You're not quite as grown up as you think you are, KT" (that's the last time I'll refer to myself in the third this post, promise), I went to my first brothel this morning. I was location scouting for one of our one minute silent sex films that we're throwing together as part of the Possible Worlds Canadian Film Festival here in Sydney. If all goes well, then our films will screen before the screening of Young People Fucking. Anyway, this place was the location to end all locations. Pink walls, leopard skin carpet, faux-luxx rooms with showers and porn screens, the lot. It is seedy, loveless sex on a pancake. One of my mates is one of the girls there at the moment and she showed me around. That was an intense emotional experience in itself. I love that girl, and not just because she's a location goldmine this week. I was really touched that she'd reveal that part of her world to me. So hopefully everything goes well and we can get it into post in time for the deadline next week.

I love experiences that change the way you look at the most ordinary day-to-day happenings. My friend said that before anyone considers going into the profession, she says to them "Look around a train carriage. If you can't get past the fact that you're implying consent with all of them, then this isn't the job for you." I will never, ever look at a trainful of men the same way again. Or a shop-rack full of shoes after seeing the collection of platforms that this place had.

nessie huntin' eve

2008-10-22T16:44:00.003+11:00

I realised today that not having a couple of quick-witted workmates around at the podjob has dulled my senses. I used to have to work to get the first call in. Now I'm just spinning around on my own, with a few satellite funny folk, without anyone to force my moves earlier and earlier. I think this has made me lazy.

I've been working my mothertrucking fanny hide off trying to get everything done around the podjob lately. But as of this arvo, I have one entire blissful week off. And it doesn't eaven eat into my annual leave. Which means I've somehow worked an entire week that didn't exist between May and now. I disgust myself sometimes.

So me and the flatties and their lovers and a few others off to Lake Conjola to go catch Nessie, like this guy did:

not dead

2008-10-20T17:49:00.001+11:00

and not trying.

tra la la

2008-10-09T17:05:00.003+11:00

I've been singing with this new acoustic sort-of band, which has been particularly fun. I sing to my friends when I'm drunk, and they like it at least half of the time. That's how I met Toni- I catterwalled within his ear range at a mutual friend's house warming. He is a guitarist and the apparent ringleader. Toni is a tall Lebanese boy with long and luscious curls who writes dark and miserable poetry and wants to be referred to as Lady Godiva on stage. I find this excellent.

The Sleeper

2008-10-03T16:46:00.003+10:00

Directed by me.
Shot and Edited by Dermot McGuire.

We're experimenting with using mobile phone cameras for cinematic projection, working with the lo-res instead of against it.

Soudtrack is Godspeed You! Black Emperor- "Sleep"

Warning: also contains me acting.

the sleeper

2008-09-29T15:12:00.004+10:00

Derm and Kate dip their toes into creating a film for big screens with a mobile camera. And yes, the second image is supposed to be upside down.

happy bar wench on vanity

2008-09-19T11:31:00.004+10:00

working the end of fashion gig tonight. I've been strapped to the pod for the last couple of days, so dancing behind the bar is going to be a well-deserved groove.

Shoot days for Miara, the narrative peice written by my favourite brasilian expat have been settled on, as well- first week in October. I think I've had sufficient rest from filming. After the insane first six months of this year, I needed a break. But I'm keen to get my AD boots back on and manage the bejezus out of you punk monk folk- and the ring in crew too. No one here is safe.

And while I do see the irony in saying this in a blog- I thought I was self-absorbed until I saw this this morning:

See more funny videos and TBT Videos at Today's Big Thing.

Kind of reminds me of the time that I left my new digital camera alone at home with my old flatmate. When I came home, there were 265 photos of her (the total capacity of the memory card), all taken from arms length. Apparently she didn't know how to delete them. I reckon she just ran out of space to take more.

kings and lovers

2008-09-17T13:48:00.004+10:00

the lover is not the lover anymore, hence my silence. He hasn't come home in about two weeks so I figure he's gone for good this time. It's been a brilliant, sparkling, ugly, crazy two years. Less said about that the better.

Been getting into the new KOL stuff as it comes out. Luckily I have a KOL obsessive at the podjob who is like my own personal KOL newswire. Being drip-fed use somebody was an undeniably pleasurable experience in a week of rather shit ones.

In more abstract and interesting news than all of that, here's yet another article that is pointing towards the pheonix rising of vinyl. To me, it makes perfect sense to buy the vinyl if you're going to purchase music at all. The sound quality argument has been around since day dot, but to my mind, the worth of buying music in a physical form rather than just as a sound file online is in its artifact status. And if the product ceases to be the music itself and starts to become the physical artifact, then why wouldn't you buy the vinyl? There's simply more room for the graphic design, the lyrics and the credits. In other words, all of the tasty merchandising that somehow makes the relationship between the fan and the artists all the more rich.

On that note, this is what I was 'tubin today:

cool kitten

2008-09-04T16:53:00.002+10:00

one good thing about the podjob, discounting the fact that they make me wear shoes indoors, is that sometimes the dude that sits next to you will say, "hey, you've gotta see this kid i met last night," and show you clips like this.

what have jaffas taught YOU today?

2008-09-04T10:49:00.004+10:00

I was disgusted to notice this morning that I've actually started thinking in status updates when I'm in front of my work computer. I haven't eaten any breakfast yet, mostly because I was a zombie this morning after working at the bar last night. I had a few leftover strawberries and cream lollies and some jaffas, so I ate all six of those and washed them down with the leftover sunkist that was also in my bag from last night. Then into my brain pops the gramatically incorrect phrase "really wants breakfast". Or it would be grammatically incorrect, had my brain not hardwired the fact that I don't need to put in a definite article to define myself or even conduct my (let's face it, SCINTILATING) internal dialogue in the present tense anymore when I'm sitting in the podchair. Facebook and Twitter do that for me. So it is official: I have become Katiebot, only able to function with the assistance of computational devices, and as such, exist permanently in the past tense.

All of the experimental witch stuff is up on the www for the entire netty universe to see. You can check them all out here. Ours was Heron Ryan, the first one on the list, with the emo-looking tearful eye of an AJ.

In other news, I am totally in lust with Billie Piper again. That sexy period detective thing she did is eclipsed by the eye-whipping that is Confessions of a Call Girl. I am not a TV person, and I'm definitely not the kind of person who can commit to being at home at the same time, week in, week out for a whole television season, but this may be the show that breaks me. I'd like to think that all this robotic becoming is rubbing off on my under-developed ability to keep to some semblance of a routine.

steering clear of conflict? discord? unrest?

2008-08-28T15:33:00.002+10:00

not our annointed leader. he's avoiding 'argy bargy', according to the video clip from the Advertiser.

teh 'dance

2008-08-27T16:17:00.002+10:00

oh yeah- our film totally made it in for the Experimental Witch Project.

Which has been preselected for the 'dance. You read correctly. THE 'DANCE.

Our director was Aaron March, and we did Heron Ryan- scroll down on the experimental witch link above to see his name on the winner's list.

pretty chuffed.

Saving for a ticket to Utah, starting, now.

brand new hate

2008-08-27T14:43:00.002+10:00

my flatmate loves these guys.

i argue that the line "use my body while i sleep" is a loaded one upon first listen. Apparently I'm an asshole because he's singing to some sick friend.

besides that he sounds like a whingy, whingy teenager.

media in the pub

2008-08-27T13:44:00.004+10:00

I've been to a couple of conferences this year through the podjob that have discussed the bloggers v citizen journalists v traditional journalists. Usually they descend into petty name calling. Apparently these events don't happen often enough for everyone to have their say, because there was a whole new public rant night yesterday evening. I went along before the production meeting with my punksters. I was expecting more of the same old rivalry between content producers, but I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised. There was only one dude who thought calling non-journalists 'morons' was the most productive way forward, and it was met by a satisfyingly comic "oooooooohhh". I also dug the fact that there were a lot of online entrepreneurs there with an equal voice to the journos. It was refreshing to hear all of these voices within the one conversation.

Now I'm not a journalist, a professional blogger or a citizen journalist. The podjob is in more of a service industry where I'm expected to give a professional assessment of the media to government and business. My job wouldn't exist if journalists were always fair and unbiased. So I find it pretty entertaining when journos sound off about how anyone other than a journalist writing content is diving in untrained, uneducated and highly biased. While the bias is definitely there, and is often more pronounced than in print media, I don't agree with the suggestion that the writers are uneducated. Oftentimes they are highly experienced in their field.

As for training, I think that there are multiple signs pointing towards the need to teach kids journalistic ethics from the word go as part of their civics lessons.

Later, went on to pow-pow about the music video. When I got there, I found out that the project had been canned momentarily, so we started rapping about a new narrative magical realism short that we'll pick up next month. No camping for that one, which is way too awesome.

My four days "off" weren't as hermit as I'd been hoping. I didn't sleep in my bed once. Too many parties. I'm up a couple of new friends but down my white jacket- I loved that thing, and some klepto took advantage and lifted it from the Eaton St party on saturday night. I'm hoping that seeing as we all have mutual friends involved, that they would have the COMMON HUMAN DECENCY to NOT BE LAME and return my jacket.

colin the dead girl-whale

2008-08-22T23:01:00.002+10:00

I've only got 10 minutes or so; I'm on my break from the bar and have to be back amonsgt "hardcore" lovin' bogans in ten minutes, so my confusion will have to be brief.

Colin- Sydney- WTF??

Have you all gone mental?? It's a WHALE. Its mother left it to die. The other whales could hear the baby crying and decided to leave it be. That is nature.

I get that we shouldn't be intentionally horrible to animals. Those koala leg-hackers in Queensland should be locked up. But I just can't see the sense in girls rushing red-eyed out of office buildings around the city hiccupping about a whale that they'd never even seen. It's not your pet, lady. Man up.

I heard this arvo that someone was actually planning on erecting a MEMORIAL STATUE of the creature.

And my choice line of the coverage tonight?

"If Steve Irwin was here, he'd be ashamed."

Speaking of dead pets, Lara's work fish died today. I can understand the sadness there. A relationship was developed and it is now over. So RIP all swimming things that died today.

beach house and hair dye

2008-08-22T15:04:00.003+10:00

Kait and I dyed our hair last night. She got purple dye ALL OVER MY FACE. So we tested my ex-hairdresser's theory that purfume takes it off and it worked a trick. My hair's not bright purple, it's kind of black that really wants to be purple. Hers is MJ from Spiderman red.

After the hair dying debarcle and with purple dye still conspicuously all over my hands, I rushed over to the hoey for a mexican food-and-dreampop adventure evening with Ky. I was actually more impressed with Bachelorette- this too-sweet chick with a thick NZ accent and a couple of old computer monitors set up with some pictures and some sound waves coming off them. Her voice is pretty good too, and I liked some of her soundscapy stuff. Her lyrics didn't grab me but I liked her show. Beach House were kind of the opposite... loved their music but their banter broke the spell. Which is such a shame because that girl has the most delicious speaking voice. It's a shame that she didn't say anything interesting. She had this odd way of saying something banal that made me feel really uncomfortable. A feeling not unlike that horrid sinking panic that you feel for someone when the traffic blows their skirt up and they still have to stand there waiting for the pedestrian light with all the people that saw their knickers.

Oh, the food at the hopetoun's upstairs bit Rider did not disappoint. Get the warm king prawn salad with chorizo and slow roasted tomatoes. My lord. Sex in a salad. (p.s. I was looking for their website and this review came up- holy fuck, if you don't like carlton, go without a drink for two hours, and you're lucky they served your beer in perspex. It reduces the chances of you getting glassed for being a wanker.)

We're doing a film clip for MzAnnThropik in september too, which I'm quite excited about. We have to camp out near warragamba dam the night before the first day of shooting. I hate camping. I'm planning to steal the backseat of whatever vehicle we arrive in. We also need a shitload of shagpile carpeting- so Internet, if you have any or know where to get it cheap, let me know.

Meanwhile, in today's podjob tubing I noticed that Sean Kingston's Beautiful Girls film clip has been watched over 45 million times. That boggles my mind.

things katie doesn't understand about the lover, Vol 23. Ch 14, abridged version

2008-08-20T22:25:00.003+10:00

katie: I just listened to the slow side of Songs Not To Be Misconstrued all the way through for the first time in… ages, and I can't believe you ended on "the blowers daughter" and actually expected me not to come running back to you like a little girl
the lover: it wasn't tactical. the large majority of that playlist was complete long before we attempted to part ways... i can't help but feel that some of the songs that were late inclusions may been the result of that tumultuous period during the winter of 2007.
katie: I'm glad we're not tumultuous this winter. We've proved we can be happy in the cold.
the lover: as long as the electric blanket is on. metaphor? no

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ThuXEDvCZk

wanker words

2008-08-20T11:00:00.002+10:00

reportage.

every time someone says/writes it I want to say "REPORTS! REPORTS! REEEEEPORRRRRRTS!" like some kind of under-stimulated geek child to an intellectually barren third grade teacher.

underground serenade

2008-08-19T11:10:00.005+10:00

Last night I was coming back from a production meeting in Kings Cross, on the very steep escalators from the Bondi line platform to the underground level at central, where I met some boys. They were drunken and cheerful and lost. I thought our exchange ended at the escalators ("Do you wanna come dancing with us??" "Nah, I'm on my way home, thanks though" etc), but as I was walking away one of them started singing Savage Garden at the top of his lungs ("I want to stand with you on a mountain, etc") and all his friends joined in.

I've never had a chorus of boys from Byron Bay serenade me with a 90's pop song in a train tunnel before. I smiled a bit, and blushed a bit, and gave them directions to Scubar.

This wasn't as weird as when I went to get dinner for the girls on Saturday night and a dude in a car on the opposite side of King St yells out to me triumphantly, like he'd just found a damsel in distress and was announcing to her that All Was Okay, For He Was Here Now: "Girl with the red bag and the yellow shoes: you look like my ex girlfriend!"

no time for polaroids

2008-08-09T11:51:00.004+10:00

So I haven't been writing lately because I haven't had time to do anything that I do for myself. The podjob has been very stimulating. Like prolonged electroshock therapy. Or having day-old bruises punched.

Actual-eye, I haven't written since kino kabaret. Fun, but not as cool as last time, when I met all the punk monk crew. This time was far more intense, making more, but (for me, anyway) making less, because what you create isn't really of quality when you have less that 40 hours to produce something and you decide that working that week would be an awesome idea. I was more burn out than fire of inspire. But the up-side was that I got to work with a bunch of different people every day, so at least I met up with some great people. The parties were rad.

We had a housewarming. Lara nearly called the law on Kaitlyn. Sometimes I feel like the babysitter and I need to stop taking on guilt when other people are creating very bad vibes. I've just been so on edge because of podjob pressure that I can't take shit from friends, and my skin is thinning with every hour I don't spend in bed. Not fair to everyone around me, because I don't even have the energy to get mad, I just feel real hurt and walk away real sad about how selfish people can be. Which doesn't make the world better in any way, and I'm just as bad as them for being silent. That's not all about my flatmates, by the way. It's about everyone, everywhere. I just can't cope with humans the last few weeks.

My mind feels really disconnected from my surroundings at the moment, and I'm ignoring all my body's pleas to slow the motherfucking train down. I need a break. Need to go to the desert and scream into the sand.

In some good news, we got shortlisted for the experimental witch. Would love to show you the trailer, but AJ won't give me the link because he thinks it looks so shit in 4:3. So in twelve days of finger crossing, we should know our fate on that one.

Did have time for just one polaroid. I envy Raen's bejewelled camera that develops so magically in front of your eyes. Images without screens are so human. In the good way.

spit 'tubing

2008-07-07T11:44:00.002+10:00

So whenever I have something mundane to do at the podjob, I listen to youtube clips. I understand that this is somewhat like a blind man listening to his VCR, but I started off by listening to music clips and playing youtube DJ with some folk at my place of employ. So the progression to not-watching comedy and then not-watching visual media that was clearly intended for watching was swift.

Anyway, lately I've been hankering for some harp and I found this guy, who is my current spit-guru:

I passed this dude around to a few select podders and one of them came right back at me with this guy, who is my new personal hero:

there's fire

2008-07-06T22:29:00.003+10:00

I can't wait until I'm living in a house where people smoke outside, like the chimney stacks that they are.

leaving home and moving on

2008-07-04T23:51:00.002+10:00

I'm reporting from some kind of black hole vortex where all of my past possessions and high school pain have crash-landed in my lounge room. Somehow I've managed to stack all of my worldly artifacts into categorised piles in the lounge room floor like some kind of deranged librarian AND have a mind-fuck online closure session with the guy who taught me that guys can be dicks.

First things first- we found a home. It meets all of our desires- white walls, you fall out of bed and onto King St, courtyard, no evidence of poltergeists, and a CLOTHESLINE (!!). Big ticks all down the desire page. It even has a spa bath, which was not on our dreamy-house wish list, but is accepted graciously from the realestate gods nonetheless. We move in in 8 days. We'll be having a "Loveshack" themed house warming in the first week of August. Hence my shit-stacking. I've GOT to start throwing stuff out more. Faster, pussycat, cull! cull!

Anyway, in amongst all this stacking I'm on facebook, as is my nerdish wont, and this guy that i've known since we were ye big gets chatting. When I was 14 i thought this guy was incredibly sexy and he used to do some very unreligious things to me under the desk in 9th grade religion class. He had turned into one of the cool kidz though and I was your garden-variety geek with early-developing tits. This apparently justified him totally ignoring me or openly teasing me out of class. I really liked him and it was a big thing for me at 14. He taught me the valuable lesson that people who want you for sex don't necessarily give a shit about your feelings. Anyway, that was years ago and I was over it by the time year 10 rolled around. Still, i guess it was what you'd call a formative experience.

We never kept in contact- i don't really talk to anyone from high school on a regular basis- but this facebook thing is there and now you can chat on it, so when he said hey tonight i said hey back. We've done this polite, shiny white facebook heying before and it's been pretty unremarkable. Then tonight in the middle of the banal you-could-be-anyone smalltalk, he launches with how he'd been thinking about it and that he was really sorry he was a dick to me in high school. I honestly hadn't thought about it all for nearly a decade but as soon as he apologised I remembered how wretched unrequited puppy love made me feel at the time. And the apology meant a lot.

Tonight's lesson- unexpected closure feels awesome, especially when you thought you were already closed. And throwing out three years worth of your crap makes you feel simultaneously librarian and kind of evilly materialistic. Mayhaps someone will call in ten years time and apologise for letting me get my room into such a farking state.

the yellow terrace and the kissing glass bird

2008-07-01T10:14:00.003+10:00

Lara is moving in with us too now... I'm excited about this house. Propelling, exciting, creative electricity. What they used to call "good vibes" in the olden days before it was a munter party in a park. We're checking out a bright yellow terrace today with a white picket fence. With any luck the bedrooms aren't cupboards under the stairs.

I've also got a new rule: only speak about what I've done, not what I'm going to do. More mystery, less dissapointment.

Got a job at the Gaelic pulling beers, which should be pretty sweet- free music, actual physical work, it all feels so wholesome. I'm sure it won't feel so wholesome in a couple of weeks when my barwenching shoes are all sodden. But I needed something to distract me from the office, and, y'know, pay for the sinful lifestyle I've been leading.

My director Mr B and the production company therein have a new home, so documentary stuff is on the backburner, burning slowly but brightly. Which is good because everything else this week has been moving like a greased pole dancer.

the kissing glass bird-

kino and the hunt begins

2008-06-25T12:02:00.003+10:00

Both 'foreign film' and 'Mine Demons, Mine Own' screened on Monday night at Kino. Everyone seemed to dig it, so that was cool. Black and Blue Gallery was my big discovery of the evening though- I want to have all my parties there. The bathroom has a skull-design shower curtain, there's two sexy columns to frame the projection, and it's got an awesome view out over the city. Stealing simon's good work again. I really need to start downloading my own photos, I'm about three months behind.

K-blonde and I are going to check out a couple of appartments this week- we are the huntresses of real estate rentals.

foreign film update

2008-06-20T11:17:00.008+10:00

I took yesterday off the office job to sleep and spend some face-time with the lover, who has been mysteriously absent during the week. It would be justafiable if he was blowing me off for cheap booze and loose women, but i'm pretty sure it was just long sleepins with the bed to himself and online blackjack. Either way, spending time together yesterday was really fun. This 'couple that sleep on the same time rhythm' thing could catch on. Watch out, nation.

Due to my sleeping all day I edited the challenge film all night. It's alright. The light was making the focus do crazy focus things that I didn't notice on the wee camera display and for some reason the lover imported it into imovie instead of FCP, so I think something was lost in the translation copying the clips over. So it has a gentle fuzz to it. Which may or may not look monumentally shizen when it's projected. Either way, the costumes looked cool, as you can see from Vic's far more focused still shots. Despite my technical anti-skillz, you can't argue with Vic and Stevie's bangin production design. I'll post the little monster after the screening.

post script: actually, these particular shots are pretty representative of the focus thing. Softly, softly...

Leaving home

2008-06-19T02:38:00.002+10:00

Last night, promptly six hours after deciding it would be so, I told my flatmates that I was moving out with K-Blonde. I have no problems with moving, but it's going to hurt financially. I didn't realise that I had such a great deal where I currently am.

I'm not only worried about the financial side, I'm genuinely sad about leaving the place. I've been here for going on four years now, since I was at uni. My bedroom is the most square feet that I've ever had to call my own. My mural made out of postcards and general colourful life-souvenirs that spreads over one corner will have to be taken down.

First time I slept with someone who wasn't my boyfriend was in that room. First queen bed. First time someone played me a song they'd written about me.

It was in that room that I hid in while my flatmates raged on outside. It was in that room that Dominique and I made a mattress land that we both could live in for the last weeks while we saved to go to London. It was in that room that I searched like a zombie for my led zepp albums on the Sunday night that Scott died, in case Dad wanted to play any of those songs that we listened to at his funeral. And I'm pretty sure it was in that room that I managed to tell the lover that I loved him. It was definitely the place that he broke up with me the most often.

So anyway, I've become a deflated trawler of realestate.com, trying to find the next room of first times. A decent bathroom and kitchen thrown in is apparently too much to ask these days, though.

long weekend

2008-06-10T11:48:00.003+10:00

F: BdR
S: Come Together- british india, VHS or Beta, Y & R, o my.
S: Come Together- but colder, and wetter, with a bit more tea and a bit less pop. Living End were a nice throwback to high school. Hit the Agincourt and danced it off.
M: made "Foreign Film" for Kino. Vic and Stevie put together some bangin' mod costumes for Kaitlyn, James and Leticia. Troopers.

teething

2008-05-29T11:01:00.003+10:00

I have one wisdom tooth that's bustin' on through in a really painful manner... went to the doc last night and he was rather blase about the whole thing. Apparently my tooth isn't some kind of rabid alien spawn trying to force its way into my brain through the back of my jaw, it's a normal, albeit kinda giant, human tooth growing upwards in my mouth the way nature divined. Which would be cause for great comfort if it wasn't making me so damned uncomfortable.

Something exciting and adventurous may well be happening at work... shhhhh for now. But it's making me bounce (silently) all over the room like a puppy that swallowed a fairy on meth.

Working on the poker doco this weekend, which is another cause of my bounce-owch my jaw!-bounce refrain. I've never really been a poker player, but B, the director and all-round champion of the project, has been putting me through Hold 'em 101 in the last few weeks. The game is fun but what appeals to me the most is the way the old gamblers speak about their profession. There's an old-world gentleman's code of war about the way they strategise, play and make deals, and a hypnotic romanticism to the way they talk about risk and loss. Daddy, when I grow up I wanna marry a hustler.

sweet child o mine

2008-05-22T08:33:00.004+10:00

Yes, this is my new bambino.

totally... in... love.

Should

2008-05-21T00:27:00.000+10:00

work some

alas

there are too many interesting things to see

Kino #13 was rock and we were all remarkably well behaved at the pub afterwards, in that no one got jacked off under a table this time- or maybe people are just getting subtler about it.

I accepted a challenge film for the first time. A challenge film is where the audience or the hat chooses your topic for your next film. The hat handed down my fate in the form of a white strip of paper with "FOREIGN FILM" written on it. I've scraped together the bones of a script from my sickbed today.

Kino #13, from the POV of the fan. Will be a bit strange not going to the chalkhorse any more.

winemouse

2008-05-19T14:08:00.000+10:00

Maybe i should try the baby mouse thing next time the lover tries to leave.

I never thought i'd hear pete doherty say wiggedy wibble, but there you go.

Bonde

2008-05-19T11:51:00.000+10:00

I can't fucking wait for these guys to hit sydney on the 6th... then come together festival on the 7th and 8th. Trying to bug Kaitlyn to come with me to BdR. Henceforth known as the Queen's Wild Weekend

Spoiler

2008-05-19T11:04:00.000+10:00

I went down to my grandma's on the weekend with my brother, which gave me the chance to finish off the book I'd been trying to read for six weeks but had been interrupted by my involvement in the local Witch of Portobello Experiment (our team did Heron's Story. I'll post the youtube clip for the entry I worked on when it's up online) and throwing together two films for Kino Sydney, Cut Off, directed by me, and Mine Demons, Mine Own, the Surgical Sideshow collaboration directed by Victoria.

Anyway, the book I'd been trying to read was Karoo by Steve Tesich. Generally, it's an entertaining story, but it started off so masterfully that I thought I was reading some kind of new american classic. Then the ending died in a hole in a way that you can't help comparing to James Joyce and finding rather sparse and angsty in comparison. It's such a shame because most of the book was really enjoyable, then Tesich goes and ruins it. I spent about two hours cursing him for coming up with such an indulgent wank of an ending.

Still, you should read it. At the very least, so that I have someone to commiserate with.

Corrupt Hieroglyphics

2008-05-15T11:15:00.000+10:00

So I stayed up until 3am making the call sheet a work of organisational art.

Then I find out this morning that the fucking 90 day trial on my flatmate's laptop only sent corrupt hieroglyphics to everyone and I have to try to do the whole thing today in my lunch hour. I know I've been a fragile sooky la la this week, but that was just a cruel twist, Computer Jesus.

On the upside, this is all in aid of the rather enormous amount of fun we'll be having making a delectably demented short film piece with whacked performance artists Surgical Sideshow tonight. At midnight no less, coz that's apparently how the sideshow freaks roll.

Surgical Sideshow are like a nightmarish silent children's pantomime show, where the oversized demons like to perform random acts of surgery and sometimes eat foam entrails. Pretty jazzed to be working with them. And of course my Punk-Monk Propaganda production tribe.

Songs Not To Be Misconstrued

2008-05-14T12:57:00.000+10:00

The lover made this 2-CD mixtape for me approximately the third time we broke up last year... actually, he threw it together before that, but then left the CDs in the Mcdonald's paper take-away bag that he packed the rest of my possessions in. It was called Songs Not To Be Misconstrued because some of them were love songs and he didn't want me to get the impression that he felt that way about me. It's this definitional disease that he has.

I haven't listened to it all the way through in a while but that's what I'm doing today.

Work is still shit and it's not made any better by the fact that all my friends have left or are leaving.

This is one of the best songs off the mixtape. The alcoholic couple in his songs are pretty reflective of the way we work, generally, but this is one of the sweeter choons.

Emergency

2008-05-13T12:19:00.000+10:00

Sometimes, you're sitting at work, hating the unbeautiful meniality of some task but simultaneously enjoying re-listening to the diablo cody/ john cusak myspace artist-on-artist. Then you hear the south-pacific accented Voice of God come over the PA and warn you that the next annoying interruption to the day he just interrupted is going to be the emergency test sirens. Which then blare, despite the total lack of emergency.

As you sit there with the unheard dulcet tones of john cusack warming your earphones pointlessly under the blown-out hypersiren, you realise that maybe the universe was trying to tell you that the real emergency was the long silence that you'd maintained online since about 2004 when the most interesting thing you had to say was 'i'm so glad i'm not pregnant... again'.

And then just as you're feeling like maybe you achieved something today by having a virtual brain-vomit, the Voice of God announces that the emergency test is over, a good ten minutes after it actually was over.

I've never heard one of the security guys at the front desk actually use that accent anyway. I'm pretty sure one of them is an unemployed voice over artist who likes to spread his wings by making my ears bleed once every couple of weeks.