Another post about Smoko.

Smoko, Smoko, Smoko.

Camping Joy!

Yeah, PARTY IN MY BUSH! (My mother's going to be so dissapointed if she ever reads this)


Tomorrow Stasia, her brother and I head up to Smoko to live on gin and limes for a weekend.


Here is a list of what I imagine it is going to be like:

• Stasia and I will drink gin and lie down

• There will be a lot of bands that you've never heard of

• At some point people will get naked and dance

• Lots of boys from bands will try to kiss me

• I will maintain my ever elegant appearances and grace despite not having a shower for two days

• It will be very well organised

• Stasia may try to do things to me while I'm sleeping

• I might like it

• I will change my mind about how much I like it and run off with Kim to a B&B in Bright where they have showers and beds and breakfasts and expect Kim to pay.


When I return I will give you another list detailing what it was really like and you can live vicariously through me. Maybe I will even take notes while I'm there and write a proper review for a street mag and finally launch myself into the career I am destined for; proffessional party correspondant.



I still haven't found my sleeping bag.

Jenni's Sleeping Bag: Do you have it?

Yeah, this'll teach me for sleeping around huh? ( My dad's already made this jibe so you don't need to... and why would I take my sleeping bag anyway?!)

...

Has anyone seen my sleeping bag?

It's blue-green on the outside and rusty red on the inside. Has a hood and should be stuffed inside a black compresable bag.

I haven't been camping since Meredith and I know I didn't leave it in the paddock there. I'm pretty sure I've left it in somebody's lounge room after crashing on a couch drunk in the early morning hours.

I want to go to Smoko on Friday and Meredith again soon and I think my sleeping bag will come in handy at both these events. So maybe you could just check your cupboards, under your beds, floor etc. Maybe it looks a lot like your sleeping bag except... maybe it's a little bit better than your sleeping bag... but maybe you think I'm kinda alright and maybe you are also alright and know that you should really return it now. I promise I won't look at you funny, I know how these things can hang around (I still need to return Simon's book, "Magic and Witchcraft", before he goes to Shanghai).

All I really care about is getting it back cos it was really expensive and my granny died in it.

Love

Jen
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooooooooooooooooooo

PS: If I find you at Smoko or Meredith in a bag that looks suspiciously like mine ... just watch out.

Smoko Details

There will be time, there will be ...

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow...

Hello friends and friendly readers.

Better look here for more stuff on Smoko Fest, they have details on how to get there, what to bring and what to do etc... and I ain't giving you nothin at the moment.

And you can bring your friends , if they are ok
If they aren't then maybe you are not ok and maybe you should just stay at home... or you can go to that rave that is happening at the show grounds on Saturday night with Simon Toppin instead.

I am going up on Saturday (1st Dec) sometime. Wanna come? I can drive and my car is alright. I think I might have room in my tent for one or two too ... Stasia?...



What a way to break in Summer huh?

whenever it snows

" ...no, it was very quiet at ACMI today, not even Goonlight guy* was there...oh, except Tim Rogers came in and frolicked in the Memory Grid for a bit, so it was really just me and Tim Rogers in the Memory Grid and ... blahblahdiblah blah..."



(beat boxing space bandit passes between)

"You aren't very responsive today Simon"

...
























"Sorry, I was just looking at this person that went past wearing a t-shirt that had 'whatever' printed in huge letters across the front...what were you saying?"




















* Mean no ill-respect here Pony, it's just how my friends know of you (provider of affordable Friday night's entertainment).

Smoko Music Festival

Some friends of friends of mine are organising their own little music festival

It's basically a bunch of friends having a weekend-long party on somebody's parent's land.

Lots of bands
Lots of friends
A pretty piece of earth I hear, trees, creeks and fresh air
Sausages and Beer
Even toilets!
Somody said something about prerolled joints for $2

Bands playing as according the scrap of paper I was handed last Wednesday night at a party*:

Actions of Love
Aurora
Gnomes of Zurich
Johnny Saw Horses (TBC)
You am I
Battles
Bjork

And more!


Might be the start of something
Might not
Should be good either way






Maybe I will see you there.

More information might come.

I'll write sentences when I've finished my essays.


*Subject to change

Downtime

I am trying to pass a university degree that is perfectly impractical
but proportionately appropriate
for me.

I am about to complete an entire semester's worth of work in three weeks because I am ever the enfant terrible and marvelously gifted.

My social life is in lockdown as I enter my personal and self-perscribed study bootcamp run by the most sadistic bitch of them all, me. Having only my own brain to storm with is a bit like being armed with a spoon and told to dig... your own grave, but I like to think of this sort of self-flagellation as a path to inspiration.

I promise pictures and poetry when the essay marathon is over.

I also intend to station myself at Black Cat for much of this summer, commensing the moment I hand in my final piece of work. You may flock to me or not as you wish... I think I will do other things too but this is not the time for big dreams. Right now, it's just me, a spoonbrain, and a whole lot of earth that needs to moving.

Nuts

Today, for a break from study and essay churning, I cracked open some wallnuts and ate them.
That might be the most novel and indulgent thing I do all this weekend.

I love you Nick Cave; I hope you know that.

Text Message Received Last Night:

"It's taken a couple of episodes but I think I'm addicted to Deadwood. How was the show?"

Sent:

"He thrusted at me Simon. HE THRUSTED AT ME! My happiness is complete,"

Reply:

"I'm so happy for you! :) Was it right in YOUR FACE? I hope so."



And thus is my reveiw of the best show I have ever been to.

Been bad.

I've sort of gone into social hibernation at the moment, I've got some serious catching up on Uni to do.
This is because I've been tricked into working some extra long shifts at work over the semester "break", some of them 12hrs long and then I got sick so my one free day that I could have spent studying was spent in bed dreaming I was crossing the Sahara dessert with my milkplant addicted camel and strange northern lights that play music in the sky (feverdreams).

Actually that's a lie right there.

The reason I am behind in life more likely to be because of something like this:



Which lead to some things that looked a bit like this:



And this:



And so went I like this:



And did this



And all this



And it kinda desended from there into...



... I did manage to finish that bottle of vodka that I've got between my legs though...

And I went home with this:





And played stacks on with Serena and Trista while they were sleeping and I'll understand completely if they never want to speak to me again.

Also, I forgot my good friend, Liam's name for a bit ... that was more scary than awkward ... I hope he understands that I was having far to much trouble handling my own details to be concerned with anybody elses.

Person: So how old are you?

Me: Somewhere between 21 and 25.

Beat

Me: I don't know, you were at my birthday party!


I have some patching to do.

Fuck you Facebook, I've got shit to do!

I've gotta stop. You know you've got a problem when you realise you have to invent limits for yourself. Limits like, "Ok, I'm only allowed to look at Facebook once in a day and only if someone has sent me a message. Poking does not count as a message."

Does save me a fortune on mobile phone costs though. All the small essays I send people via sms can now stretch even longer and costs much less. And it's sort of good for when I decide to lock myself up for a few days of serious study and writing. Good for lessoning the guiltache of loneliness brought on by self-impossed isolation. *Poke*, oh, suddenly I still feel a part of it all.

But it's a little pathetic and unheatlhy. Most unproductive activity I think I have ever taken up since I reencarnated my entire family in the Sims and developed a steamy realationship with Xanana Gusmao in Sims Hot Date. It was really lovely while it lasted but now that's over sometimes I think that if I could have the summer of 2003 back I'd like to spend it differently.

Sometimes I really do feel a little overloaded and dumbed out by it all. Like I'm missing out on some bits of realness. Sometimes I feel like Morvern Callar with her sunglasses on and walkman taped to her while she disembodies her dead boyfriend in her bathtub. Sometimes i feel like I'm lost in space. It would be nice to be able to step back from all this buzzing information space and just be a little more conscious of the physical world for while.

It would be nice also then, to be able to contribute something to the real world. Maybe I'd like to build my own story rather than live inside all these other peoples' rent free.

...

Oh god, I do write an awfull lot of inane wank don't I?!

...

Cara has recently informed me that she too will soon be leaving me for Shanghai.

ok sunday

Look what I found.

I could do this forever

Dear person who made this,
Who are you?

The party was great

It really was.
You should have been there.

The house looked stunning. There was an indoor garden complete with astro turf and park bench. Georgia and her Industrial design buddies did wonders with the lighting. And Rob pretty much finished the building of the great cardboard dream.

My camera is busted so I have no pictures to show you.

But oh my god you should have seen the crowd. LOTS of beautiful indie boys leaning against doorways offering coy sideways glances, half checking you out, half checking if you are checking them out. I've never seen so many pairs of tight pants in one room before. (I think these were mostly the lovely Ben's friends). Plenty of pretty ladies swanning about in knockout party dresses (ME!*). Cool cats with talent aplenty rocked and beat us well into to night (Roza, your voice dazzles me! Liam, I want to have tenthousand of your babies if it's ok with Georgia. Simon, BEST SET EVA!). And I was well charmed by a few old favourites and surprise guest appearances.

Some of the presents I got:

• A copy of Anais Nin's Delta Venus
• A bottle of red
• Roses
• Nick Cave's Nocturama
• Black and white Wedgwood broach of an angel
• A fantastically ugly stuffed sock monster (an Anna Clarke handcrafted original)
• Sparkly Tights!
• China bird wistle you fill with water to make realistically annoying, high-pitch bird noises
• AN ENORMOUS RED BALL OF STRING!

The night went really damn well, so up yours all you people who imagined to worst possible scenarios for us.
The police didn't turn up once and I knew most of the people there... Well, I didn't know the guy smoking the crack pipe in the kitchen.

There were really only a few real jerks.

To the thoughtless cunts who pulled apart Georgia's shuttlecock flowers, did you know they were kinda famous and widley appreciated?

To the dickheads who stole all the pool balls, WHY?!

And to the pricks who completely destroyed my enormous red ball of string by unravelling it and spreading it all over the warehouse and up Sydney Road, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE and no I don't want to go for a walk and watch the sunrise with you EVER! We would have thrown you out of the house at 8am but stupidly we trusted you and let you stay after we went to bed. We even gave you fucking bed! That ball of string was given to me by a someone who also happens to be a good friend of one of your good friends, Marlee. Six degrees, Kevin Bacon.

Phew!

But apart from that it was a night I'm glad I'll remember for the rest of my life. Thankyou to everyone who came and made it good. And thankyou to everyone who wished me a Happy Birthday in all various forms, it really made my day.

love

XX




*It's my blog about my birthday, please just let me have this one.

Just come to my fucking party.

Shakespeare is Dead, Long Live Shakespeare!

I gave up on him in the end.
The perfectionist in me was well and truly bludgeoned by the end of it (R.I.P.).
But in death and endings there are also new beginnings.

A Clean Slate

Simon says that all our cells completely regenerate and replace themselves within seven years. "Every seven years we are new person," says Simon.

maybe

maybe every seven years we start again,
maybe just to do it all over again

...

Simon is leaving for Shanghai in December. Says he might stay for one year or six years depending on how things go. I might not see him ever again depending on how things go. The thought of this makes me go quiet. He says it is meant to be, (his leaving for Shanghai) his best friend aparantly had a prophetic dream about it when they were in high school. Can't really argue with prophets and dreams.

...

Leigh might be coming home soon

...

I am back at uni, only just. It's week two, but I just went to my first class today and even then I was an hour late. Not really sure how this happens. Maybe it's facebook.

Sometimes I feel a bit out of touch with the kids at in my classes. Had to explain the term 'a bit of rough' to my Women Writing B tute today. Only one other student had heard the phrase before and she seemed to be somewhere in her forties. Maybe I am finally getting old.

...

I'm planning a big birthday bash with Georgia at her warehouse. I'm turning 24 on the 22nd, Georgia is 21 on the 24th and we are celebrating on the 25 in the whalehouse. There will be bands and beautiful people. I might be dressed as bunny rabbit, depending on where the crotch sits. More details to come.

...

Had a fantastic weekend. Red wine with Georgia at Kent St seemed to make everything better. Liam introduced me to ginger wine in Cooper's pale and I'm eternally grateful for it. We went to a pool party held by PR execs (Liam's cousins). Or rather, we went to a houseparty that had a pool and went for a swim. A crowd gathered to watch us get undressed, but we were told we weren't allowed to go nudie by the host and eventually people got bored with us. However, I believe it deserves to be mentioned that my underwear was well recieved. One young lad went so far as to warn me that if I rolled a spliff in the pool his "mind would explode". We left shortly after somebody offered me $50 to parade through the house naked. It got tiresome, men that easily pleased are unsatisfying and too many started singing along to Alanis Morissette. We moved onto another party that didn't have a pool or PR execs but hairier faces and a more extensive playlist. We stayed for as long as we could stand to be outside at night in the middle of winter with wet hair.

Borrowed a bed on the floor beside Liam's drumkit in the warehouse. Drifted in and out of sleep to the tune of my mobile beeping as Rob sent me messages, wondering where I was, if I got home safely, not knowing I was hidden in the dark just metres away...hmmm.

...

I'm madly in love with all my friends. Every single one of them.

...

Unfortunate Coincidence

More and more I am finding this to be the case:

By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying —
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.
- Dorothy Parker (1893 - 1967)

And I just noticed that Dorothy and I share the same birthday - 22nd of August, except she was born 90 years before me. I'm probably Dorothy Parker reincarnated.

Maybe this means I will get a job writing for Vogue soon.

SAD

I think I will stay in bed today.
No, not all the hype of PIXAR at ACMI and the thought that I might disappoint Jim in my absense will drag me out.
I read an article about Seasonal Affective Disorder in the weekend papers and now I think I have it.
I think I need some sun. I don't get much of it these days. I'm usually up before it's light to spend a lot of time in office spaces without windows or occasionally in a dark gallery sharpening pencils in the children's corner. It seems the only spare time I have is in the dark and cold evenings which makes me just want to spend it curled up in bed with a comforting book and whatever cheap red will have me.

Been listening to a lot of Nick Cave lately
and finding meaning in taking pictures like this:




Simon says I should just think of all the infinate love, I'm not sure I know what that means or if I'd recognise it if it started humping my leg right now but it does sound nice.

Also I have an essay well and truely overdue. I kinda made it my life and now it seems I might be failing my life.

... and three parking fines unpaid



I blame the weather for this.

Blurry weekend

Got a little bit drunk with workmates on Friday afternoon, a good start.
Dragged Cara with me a whole three blocks from her house to Adam and Dell's opening. Everyone was very good looking, the beer was cheap and the art was a brilliant celebration of dreamy love and sleep which is just what I need. Kim arrived with not one but TWO pretty ladies who we joined again later at Bar Open. We also went to Shingles because apparently "that's where singles meet" and took photos of ourselves smoking. Also, one of Anna's friends thinks she might have shingles.



Went to Kim, Nathan and Casey's house for a party on a Saturday night that didn't seem to ever end.
Here is a picture of me enjoying a tumbler of Sacred Hill Cabernet Merlot.



I collapsed at what i thought was a sensible hour, 5am, and got up to go home at 10.30am to find the psytrance still pulsating through my body and beyond. I think their neighbours must have died in the night.


Simon and Stasia introduced me to a rather quaint little game called spots. Yes, perhaps we should just hot-knife EVERYTHING from now on.
Went to see Pat's play at Dante's on Sunday. There was a lot of offal on stage. There was also a lot of talk and immitation of necrophylia, but hey, that's cool. Pat was quite convincing as a sex crazed taxidermist, hmmm...

Blog is strarting to resemble a shopping list interspersed with video clips... might stop there and come back when I have more time to think of something substantial.

Typolution

This is what you would see if you cut open my head right now and looked inside.


Via: VideoSift

procrastinating again.

I think I may have a serious problem.
I don't do nothing I just do absolutely everything other than what I'm supposed to be doing.
Lately I have been re-reading nearly all the books I own, taking lots of very long baths, drafting plans for a radio show I'd like to present but probably won't get around to, collecting ideas for a film I'd like to write and produce but probably will never have the time or money to, re-evaluating my wardrobe just to raffirm that I cannot afford much at all, writing genius poetry that I can never show anyone and taking tea with myself a little too often.

I know it's all about choice
So why can't I just make it?
And then act on it?


"Should I kill myself or have a cup of coffee?"
- Albert Camus

This is kinda nice:

About the other night...

Welcome to the whalehouse

Let's mosey on down

Where can we find some men that are not entirely fucked in the heads but don't mind that we are?

What do you do?

Can you cook?

You are not like the girls in Sydney

Hilarious meat canvas

Now imagine a horse

Jimeoin asked if he could go on before me

Willyouwon'tyoudon'tyou

He makes me laugh, he makes me smile, he makes me happier than I've been for quite a while. That rhymes. Double fuck.

This rough magic

One last time

The new girlfriend

We kissed in the rain but I still love him

Blue Monday at 33 instead of 45rpm

Hideous Hearts

little deaths

(...) over crushed ice $15

"What will survive of us
is love"
wrote Zelda Fitzgerald.





And we all know what happened to her.

Old thoughts

... In the haze of a hangover, curled, I had the strangest sensation. I couldn't shake the odd perception that I was no longer in the present but somewhere else, far off in the future, looking back at this present. Somehow I had become unstuck and was living in a memory that I was yet to form long ago. I felt that this particular morning had already happened, was always going to happen and now always will, whatever may come of it...

What do you call that?

Secret Brother

I found this on Polaniod.net
I don't know... this young man's face appears a little too freakily familiar to me.
Maybe he's just an actor and I've seen him in a movie somewhere before
But I can't shrug the idea that he looks a bit like my brother or my dad when he was much younger

Funny email - LOL!/ blog filler

Dad sent this to me today:

Hi Jen,

A poster for your wall.

Laugh.

Dad



How does he know?!

If I were an artist

I'd make a big art piece that is entitled "I don't get it". I can't tell you what it would be of exactly, (I know, but I can't tell you) but it would certainly be BIG.

And then I will have a follow up called "So there you go". This would make it a little more postmodern in the hope that people might think I'm just being ironic rather than sardonic and get confused by the vagueness and not feel sorry for me later when THEY finally 'get it' and I'm over it.






Yeah, I probably don't make any sense to you right now, but that was never my aim anyway.
If you think I do, you are doing it wrong.

Getting Things Done

I got my essay in. I got it back.
My lecturer pulled me aside after my tute to say my work was exceptional.
There are only a few other things in life that make my heart race like it did when I got to hear that so I'm puttng the sensation up there in high regard with them.
Now I'm planning my attack on my final essay.
It feels good to have a sense of purpose at the moment.

Productivity hits an all time low.

Blank walls prove to be a potential distraction.



Initiate damage control.

I am going to stop procrastinating tomorrow

I worry sometimes that this will be my epitaph:

"She should have died hereafter:
There would have been time for such a word
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
WS

Hmm, I hope not.
Though I must admit, I do find the sound of all those 'tomorrows' dangerously attractive.



Perhaps this is more apt:

"Live, drink, be merry, love the reeling midnight through,
For tomorrow ye may die, but alas we never do."
Dorothy Parker

...

Yes, somehow planning my burial arrangements has become a pressing task that requires more of my immediate attention than a essay that was due last week. Incredible.

I nothing am.

I love that line.

I've been writing an essay on King Lear and nothing and fast going mad in the proccess.

I'm convinced Shakespeare was an existentialist

I want to be an existentialist

Nothing nothing nothing

words words words.

...


Bloody Hell, I've read a lot of bullshit over the course of my BA but this?!:


"In our own century Australian mothers and fathers in the outback have routinely eaten their infants."

Rosenberg, M., "The Masks of King Lear" (1972).

Love is a Battlefield

*Kicks bottle*
*Slams door on way out*

How we ended up in Beat Mag

And Lost all our Scene Points.

Not last weekend but the weekend before Luke, Simon, Rob and I went to Ffour.
Let me explain.
We had just triumphed in the kitchen over a chicken hotpot; we had emptied a box of goon; we had no money and nothing to do, Simon had heard the DJ's might be good; Rob's sister works there; I had never been to a real clubby club before and it was about time I was initiated.

We got in for free.

I was dressed completley inappropriatley. I quickly learnt that there is a uniform and my faithfull Chucks and Lee jeans were not a part of it. Shiny leopard print or pastel dresses were and heals are mandantory. Not that much attention is given to pale and freckled brunnette girls when among a flock of blonde and orange. This worked fine for me. I cannot say much for the gentlemen attending other than their arms were about as thick as their heads and all seemed to be taking part in a bucks night. We were later invited to join them at Spermint Rhino but by that stage some of us could barely see anyway.

We drank for free.

The music was mostley bad house and the crowd was boring themselves so we thought that if we just got really drunk we might be able to convince ourselves that this experience was enjoyable... We ended up throwing ice cubes from the windows down at passing pedestrians and exclaiming, " I hate you and everything you stand for!".*

We got invited into the club's offices and secret back room by a mysterious man in a black hat.

After a few more vodka sodas I lost Simon and went to the girls' toilets to watch a distressed girl struggle in her heels on the tiles, held up by her equally inebriated friend and slur "I paaaaid fiffffteen dollars to get in ear, goddamnit I'm gonna stay have fun!". I later found Simon abusing/praising (it was hard to discern) a DJ for being better than the guy on the main floor and for putting up with being put in their crappy second room.

We left just after this happened:







Social Death.






*Simon says we never actually yelled this but merely whispered it to each other, however, I prefer my version.

This is the End

My good friends are being thrown out of house and home and the world is coming to an end.
Therefore I take great delight in this opportunity to dress-up as a raven and inform all good bloggers of this:



Yes, the flyer is a bit ugly but let me assure you we are all very attractive people who just want to be your friends.

Reasons you should join us:

• Our parties are always the best in Brunswick
• The geatest underground Melbourne DJ's will be playing underground
• There is a dungeon
• There might be a jumping castle
• This is the last time we do this and it's certainly something to tell your grandchildren about
• Trust me

It's the Apocalypse so please dress accordingly.

Ronan, I know you probably have Goonlight that night but perhaps you could come afterwards?

I am back

I am broke.

Nothing new to report, really.

Come party with me.



Everyone will be very good looking and well dressed.

Maybe bring a beer for me and we can be friends.

Deaf Deaf are my new friends. They are broke too, but prove that stuff can still be done on no income.
Here is a reveiw of Georgia's party to give you an idea of what to brace yourself for on Saturday.



Impress Magazine 22-29.NOV.2006


NED AND THE MEDS, DEAF! DEAF!, THE TRUFFLE PIGS - HOUSE PARTY, BRUNSWICK - Written by Andy Hazel



"House parties! The odd neighbour aside, who doesn't love bands playing in a living room? This was a classic example of the sort of party that shouldn't be missed. Tonight, from between the floral sofa pushed against the wall, and a vase of artfully arranged shuttlecock 'flowers' against the other, amidst occasional power outs, dodgy sound, stubbies, cigarette smoke, raised laughter, coats, bags, earnest conversations, and about 60 audience members of varying intoxicated states, came the music.

...Then came Deaf! Deaf!. Shoving squealing mics into their amps, beating three drums (one skin broken), hacking a bass (one string broken), slicing at a guitar (two strings broken), bashing a heavily distorted keyboard and skronking three notes out of a sax, this no-wave three-piece worked in total abandon, changing instruments for each song and forcing their music through a wall of tiny amps. No question, here was what lesser bands flounder to get at. Genuine and joyous no-wave; energy that needs no melodic constraints. Tara Green, mic in one hand, beating a floor tom with other, and sounding like a burning matyr, visually and sonically galvanised their free-form noise assault. If someone could give guitarists Kieren Hagarty (sic)..and Shaun..Short (sic)..a pick before they strum their..fingers to the palm, they might..last long enough to gain a following.

...Bring on summer and..bring on more house parties..."

So I'll see you Saturday, yeah?
I like Cooper's Pale.