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.

I got fired

Yeah that's right.

They "let me go".

So I went

I packed my suitcase and grabbed my bestie and we hit the road Thelma and Louise style.



We went to Inverloch and sat in the sun.


We talked about all the boys and girls we know and listened to Neko Case really loud. The Aloe Vera plant was in flower and this is very special, so we took photos of it.


Then Cara took a picture of me in the sun.


And we tried to take pictures of both of us


Then Cara went and had a shower and left me alone with her camera.






We ate curry for dinner in the orange cafe and drank cheap wine until we were thrown out at 10 past 10.

Being unemployed is kinda fun. Now I have a myspace and tonight I'm going to play bingo at the Terminus. See ya at Meredith ... or Centrelink.

Baby, I'm BORED!

I'm going to get busy.

Here is my to do list for this week:

Read more
Write more
Blob more
Buy a tent for Meredith (Yes-yes, I'm actually going this year!)
Become a supercool electronic DJ (Simon might teach me for beer)
Make homebrew for summer
Go back to Uni
Apply for volunteer work at ACMI ( I have admin, hospitality and cinema studies skills, surely there is something I can do?)
Get a haircut.
Don't get a Myspace.

We went to the beach II

"No. I won't let you go to work in this dark mood.
You can't answer phones while you are in this state.
What would your invoices say?"

--Luke (some midweek morning)

We went to the beach

See




More pictures comming shortly,

more writings to follow suit.

Cara is back.

LOOP TIME.

or

ONE YEAR LATER:

"A clean slate."

Cara came back from the continent. She simply appeared beside the bar at the cafe on Saturday morning, browned by some far away summer. I nearly ignored her for a sink of dirty dishes. Has it really been a year? Feels like only a couple of weeks and a 1/2... REALLY?!.

We saw Snakes on a Plane, ( not at Nova because it turns out it was never playing there). I thought it was dull. It didn't seem to make much sense really and could have ended after the first snake bite. Cara fell asleep. Jetlag. But it was good to drag the boys to Ruebebelons and alienate everyone by talking Literature, Philosophy and Communications; revisiting the undergraduate wankers within us.

It's been eight months of me following Luke around. Eveyday I wake-up in the bottom of an even deeper and darker well of love and there's no ladder to climb out, and I think I'll just stay down here for a while.

Kim (Luke's Kim) says time runs in a loop. The same things happen over and over again in a pattern that's not entirely unpredictable. He also says that eveything that is going to happen already has and is.

My boss cleared the blackboard wrote "A clean slate" in big chalk letters where the wine list used to be. I stared at it for nearly an hour when it got quiet, trying to draw a significant parrallel and apply meaning from those words to anything in my own life at all... but I am glad for everything...Well isn't that nice?

Wait...what just happened?

Or

Nothing happens, nothing happens and then everything happens:

There goes August.

We had a party.
In a basement, filled with lights, and sheets of reflective silver paper on the ceiling. (Stacia knows how to decorate with what's at hand). When you look up it's like looking down into a pond at yourself, only backwards and you don't have to worry about drowning. We danced to elctro trancy beats with the drums turned up at my request till 10am. We all fell down in a heap of crazy love with one another, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Finally over the edge.

The sun came up as usual, but I had not seen the sky so close to white before. My heart still hurts a little when I recall wet plaster faces and such grit teeth grins. I think of tortured Picasso ladies and my frightening ambivilance towards them.

Then I had an interview.

Then I got the job.

Then I had my own birthday to contend with.

And now I have two jobs and am 23.

But it could be worse, I could be Simon. He just woke up and found himself with three jobs (a different Simon, not my Simon, not Simon O, and not Colette's dad).

Oh and here is a tag I had to beg for:


1. Grab the nearest book.

2. Open the book to page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the text of the next 4 sentences along with these instructions.

5. Don’t you dare dig for that “cool” or “intellectual” book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

Angela Carter's Wise Children is on my desk next to me. I just bought it secondhand a couple on weeks ago, haven't had a chance to open it yet. Here goes...

"Therefore he gave me Culture.

I balked at Proust.

His sweet, befuddled head; that faded golden hair; the large, light eyes with the long lashes; the short, straight nose like the nose of Daisy's Persian cat; the soft, weak mouth indictive of that guitly sensuality so charateristic, I've found, of the North American temperment - that is, they like it, all right, but, all the same, they think it's going tp give them hairy palms.

Attracted as he was to my conspicuous unrefinment, all the same Irish thought it would only make sleeping with me all right in the end if we could read Henry James, together, afterwards, and I was nothing loath because there'd been precious little time for book-learnng in my short life as I'd been earning a living from age twelve and sometimes Irish, when he remembered that, would forgive me everything."

hmmm...

Typical.


Goodnight all.


PS, Come see Snakes on a Plane with me on Saturday night at Nova, I will probably be drunk/ at my best.

I am taking sick leave

I have a little bug. It feels like a little furry animal curled up tight inside my head, stirring occasionaly and weeping softly. Her tears come out of my nose and make my own eyes ache. I carry her with me to job interviews, sedating her with little blue pills that make me dumb.

I am getting good at talking about myself now, I almost can't feel it.

A call centre for a financial services company? How will I ever remember all the things about things I don't care much for?
How could I ever care enough? Or maybe that is just how one copes.

Oh look, a distraction!

I Fell Down

8:33am Friday - I have an appointment with a temp agency. I wear my pointy heels.


Kahdoompft!


I hit the ground running for the train.

Luke, re last night's telephone converation: "I don't understand, how does any one person manage to hit all elbows and knees in one fall? Why don't you put your hands out in front of you like everyone else?"

What can I say? It's a gift.

When I fall, I fall good. I make it big and I make it loud. I groan and growl out like an animal and I love it. It is BAD, it is UNLADYLIKE! It is a surprise that frightens a little. What a thrill! My loss of control, my mistake, spontanious and in front of everyone just to prove.

"Utterly real, grandously embarrassing, four and a half stars!" - The General Public

There is a little pain, I guess. People mostly pretend not to notice; they have a train to catch; don't want to get caught in my unsightly choreography. A few boys stand back where they think I can't see them, smirking to one another. They try to hide the laugh that is mine from me, but I'm stealing it back. I'm crawling up off my belly grinning, I'll keep the bruises for a while but it is still 8:33am and the worst that I had ever imagined has already happened.

Eyes glaze over

I am still here, sort of. Just avoiding the easy slide into this self-indulgent, self-destructicve place of lazy writing. Time to take off and start plotting. Need to obtain and retain some standards of some form.

Or maybe I should just 'let myself go'?

Oh, oh, there I go again.

The temptation to get drunk on and drown in your own reflection here is far too great.

I'm going out and I'm not coming back til I have something to say.

!

THERE

Ouch, I have lost myself again

I don't really know what I will do with all this life and it appears there is an awful lot of it left.
I don't want to be my mother, but what am I going to do instead?
Half way through lunch I noticed the weevils in my cous cous.

I think I might break

I've been watching the finale episode of Six Feet Under and I have that last song in my head, going round and round.
Help...
... it's doing things to me ... I think...

Simon me gave a run down on all the behind-the-scenes technical aspects and difficulties they must have faced in it's making; like why it goes all jumpy and sped up when they switch from film to some kind of HD. I wanted to share my literary annalysis of David's confrontation with his red-hooded demon, but no one cares. Where are you Cara, you would care, where are you?

Luke says I shouldn't try to apply a literary annalysis to everything; like Vice Magazine, for example. - This is something we argue about, we did it again in Black Cat just yesterday. - I say you can, that everything is a text, and that reading into it all too much is what makes us human... But yes, I do see how some might think it can be a dangerous and silly thing to compare your own life with a story...maybe... and so is smoking ... and so is keeping a blob. Cheers all those things that we might do secretly or alone sometimes.

Well I'll be Rooned

I went for a few quiet drinks with friends last night at the Yacht Club and then Black Cat.
Then I woke up at 6am and saw Death with a bottle of Jaegermeister inviting to sit on his lap for a bit. I declined the offer and he left me with a complimentary headache, sore eyes and what I'm pretty sure was an enormous moth with a brick tied to it's ankle frigging about inside my stomach. I wish I'd just said yes.

Three drinks and I'm out.
How does that happen?

Maybe I should have eaten more... but my boss told me I was becoming a bit of a fatty the other day.

I just got told today I am not going to be a mailroom clerk too. I feel ruined, RUINED, rooned.

Yeah, oh woe is me etc.

But really, what else is this for?

This afternoon, Luke, dragging me by the elbow along Sydney Rd to a cosy lunch at Thom Phat that would only distract me from my cold bath in hung-over misery, I thought, "Death, come back, give me a hug and let me wallow with you." And you know what, I thought he just might, but then Luke gave me a hug and my Pad Thai arrived.

The Blue Velvet Fog Stopped Working Yesterday.

I was on my way to a job interview and I was going to be late.

My brother and I had to walk along Main Rd together. I carried my good shoes in a brown paper bag and let important papers fall from my folder like the last and forgotton few autumn leaves as I stuggled to keep up and my mobile went nuts.

ME: Simon, this is crap, I feel poor, I feel like that family in the "Grapes of Wrath" carrying all this stuff and looking for work, it's embarrassing.

SIMON: Yes, I hate walking along Main Rd too; I can feel everyone having a good look at me as they drive passed.


A car goes passed with a yelling head sticking out at us.


SIMON: Why do they do that, I can never understand what it is that they are saying?

ME: I bet a bus comes passed right now, we should have got a bus!


A bus goes passed


ME: Fuck


An old lady gives me an evil.


SIMON: Stop swearing!

ME: Not you. (To the old lady)

Simon I'm getting all sweaty, Simon I'm going to be smelly in my interview!


We are arriving at the station

SIMON: Don't worry you have fortyfive minutes on the train to air off, you'll be fine, here, change your shoes and I'll take your old ones home with me. Take my ticket, it'll save time buying one. Don't foget to call them on the train and apologise for being late and don't worry, you'll be fine. Goodluck!



I like my little brother, somewhere we must have changed places, he looks after me now. He's always the calm, sensible one when I'm busy constructing quaint moments of crisis. Thank you Simon.

What I need

I just got back from an interview with a recruiting agency. I told them I was hoping for "...An entry level position with the opportunity to develop, (...) I'm really hoping for something like front-of-house reception and associated administrative tasks, (...) for a company with a creative edge would be a bonus." They are offering me an interview for a position as a mailroom clerk for a law firm (guh!). I wouldn't mind so much if I didn't know I could make more money pulling beers and banging out lattes and which I'd rather be doing anyway. It's a shame, I simply cannot see a future in my brief affair with the hospitality (so-called) "industry", and I was just getting to know my wines, but, it's time to move on.

I was feeling a bit lost,
So, I took Dell's advice;
I tried it.

• Jen needs to have a session or two with a therapist.
• Jen needs to be a My Little Pony!
• Jen needs a break.
• Jen needs your help
• Jennifer needs a cold shower
• Jennifer needs a smack daddy
• Jen needs to get a life
• Jenny needs to demonstrate more self control
• Jenny needs to curb her socializing in class
• DJ JEN NEEDS YOU!!!
• Jennifer needs to be in a mental health facility RIGHT NOW
• Jen needs friends
• Jen needs him
• Jen needs a new gun petition
• Jen needs more time to work through her part in the dissolution
• Jen needs to stop shopping
• Jen needs to do something with her physical self
• Jen needs to eat a meal
• Jen needs the money
• Jen needs to get over it
• Jen needs to forgive her mother
• Jen needs to find a self righteous, conspicuous "I'm better than you" charitable position.
• Jen needs your feedback


It's true, I do need to be a My Little Pony and in an "I'm better than you" position.

I new gun petition wouldn't go astray either.

But, some of this seems rather insensitive, why does my google needs list have to so immediatly call my mental stability into question?