where do you see yourself in 5 years?

You’d think I’d have a bit more to say but by the time I get around to sitting here I’m phased out – or I think of these elaborate things thru the day then are gone later — or almost gone.
If any sydney people wants to come see me I’ll be at theat sydney airport, Kingsford smith I believe they call it, btwn 11 and one on Monday day. I’ll be signing copies of my book.
Man – what a terrible place – that city sydney has been nuthin’ but trouble for me. Every time I go there something bad happens. I get thrown out of conferences, break up with girlfriends, have fights with girlfriends, get lost while tripped out, forget my PIN number … and those are just the ones I can remember. I don’t know how anyone can live there.

I don’t have much to say. Go read Zellar, he does. It struck me last night that a couple of bloggers before their time are Dylan Thomas and Bill Burroughs. The collections of letters written by them where they continued on spining fantastic shit eventhough they knew the audience for such endevours would be extremely small = sounds familiar. In a different vein but kind of similar is things like ‘Letters from Afar’ – by V.I. Lenin. The old Vlad’s a bit drier, of course.

Since I’m not doing it now it doesn’t matter and I can tell you that for the last five years or so I’ve kept all the money that I at anytime posessed in a copy of the pamphlet, Letters from Afar in a drawer by my bed. every time I went to filch a 50 to break on a bar of chocolate, V.I. would be there, looking at me siliently asking ‘Is this good for The Plan?’. “Shove it, comrade!” I’d reply, “I want chocolate.”

hold/save button

A slow day at the office. There’s all these extra empty offices at my ma’s workplace and I’m here waiting around for the afternoon train, pretending to be an office worker, goofing off. Ma’s doing that too – it’s a slow office week ’cause the boss isn’t around.
Man, there’s so many retards in Colac. Honestly, you can’t tell the difference between the ones who’ve slipped through the system, and the ones that got institutionalised. There’s this big institution out on the outskirts of town. I did werkexperience there for a week in yr.10. It was okay. They bought me a Fanta.
We went out for dinner last night and the place was full of spazzies. I’m sure it’s not a thing of perception on my part. If they’re not that then they’re stoners or angry cops — that’s all there is in this town. I got told this story ages ago that when cops get reprimanded, they get transferred to colac. I don’t need to rely on anecdotal evidence for any of those demographic sectors.

It didn’t make it for chrismaz, but my stocking filler book is now available. K’Plah! – the quiet revolution; Klingonasse is taking over our language system by Mitch Andrews. It details how changes to English as we know it won’t be the obvious ones like death of apostrophe or decimation of vowels: tts what its all abt. No, – I go back to the first utterings of Klingon in star trek 3, the search for spock. And from there how the conception was taken up by unfamous but dilligent nerds who constructed a full language and disseminated it through the world via books.
The causal pivot and success to the venture was its arrival co-inciding with the rise of the internet – ’94–> and with people like those google nerds helping the movement along – reference.
The book concludes on how language is the harbinger of a greater change; not long ago the only place you’d see people dressed up as Klingons is at conventions or possibly Las Vegas. Now, you can be reading through an everday magazine about food & drink and come across a photo of a ‘normal’ sitting in a canteen with a couple of Klingons. Indeed, visiting my local supermarket the other day I went to the eight items or less check-out where the cashier greeted me with a grimace, hiss and two rows of teeth filed to sharpened points.

Wow, I could get used to being an office werker if this is all there is. Computer’s nice too.

transish 1

Staying at Obs new place in Corio for a day. If Tarantino had to reshoot pulp fiction in geelong, corio is where the boxer would skittle the beefy black gangsta.
Watched a guy carefully back his car out his driveway into the cul de sac (court), do a 10sec burn out then put the car away again.
The word cul de sac reminds me of spider eggs. I’ve seen more than my fair share of them in the last couple of days — or – my fair share – but two year’s worth in one go. That is, am now clened up and moved out of the bungalow.
Sayonara Bajaloh.
Off to colac aka 1968-74 for a day or two.
Also watched a fish sing that disco song that goes ‘don’t rock the boat baby, don’t tip the boat over’.

Latifah’s had it up to here.

The same way that a lot of the Talking Heads albums washed up into my possesion, I came across several books on skyjacking during my formative years. Written during the 70s, the topic was a bit of a hot then. I think I got them as remainders from the library, 20c each. Also remember there being on on a bookshelf at a chalet at a ski camp I went on in Yr10. I read some, but didn’t pinch it, which strikes me as odd. I read the other first two, but again, this was during my formative years, so I can’t hardly remember much except that they used this new set of thinking called psychology, and generally blamed this bulk of foreign (that is, non-whitey) skyjackers’ reason for getting into it on not having good relationships with their mums.

It’d be funny if there was a skyjacker on the plane and I was actually able to put my pop-psychology degree to use, and it looked like everything was going to work out, then I made a bad joke and we all plunged firey deaths la.
Database of airline disasters since 1920.

series of paintings by ryan brunetti on an air show disaster.

Oh Yeah, Oh No

“If our eyes were able to sense the waves of invisible radiation now emanating from the innumerable communications and other electronic sources, we would be immeresed in a shimmering haze. Shafts of more intense light would streak, like searchlights, across the scene from radio, TV and radar towers. If these phantom lights left their marks as colour stains we would, no doubt, have been more cautious about intruding them into the environment and our lives.” – Les Dalton

I got a few minutes to check out ACMI yesterday, but nowhere long enough. The theme is sight. I was just about to leave as a piece showing on one of the larger screens rolled credits: to Van McCoy’s discoruisy “Do The Hustle” was footage of airliners crashing – and no not twin towers –man that whole thing really stuffed things up, after that I couldn’t tell people I really dug watching footage of planes crashing without being chased from the building. I mean – that german airshow one where it just didn’t get high enough and trimmed a bunch of connifers with its wings, disappeared from view and reappeared as a fireball. Or the one where they deliberately crashed one for safety and fun.

^ ^ ^ ^

Uhuh, I feel like I should explain the superwhite link. Before crizmaz listening to the radio – a wrap up and snippets of interviews from the year of a show I don’t listen to. I heard a song by this guy Jim White, on David Byrne’s label – it didn’t stand out at all. But then he was talking about how he was once talking to this friend, a black woman about how some whiteys try be black thru wearing clothes and affectations and it only made them look pathetic, so Jim White says that he thinks he can attain some kind of blackness through being really really white. So, you’re going to be ‘superwhite’ huh? He replies, yes. And thinks, who is the epitome of really really white? Some nervous, skinny awkward fella… like David Byrne — and Jim resolves that if he ever sees David Byrne, he’ll yell Superwhite! out at him.
Some time later Jim White is living in new york city, doing the Travis thing: mohawk, driving taxi –and while prowling around in the cab, happens to see Byne walking on the foot path. He crusies up alongside and yells, hollers “Superwhite!” but gets no reaction.
Then, some time later someone sends Jim White’s demo tape to LuakaBop and eventually Jim white ends up sitting in a room with david byrne being told that they’d like to sign him.

It was a great story – funny, well told. The kind of thing that’d make me go back and have another listen to the music.
As opposed to another interview – with the guy from Smog – which was terrible. He didn’t want to be talking at all, but couldn’t be botherd actually saying so.

^ ^ ^ ^

I can’t believe some hippy chick from the ‘hood bought my couch. No tv here now either – sitting on the floor with piles of trash on the floor and a mattress, also on the floor. Feels like squatting.

dadada dada da, dadada dada da, da da, da

– The only good elton john song is that ‘for guy’ song. If I had a band I’d cover it – either guitars or electronic would work. It’d also be great to commit suicide to.

– I spoke too soon about the zip on my jeans – it’s really stuffed. O why hast thou forsaken me? I got some more jeans from an op-shop today.

– My sloth bites me on the arse, ass, airse. I think after this, it’ll be a standing policy that when I’m moving out of a rented place, I’ll just runaway before the final inspection and deal with what ever negative-karma comes from it.

– I didn’t mention it here, but several months ago I had a convo with exgirlfriend jean who was still in East Timor. If it’d been an instant message to-and-fro it would’ve looked like this:

Exg/f jean: I met Xanana today. All I could think of was I’m standing here talking to the president, wearing flip-flops.
And well… Guess What?! I’m pregnant! I found out a few months ago and am due in late March. What do you think?
esquimaux pie: Hey wow. That’s great. I’m really happy for you.
Say, when you spoke too Xanana, did you happen to mention my icecream sundae idea to him. Because, y’know, if he’d be willing to appear in a tv ad we could cut him in for a nice chunk of the earnings.
Exg/f jean: wtf?

Ah, not really — if it’d been an IM conversation the punctuation would’ve not been anywhere near as thorough as that.
But I remember once on KUI reading about how there’s all these euphemisms in English; up the duff, in the family way, bun in the oven, knocked up, eating for two, exhibiting signs of man-juice infection and so on (I wish I could think of some more – they’re great) while in France it’s simply kown as being pregnant.
Am having lunch with xg/fJ tomorrow. I’m secretly hoping she eats all the food in the restaurant and they have to close the restaurant. I am happy for her though.

like a little shining full-stop in the clouds

The Red Shoes

: Do you have Red Shoes and do you love them more than anything else including god, your feet, telling the truth and going to church? If so, take a picture and send it in along with a little anecdote or explanation and help us celebrate Red Shoes-love.
But why stop there? If you see someone on the street wearing Red Shoes, don’t be shy! Go ask them for a foto of their fabbo footwear. What a great way to make friends 🙂
Send to: yaksox@gmail.com

* * *

Exit-Bowl — If you want to come along, this friday arvo around three at the Northcote Bowlarama – because I’m leaving the continent.

* * *

Y’know, I lost my 2dollar sunnies at the festival, and the fly zipper on my jeans got wrecked. I got my undies caught in it. I had to walk around the whole two days with it middle-positioned so it didn’t look so obvious.
Yesterday while getting a load of washing together I was looking at them in a sorrowful beat kind of way, like Chewbacca in Empire… when he’s examining the ripped apart bits of C3-PO. I mused to myself that what if I wished or prayed really hard then maybe they’d fix up — what if I stress. I dragged the zippy bit right down to the bottom then tried bringing it up again, and lo! – it worked.

I don’t know why, but I feel unusually unaffected by the tsunami situation. Why is is that one person can be really torn up inside about it and the next feel nothing? I don’t know. I don’t feel nothing. I feel something. I’m not watching much news lately which may have something to do with it.
Does it matter that the reasoning doesn’t follow conventional logic – where good things can be attributed to *a* god, but bad things – well that’s just life.
And even at the point of death – if those people realised that everything would be alright for them and they were being delivered into something else greater or whatever — I could totally understand if they were still a bit sad about going — because maybe they had some project on the go that would’ve been good to finish, like a jigsaw puzzle.

tapes

I’m going through all the audio tape collections spread across the years – a suitcase, a large tea tin, a banana box and various loose locations. Almost nothing was in its correct case.
I imagine 4005: space explorers in tinted faceless helmets excavating a desertified planet where sense can be pieced together for most things, but the odd artefact will stick out like a tape case with a small bit of notepaper in it with a list of songs and no tape. They’ll use their advanced technology to restore an extremely smashed up, torn and mangled copy of Swervedriver’s really good tape, Raise.

I was late into buying music – at 12 or 13yo I bought Robert Palmer – Heavy Nova. Regrettable I know, but made up for buy the 2nd thing I got which was Talking Heads, Naked. I don’t know what it was that made me get that – whether I’d seen a videoclip or two of their older stuff, the commercial radio friendly stuff from True Stories and Little Creatures, or maybe it was just the picture of the monkey on the cover. Either way, that’s one I’ll still own up to having. If I ever make a movie, or if it’s the movie that is my life – then the song, Blind, from that album will be on the soundtrack.

When I mentioned my hero bass players I forgot Tina Weymouth – one half of probably one of the best modern rhythm sections ever. I don’t any stands out over the other, but alll four of Talking Heads’ first four albums are classics – ’77, fear of music, more songs about buildings and food, and remain in light.

There’s a whole load of more regrettable stuff there, some of it prompted by reading Rolling Stone, which I did until I realised it was just a whole bunch of corporate music industry mutual cocksucking – Sting, Neville Brothers, almost anything by the Rolling Stones but particularly the Steel Wheels album, the Robert Cray band. Basically a good reason to have never taken that terrible trolley-boy after-school supermarket job in the first place because of the pocket money it gave and I wasted. Ma was right.

Not to mention things like Peter Gabriel’s So. Don’t ask me to explain it, but I hold Peter Gabriel singularly responsible for the whole 80s yuppie Wall st corporate greed is good thing. And as for Phil Collins, well, I don’t have to tell you what he’s responsible for. I know that the historical materialist view is that it’s not the individual who’s responsible for the turn of events in the grand scheme of things, but boy it’d be interesting to see what’d happen after getting hold of a time machine and ‘a few days to kill’, as the tagline for Predator 2 goes. Like taking out whatever airplane Genesis were on. Also, making sure that during WWII, George Bush Snr’s parachute didn’t open over the Pacific.

There’s a few tapes here that I don’t know where they came from – a Devo album and a PIL double album that I chucked on – over two minutes it got slower and slower until grinding to a complete halt. It’s easy to force glitch onto CDs and records but with tapes you just have to wait and let time do its work.
My personal theory is that they were from many and various housemates’ tape collections, but the tapes felt they were underused and defected into my collection, only to realise that it was no better here.

There’s about a million tapes of stuff off the radio from the 90s. Motivational tapes. There’s two tapes of arrest interviews featuring yours truly, ah fond memories. I taped over one side of one with a friend’s first radio show. And there’s several tapes with no cover and nothing written on them which I sadly don’t have time to listen to.

Falls Festival ’04

I had a great time. From the top:

The Black Keys were awesome. A couple of guys who are naturals at what they do. I don’t know their stuff all that well but could appreciate a really well tube-driven guitar sound and drumming that was spot-on even when the guitar went bounding. They reminded me a bit of Cream minus a bassist. I think they’re going to be of that vintage of classickness.
It sounds odd, but the best thing I can say about them is that they didn’t let me down. It’s one of the hardest spots to play – really late in the day (11:30 – 12:30am) because I’ve seen a whole day of music and can tire of it — also very often I’ve dug music recorded then when seen live it hasn’t been as good. The Black Keys if anything were better live.


“…if you’ve got a website I want to be on it”

Billy Bragg was second best for me, and surprising because I wasn’t expecting to get much out of it. He was actually at a Big Day Out I went to once and I don’t think I even had a look. Anyway, maybe it was the sunstroke kicking in but I was moved so much to the point of even feelin’ a bit teary hearing a couple of the classics like ‘A New England’. Such an excellent song writer. It’s so hard to write politcal songs that don’t sound preachy or are coming out of the mouths of phonies (i.e. U2) but Billy’s always managed to do it. Same with relationshippy songs – just nicely done and not overdone. And like the Keys – gets a lot of sound out of a minimal set up = that’s two points for Fender amps.

TZU are a four-piece hip-hop outfit from Melbourne. I’d heard one of their songs on RRR and when they did it and hit the chorus we got a bit of audience participation going in everyone flipping the bird — “Fuck You! and your long list of isms”.
But the really cool part was later on I was wandering around outside looking forlawn to sit on and drink a coffee and I saw them sitting there so I went and said Hi! Good set, I’ve heard a couple of your songs on Triple R. I was talking to the guy you can see holding the mic. He asked what I thought of Xavier rudd, who was playing at the time. I looked away and said Oh yeah he’s alright. He says to me, You think he’s boring don’t you? I gasped like – someone else does too and said Yeah. I think the other 14999 punters were happy to have rudd take out his painful middle-class whiteboy angst-about-being-a-whiteboy-with-the-whole-aboriginal-thing on them.
I said a couple more stupid things then decide I should stop hassling them so split – eventhough they were just sitting there and truth be known no-one else probably didn’t even recognise them.
There was a million other thing I thought of later that I would’ve liked to ask. There’s so little decent australian hip-hop so far, but these guys are pretty good.

The New Pollutants were a lot of fun. Like the KLF meets your local cub-scout division meets that episode of ST:TOS with Spock laughing because of strange plants. Maybe you’ve been to some wild gigs (or sporting events) where people throw full cans at the performers — this was the other way around — the Pollutants were throwing their rider into the crowd after each song — a whole slab of green cans they were given and didn’t want. Amazing no one got sconed.

– De La Soul were good – I’ve only got their album …Is Dead, so didn’t know much of their stuff but they were big on the audience participation thing which made a good trade off with the black keys who came on after them and are more of a stand and watch thing.
– The Spazzys‘ pursuit of the perfect 3-chord song deserves respect. They’re living the rock n’ roll lifestyle – one of them broke her thumb so she couldn’t play bass but they got some guy to fill in. Very Melbourne.
– I was stuck at the stall when they were playing, but Butterfingers sounded impressive.
– Tim Rogers from You Am I is a wanker.
– Veruca Salt were there because they’ve got a new album coming out, but seemed a bit lethargic and very LA.
– I’m not all that much into The Cat Empire but they played good and one of those guys sounds like he’s permanently on helium.

I’m glad i didn’t have to camp and deal with the horrifying toilet situation. We headed back too the Ears’ Ranch at the end of each day. I felt a bit old there — I’d say the average age was 22yo, another year or two and it’ll be completely generation Y. A lot of them were from interstate. I spent most of the second day reading t-shirts. Almost nothing political, a lot of Volcom Stone which I’d never heard of before and still don’t exactly know what it is… a clothing line/label?
I saw this one little interaction where two girls were looking at a large tattoo on a guy’s back. It was of some chunk of Pulp Fiction dialogue and although I didn’t check, my guess is the ‘for I am truly my brother’s keeper …’. In dismissive tones one says to him That’s great mate, as if he must’ve been some whacko. You want to get something to eat? one says to the other, Yeah I could really go a fish taco, says the other.
I just thought it was funny – they really did have fish tacos there.

Hitched a lift back with the folks from the Authentic North Indian food stall. Really funny guy but not intentionally so. He takes things like unbroken double white lines as a serving suggestion only, and in a shitbox van hauling a trailer, tries overtaking a convoy of another foodstall trailer and a couple of cars. A car popped up over the rise at us – straight at us – I thought I was going to die, so he pushes back into the line on the left side of the road. A few minutes later a car gets to overtake us and honks as they go thru. He says in thick N.Indian accent, These drivers! they have no patience.
Nice guy though.


bassist from Veruca Salt