Category Archives: Art

Baby I Don’t Care…

My Favorite Transvision Vamp song (did they have more than one?). Also the final measure on the patented “Are you over it meter?”. Love and hate really are just two sides of the same emotional coin, it’s not until you have no emotional response at all that you are really over something/someone. Today I saw something/someone that should have elicited a response, but it didn’t even rate as blip worthy. Bridges that burn themselves are bloody handy, they should all come equipped with a barrel of oil and monkey playing with a zippo. 

Oh, I want your love!…. that’s the other song. There’s some real mixed messages going on with that Wendy James… 

One year ago… 

This time last year I wrote this – 

I didn’t sleep much last night.. Lily was bitten by an imaginary spider at about 2am. I am well practiced at losing sleep over imaginary things, and so I did. She was fine of course, curled up beside me with a small menagerie of fluffy animals that were required to get her back to sleep. Unfortunately I don’t have any small fluffy animals to distract me, so I stayed wide awake, watching a small human breath and snuffle, while I spent the hours before sunrise overthinking, planning, rehashing and regretting. You know all the typical mental soundtracks you play on the insomnia Roadtrip. It’s been a rough few years, with a lot more downs than ups. Drinking, smoking, enough anti-depressants to recreate most of the extras for a season of the walking dead… Broken hearts, friendships that fell by the wayside, frustration, self indulgence/destruction, seven good times, seventy seven bad times and fifteen hundred moments in between.


It’s been quite a while now since I got off the ironically named ‘happy pills’ and quite a while since I gave up smoking (this time), even the drinking that was a fixture of my late teens and most of my twenties is something that doesn’t happen these days…. For the last time in the four years or so I can honestly say there is a tiny spark of hope that, things might get better. That thought hasn’t really been there for quite a while, actually it seems like it hasn’t really been there since I was a kid, but there are no thoughts of ‘flicking my pick-up off the interstate’ at all. My doctor was not overly worried that I would, because he knows I have one (or two in this case) reasons to get up and function everyday. He told me often that ‘anyone in my situation that wasn’t depressed just wasn’t paying attention’… It wasn’t something that I believed at the time, but he is a clever man and has a nice certificate on his wall, so I will give him the benefit of the doubt.


Now with great insomnia comes great need for a nap. Well I say nap, but I passed out, face down on the couch…. Four hours… As anybody who has taken the unintentional, unplanned daynap knows, you wake up with the full, Where am I?!!! What’s going on? Where are my pants?!!! Well not the last one, it was replaced by the “ow, I fell like I’ve been shanked!!”, this turned out to be due to the pen in my pocket (see pen pictured)… Location established, pen found and removed and a quick head check of house hold members settled my panicky tendencies. The kids had feed themselves and have been involved in some complicated version of stratego that involves shooting each other with nerf guns if they lose a piece (I would be concerned but they are wearing sunglasses for safety)… I have brewed myself a pot of the good coffee and sat on the back step for an hour… There is a shitload (now an official measurement) of stuff going on in the world and people around me at the moment, and I am woefully unqualified to offer advice and emotionally useless when it comes to support. I’ve always been a bit shit at getting the support out in the open.. The concept of the “it’s the vibe” doesn’t seem to translate to the world outside my head.. I am getting better at it, I would hope my children never doubt for a second that I am there for them, and that I will live for them, a recent change in mindset there over the tradition and overly dramatic ‘die for’.. 


So as we head into another Xmas, a time of introspection and resentment of forced jollity for some, my thoughts turn to those that are going to struggle through it, like I have done. I battled through much of it alone, not because people didn’t want to help, but because of my own bloody mindedness and my well practiced art of pushing people away.. So this Xmas I will try and be thankful for the things that have gone right, forgive myself and others for the things that went wrong, and try not be a miserable sod even if someone makes me wear a stupid paper hat.


PS- I found this today, someone cared enough for Elsie to engrave her name on this tin in 1936, and then she cared enough to keep it for the rest of her life… Love, it should be as simple as that…


I’m feeling a good 47% better this year, well I’m not sure about that number exactly, like most statistics I just pulled it out of my arse. Fingers crossed by December next year I can post another profit in the “getting better” column… 

42…. 

I woke up today in the same mood I went to bed with the previous night. That mood was a bit black, not pitch, but certainly a moonlight free night with only the occasional pinhole of starlight black. So with my dark cloud hovering at a jaunty angle I consumed a cup of coffee and a bowl of Froot Loops (don’t judge me). Wearing my best fugue, I headed off to get some check the opshop and get some more milk, as I had used the last of it in the aforementioned sugary breakfast treat. 

I arrived at the opshop, found the carapace that wasn’t being taken up by someone incapable of parking between the lines, not as easy to find as it should be. I mean the reason they paint the lines there is to show you where to park, but hey you’ve got a great big fuck you 4wd you can just do what you like, you don’t care if people think you’re a wanker…. ummm where was I? Oh yeah that’s right the opshop. So I do my regular search pattern, records, bric-a-brac, furniture, jewelry and books. That order is not arbitrary, it is the most efficient plan of attack for that particular opshop, and the most efficient way to get to all the good stuff before the meandering no plan losers that miss all the good stuff. Yes I am a model of efficient bastardry when it comes to opshops, markets and garage sales. 

I had almost finished the lap and was coming up empty handed, and my mood wasn’t improved by the lack of endorphin inducing bargains. So I’m at the end of my opshop dance routine, comencing the grand finale of a quick scan of the book section. My last chance for a small hit of thrifty satisfaction lay in the musky bit. 

And satisfaction was had, while checking to see what edition a copy of Life, The Universe and Everything by Douglas Adams, one of my favorite authors. I found this –


…and my day suddenly seemed a whole lot better. Something about finding that signature triggered some of the good shit in my brain. My first time reading Hitchers, watching the TV show with my Dad and stepmother in a terrace house on a tiny TV. My visit to Highgate Cemetery to leave a pen at his grave. 

A long dark tea time of day was suddenly a plentiful with fish.

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House of the Rising Sun… 

There is a house in New Orleans. They call the rising sun, but I can’t seem to find it on this map. 

Today’s opshop crawl turned up a map of Storyville New Orleans. The notorious redlight district created to regulate prostitution and drugs in New Orleans from 1897 to 1917. I’ve got a thing for maps, not the kind of thing that requires googling the name of the disorder of getting obsessed and wanting to role naked in them, but just an atheistic attraction. They can be both utilitarian and decorative, sometimes in equal measure. In this case its utility is as a historical snapshot. A blotchy opaque window back in time, with a jazz soundtrack and a pearl handled derringer under a perfumed pillow, possibly with a touch of syphilis. 


It is a hand drawn 1940s copy of the original 1915 version. Streets, shops, brothels… The names of those trading in negotiatable affections are both mundane and fascinating.  I own far grander and more artistically embellished maps, but they fail to deliver a sense of place and time as well as this simple bureaucratic document. 

Perhaps that’s the lesson here, affectation is a distraction from the clarity that simplicity can achieve. 

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The Bad Day….

I blogged religiously when I was angry, intermittently when I was happy and apparently not all when I was incapable of either.  It has been almost a year and half since i last put pixelised font to digital paper here, even though there has been a week here and there that I probably should have dumped the contents of my head somewhere.

In the past year and half I have moved house, changed plans a few times and forgiven people including myself. In the past few months I have burned some bridges, poured gasoline on a few more in preparation for the match that will come at some point. My head has been too busy and keeping track of thoughts has suffered, hence the return to blogging.

I didn’t choose today to return, today chose me. The sixth of June is one of those ‘anniversary’ dates, when the calendar reminds us of events. Today is my stepmothers birthday, and she should be with my father, celebrating, making plans to visit me to see the kids. They kids should be looking forward to seeing her, but they do not remember her. She died just over ten years ago, at the age of 49, from cancer. My father still mourns her. I do too. I also mourn that my children did not get to know this woman, she would have made them better. She made me better.

Happy Birthday Helen, we miss you.

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