tales from an ordinary world

2000-09-04

Clothing stocktake :

• 1 pair black jeans, almost dead.
• 1 pair black jeans, button fly.
• 1 pair black so-called moleskin jeans.
• 1 pair dark grey polyester/cotton pant things.
• 1 pair blue jeans, rarely worn.
• 2 pairs of black cargo pants.
• 10 plain black t-shirts.
• 2 plain black t-shirts sacrificed for hair bleaching and colouring.
• 2 plain black long-sleeved skivvies, 1 with Bonds logo.
• around 10 long-sleeved printed t-shirts - 2 orange, 2 grey, 3 black, 2 white and 1 lightish green. 2 of these (1 black & 1 white) have fairly similar aircraft motifs.
• 3 lambswool jumpers
• 24 "old" tshirts placed out of regular rotation.
• 14 black printed tshirts
• 6 dark grey printed tshirts
• 7 light grey printed tshirts
• 5 dark blue printed tshirts
• 1 light blue printed tshirts
• 2 dark green printed tshirts
• 1 light green printed tshirts
• 2 yellow printed tshirts
• 3 red printed tshirts
• 2 light brown printed tshirts
• etc...

These numbers frighten me.

2000-09-06

"Hey you've gotta pay your dues
before you pay the rent."
Pavement.

Important things learnt today :

• It's the fundamental things in life that seem to matter. Last week I was getting stressed about space, office space to be exact. This week I'm being hassled about time.

• Both people I lent that Jimi Tenor CD to have liked it.

• One should be wary of restaurant staff who're trying to win a 3 litre bottle of Heineken.

• Apparently it's important for at least one member of the team to find out if they can fit in the cupboard. Or something.

• Small round stickers can provide a good 5 minutes of distraction.

• I should've started watching all of Lee's Cowboy Bebop DVDs earlier. 20 episodes, another 5 on the way, and I'm only up to number 10 now.

2000-09-07

The mournful strings of the Balanescu Quartet's cover of an old Kraftwerk tune. The CD changer is having its way with me tonight, twice coming to that old Neil Young CD. A man needs a maid, he's telling me.

Surprised by a sudden offer, of sorts. "I know you were thinking of [ something like this ] a few years ago, but things change..." She's right. I'm still vaguely keen to try my hand at living somewhere else, but at the same time, Melbourne's such a nice place to live...and of course, other factors need to be considered. Other countries intrigue me too. Canada perhaps. But...

Pablo and Andrea, one of my very favourite Yo La Tengo songs. How did it know ? It's been a good selection tonight. A fair bit of John Lee Hooker, as always.

2000-09-11

"Never alive until twenty-five."
Gene

A phone conversation - just like old times with other people, but in this case, it took 9 months before we just talked on the phone. "It feels weird talking to you on the phone," she said. Plans, random holiday plans in some country town or other. One of those couples things. And then, one way or another, I end up thinking of how I seem to know (or at least, met once or twice) all these wacky Singaporeans - not Mavis , others.

Country towns. The pub on the corner. The bus crawling up a hill, the faded road lined either side with houses that had seen better days. One day, two of us went down to Apollo Bay by bus. Who uses the golf course there, anyway ? If you walk down a particular street, you might accidentally come across the shell museum, amongst some ordinary-looking holiday houses. Where did they get all these things ? We take a long time, my companion always takes a long time looking at things - bookshops, art galleries, whatever else - he's slow and methodical, whilst I flit nervously back and forth, randomly sampling this feast for the eyes. An old lady sits in the corner, occasionally throwing us a tid-bit of information about some shell or other. There's some old rocky pier/outcrop thing not too far away - we slowly walk out and sit on the rocks for a while, until the rain starts coming down and the wind forces waves into the rocks, splashing all over us. Back at the hotel, while he lies on the sun lounge and plays with the cat, I pace back and forth for a while, wondering whether to call my girlfriend - I just want to hear her voice, but I know she probably couldn't care less. I toss a coin, and go call her anyway.

Another day, we walk out the end of town and onto the beach. A dead blowfish (or some kind of spiky fish, anyway) on the sand amongst the seaweed, marine birds (definitely spoolbills, and maybe an oyster-catcher if I'd been paying more attention). Horses, back over the other side of the main road. There's nobody here, it's not the weekend. All of this sand, all to ourselves. We have dinner in some fancy café thing - country towns never had shops like this when I was a kid. I always feel bad just swanning around for a few days and pissing off again, just another rich city guy with nothing better to do but come and annoy some decent country folk for a while.

While we wait for the bus, we sit around the grass in the middle of town. Someone excitedly notices a blue-tongued lizard wandering around, and since I've got nothing better to do but lie in the sun reading my Will Self book, I hop up and take a look. Many years ago, up in Bacchus Marsh, we found one near our friends' house - after carrying it home we built a little brick home for it before heading off to the airfield to watch our fathers having their fun - when we came back, it was gone...

2000-09-12

"A change is as good as a smile," said the guy to some girl from upstairs who's just dyed her hair. Light rain falling down over cigarette smoke curling up to the heavens. I think about saying "hey, you coulda had some of my orange, you know", but I don't know them all that well, and it usually seems better/easier to keep quiet, just take it all in and observe. A lot goes through these eyes, these ears, and into this head - stored away in corners, under piles of more frequently used information, until some random occurrence brings them up to face me again.

"Silence is golden, especially on a friday afternoon," said my form master back in my second year of high school, making some kid write it out as a few hundred lines. At the end of high school, we went back to the junior school to see all our old teachers one last time, but this teacher didn't remember me. I was too excited to be finally leaving high school to worry about feeling betrayed. It just didn't seem to matter.

Random chance discoveries, emails from friends overseas I rarely hear from, each one placing another small piece into the larger puzzle - all these things remind me that life's still interestingly weird, although it's only being weird near me rather than weird to me. But I should be careful what I wish for...

2000-09-12b

"no-one's there when you need them
friends and family they caved in
through drought and flood
bone and blood

duty-bound to deliver
spend some time on the river
now you need to try
suicide at home"
Grant McLennan

My fingers never lie over the keyboard when I'm not actually typing something. More often than not I rest my chin on my hands, leaning on my elbows as I stare into empty space somewhere beyond my monitor.

The slow day makes me want to listen to slow music. I'm feeling powerless - there's nothing I can do but sit in this chair tonight. I don't want to miss anything, but on the other hand, there isn't really anything much to miss.

Good news. Good fortune. The good life. It's all good. I'm so happy for people I could cry.

Nevertheless, I can't help but feel that my place, my situation, my path is meant to be a different one. If only I had a better grasp of just how it should be. I'm sick of feeling like I'm just pissing in the wind.

Now listening :

• Young Team, by Mogwai.

• Far Out Corporation's self-titled album.

• NYC Ghosts & Flowers, by Sonic Youth.

2000-09-12c

she said not to bother
packing her things up
she could manage that herself
thankyou very much
and that blanket we used to throw on the bed
on those cold winter nights
somehow got left behind
and I forgot about it
until one cold night came along
the very next year
maybe I should've
given it away
to someone more deserving
I'm never too cold in bed
to tell the truth
but it was nice to have
that warmth above me
just one more time
I wish you'd call
or even just write.

2000-09-12d

I wrote a letter
which, among other things,
expressed my regret
at not having much
to say.

2000-09-12e

I remember the time I ingested a jar full of sleeping pills. I was in my third year of uni, my coursework was taking more of my time and becoming less fulfilling - I could see how little it was going to help me once I finished, and until then I was stuck in a meaningless cycle of pointless assessment. What was I to do ? I felt less and less at home with my usual group of uni friends, and I'd terminated a relationship with someone that had run into rough territory on account of her religion - I didn't feel like I could compete with God, so I called the whole thing off. Basically, I just couldn't see the future anymore. They'd given my father a jar of sleeping pills after a recent hospital visit, so one particularly depressed night I went and found them, washed the lot down with a glass of water, and went to sleep, hoping never to wake up. I didn't write a note explaining why - I didn't feel like I'd be capable of expressing it in a way I'd be happy with, in a way that wouldn't somehow be misinterpreted and twisted against me somehow.

Of course, nothing happened. Nothing at all. Life goes on, both joyously and regretfully.

Even nowadays it's hard to see the future, every once in a while.

2000-09-13

I remember many years ago, as a small child, I was waiting for dad to turn up, waiting there with my mother and sister in some disused block of land that was living a temporary life as a carpark of sorts. "When's dad coming ?" I asked. "Gawd only knows," Mum sighed. I thought she'd said "Gord" (as in, short for "Gordon"), and pointed at the car parked in front of us, asking "is that Gord's car ?" Even now I can remember that car, some 1970something model Ford Falcon station wagon, with an almost military green colour.

2000-09-13b

I walked down Commercial Road in the sun during my lunchbreak, stuffing my discman into my jacket pocket along with a Friends of Dean Martinez CD to try and make it seem like I was somewhere a bit further west. All this sitting around the office was getting me nowhere, I needed to walk off my restless confusion.

521 emails yesterday - too many mailing lists I'm not keeping up with. Every now and then I go into shock, unsubscribing from all but a treasured few lists. The thrill of mailing-list-based interaction is gone for me - many of the ones that I'm on seem too caught up in localised politics and pecking orders, such that I hardly ever feel like saying anything unless I really really feel I'm sure that I have something useful to contribute. Web searches on my name will reveal list archives from previous eras, when I felt more confident about saying whatever came into my head. My days as an Eager Young Space Cadet are gone.

If my words are lost, if they get suppressed somehow, it really doesn't matter to me. Others seem to be able to talk about particular things I hold inside me, and I'm thankful they're able to do it better, more verbosely. I don't need to be centre-stage - I'm happy sitting off in some little side street, arranging my thoughts and feeding you random memories when you drop by.

2000-09-18

The happy sound of Pizzicato Five. The feel of a good walk to the post office. The colour of a freshly poured beer. Listening to two geeks deep in conversation, but I tune out after a while and stare out into the window at the grass and the trees.

Running into someone who sounds like she's got it all worked out. I'm envious. I still have much of that hard, hard road ahead of me. The Big Picture^TM, and all that. But still, I suppose it's kind of empowering to see people who appear to have made the transition.

Just what is the shape of a good excuse, anyway ? (how did that phrase pop into my head ? Where did it come from ?)

• Middle Class Revolt, my first purchase by The Fall. Still a favourite, esp. You're not up to much.

• Roomic Cube, by Takako Minekawa. I wish I could make a CD something like this...

2000-09-18b

beautiful simple bass line
and quiet lilting voice
I want to be like you
the girl with the sun in her eyes
but not so simple
you're articulate
experimental
keep going
please.

2000-09-18c

'I tried to eliminate what was unnecessary
but it was like untangling a ball of string
I never dreamed it'd be so difficult
and unrewarding"
Stephen Cummings.

So where exactly does one begin ? Or can I just expect to wake up one morning with the answer in my head, the way that Zen meditation teacher back in 1992 used to talk about the concept of "Sleeping On It" ? The glimpse of certain possibilities, though, just won't go away. I could make these jumps, in the hope that I'm moving forward, but...I'd like to be sure...or at least slightly moreso than usual. Every step I take seems like a bigger one than the last. The bottomless chasm is never far away.

2000-09-19

"Well I love you baby
but you gotta understand
when the Lord made me
he made a ramblin' man."
Hank Williams.

I'm not worthy, but I continue on nonetheless.

failover
failover
failover
*click*.

I'm not worthy, but I continue on nonetheless.

Now listening :

• Hey believer, by Kim Salmon.
• The negro inside me, by Barry Adamson.
• The slow crack, by Steve Kilbey.
• Remindlessness, by Steve Kilbey.

2000-09-22

Serial frenzy. Things become automatic if you do them often enough. Individual steps, strung together to infinity. Unscrew this. Pull that lever just so. Push the whole unit in. Plug this there. And that over there. Find a free place to plug the other thing in. Give it a name. Wait for it all to synchronize. That kind of stuff.

Busy, one way or another. Treading water. For the moment, all is well. Fret not.

Current listening :

• Satyricon, Original Fire and Actual Sounds + Voices, by Meat Beat Manifesto.

2000-09-23

The day goes slowly, like the gentle guitar sounds of a particular CD I picked up. Putting the pants on one leg at a time. I hate button flys, but my 501s fit so well I gave in and bought another pair. So easy to zone out when you walk around the CBD, people, construction, chain stores, everybody's trying really hard. Except me. I'd wish it all away in a moment. But I shouldn't. Why do I feel so detached ? Why doesn't it matter to me ?

2000-09-24

Throwing money at technology. In a few days' time I'll be able to feed my boredom somewhere around 10 times (as if) faster. I'm so thrilled when I think of it that way.

I wanted to say more, but the words won't work for me.

2000-09-29

"I never liked you until I took a good look at myself"
Guided By Voices.

A small table in a crowded room. Everything's happening at friday lunchtime. We're not well-dressed, like the others, but we're regulars. Everything counts (in large amounts, etc. etc. etc...). Our favourite waitress is off doing some minor fill-in part for Neighbours, so we feel that little bit more invisible than usual. Eventually though, she shows up - nothing better to do with her day, may as well come in for a beer and a chat - and sits with us. Foo writes "Hello" in red pen on his garlic bread, reminding me of a more decorative effort by Alex at that Steamboat dinner we had with Haiyan before she left for friendly Canada, so friendly that the apartment blocks have their own webpages. And so on. The temptation not to go back to work is overwhelming, but we manage to leave, somehow.

2000-09-29b

"OVER the underpass! UNDER the overpass! Around the FUTURE and BEYOND REPAIR!!"
Zippy the Pinhead.

Slow, slow afternoons. "goofey speaks louder than voice", she says. I blame Mark E. Smith on the headphones. I was floating. Lapsang Souchong tea. Was the other one talking about IRC or flying ? I never found out. Not that it matters - I don't do either very often.

These are the days I'll look back upon wistfully - easygoing times, playful times, times when I probably could've been doing more with my life if I really believed my own guilt.

2000-09-30

one of these days
you'll work it out
and look through
my thin
and petty
disguises
promises
and words.

one of these days
there'll be others
better
faster
stronger
more witty
more loving
more fun.

one of these days
you'll wish I was
someone else.

I'm sorry.

2000-09-30b

Australian accents on TV shows, especially sci-fi ones, seem so out of place. A novelty.

Winery tour. Learning more about the intertwingledness of things, how people ended up here. Random anecdotes. Lots of them. A good day for stories.

...and thank you for the music, by the way.