I've decided that my song for 2009 is Regret - New Order.
Last night I deleted him from my FB friends list. This morning I wrote in my diary and cried. Then I walked to Bourke St Bakery, listening to Bananarama, and bought myself coffee, a dark chocolate and raspberry muffin and a loaf of sourdough. I ate my sweet treat in the park, with coffee, and a book. I enjoyed the open space, the air, the bird songs, the movement of people and traffic. And reading my book. I felt a bit more connected to the world out there.
I realise I'm experiencing grief. I realise this is necessary. I realise that it will pass. But until then I will try to be okay with my sadness and not be too hard on myself.
I realise that this may read like a dodgy self-help 'healing' narrative. Oh well.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
thick skin doesn't feel as good
i'm not really happy with this world i've carved for myself.
i just came from a meeting with the director and review panel chair to see if my marginal assessment can be overturned. they said no, but agreed to an earlier follow-up review in January. I wouldn't care only I believe my chances of university research funding have been hindered.
things said at the meeting that pissed me off:
- this (non-funding potential) is an unfortunate consequence of the review decision, but is nothing to do with the review panel
- this is what academia is about - it's a competitive world and often you don't get funding to attend conferences
- a lot of students self-fund their education
- we'd like you to concentrate on the work you're doing (conferences are good but sometimes they can be a distraction)
- we believe it's a two-way relationship and the student has to take responsibility
of course, not everything said was this fucked up. But it was fucked up enough for me to be sitting here now, blowing steam, thinking it unlikely that i'll go to tomorrow's xmas lunch.
i made a point of mentioning that my progress was barely discussed at the review panel, the discussion centring upon supervision difficulties. the director agreed and implied that maybe i should have talked more about my progress. i mentioned that i wasn't in a space to do so. i wasn't. i was fucking exhausted, seething, uncomfortable. i could only think one thing - "get me out of here". it's only been since the review, the annulment of that relationship, that i've been able to embrace the work once again. of course i'm fucking behind schedule. of course i'm willing to take some responsibility for this. but what about the centre, can they?
talking to malcolm on the weekend and he says there's an art to communicating and getting people to do what you want, or to come around to your perspective. he said it gets more difficult the older you get, that people can be forgiving of you when you're in your 20s, but not when you're a grown up. i thought he was referring to 'talking the talk' but said i'd much rather 'walk the walk'. he denied that this is what it is. i heard myself explaining that i've always invested much in the notion of honesty and open communication. i speak as i think. of course i try to give context and gently reveal that which might be confronting or read in ways unintended, but my policy has always been as much honesty as i can muster. and i've had a lot of practice with this, throughout my 20s, in collective organisations, in non-professional and creative working environments, amongst friends - whose communication is more valuable than a phd.
and at the end of today's meeting, like at the review panel, i exposed the way i felt about things. i tried to stop myself but it just falls out. i expose my anxieties, fears, weaknesses. but i guess that's not a good look in the professional realm.
it all reminds me of Paris telling me i need to play the game. in other words, talk the talk. but i'm resistant (a word my ex-supervisor often used to describe me) to giving myself over to that world. if academia is competitive and brutal then academia can just fuck off.
i just came from a meeting with the director and review panel chair to see if my marginal assessment can be overturned. they said no, but agreed to an earlier follow-up review in January. I wouldn't care only I believe my chances of university research funding have been hindered.
things said at the meeting that pissed me off:
- this (non-funding potential) is an unfortunate consequence of the review decision, but is nothing to do with the review panel
- this is what academia is about - it's a competitive world and often you don't get funding to attend conferences
- a lot of students self-fund their education
- we'd like you to concentrate on the work you're doing (conferences are good but sometimes they can be a distraction)
- we believe it's a two-way relationship and the student has to take responsibility
of course, not everything said was this fucked up. But it was fucked up enough for me to be sitting here now, blowing steam, thinking it unlikely that i'll go to tomorrow's xmas lunch.
i made a point of mentioning that my progress was barely discussed at the review panel, the discussion centring upon supervision difficulties. the director agreed and implied that maybe i should have talked more about my progress. i mentioned that i wasn't in a space to do so. i wasn't. i was fucking exhausted, seething, uncomfortable. i could only think one thing - "get me out of here". it's only been since the review, the annulment of that relationship, that i've been able to embrace the work once again. of course i'm fucking behind schedule. of course i'm willing to take some responsibility for this. but what about the centre, can they?
talking to malcolm on the weekend and he says there's an art to communicating and getting people to do what you want, or to come around to your perspective. he said it gets more difficult the older you get, that people can be forgiving of you when you're in your 20s, but not when you're a grown up. i thought he was referring to 'talking the talk' but said i'd much rather 'walk the walk'. he denied that this is what it is. i heard myself explaining that i've always invested much in the notion of honesty and open communication. i speak as i think. of course i try to give context and gently reveal that which might be confronting or read in ways unintended, but my policy has always been as much honesty as i can muster. and i've had a lot of practice with this, throughout my 20s, in collective organisations, in non-professional and creative working environments, amongst friends - whose communication is more valuable than a phd.
and at the end of today's meeting, like at the review panel, i exposed the way i felt about things. i tried to stop myself but it just falls out. i expose my anxieties, fears, weaknesses. but i guess that's not a good look in the professional realm.
it all reminds me of Paris telling me i need to play the game. in other words, talk the talk. but i'm resistant (a word my ex-supervisor often used to describe me) to giving myself over to that world. if academia is competitive and brutal then academia can just fuck off.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
good cake, bad cake
i think i'm a really bad administrator. today i've been organising funding and reimbursement for research expenses, finalising interview participants, finding a transcriber, filling up my diary for the coming weeks, clearing the decks.
each time i do this i feel a sense of achievement. yet i suspect that what equates to 2 hours work for many people is a day's work for me. i haven't written a word of thesis.
but i did swim.
and i did have ex breakfast.
he's 'kind of seeing somebody'. up until this revelation the air was tense, the conversation stilted, and there was lots of pause in which to eat my strawberry crumble. i asked what he was doing for xmas. he couldn't tell me. he questioned whether it was worth us meeting like this. i said probably not if we're not allowed to talk about anything aside from our past. and then he released the elephant. i told him i suspected this from earlier conversations we'd had. i reminded him that he can't keep secrets.
anyway, i feel relieved. conversation was easier after this. i'm not sure if relief is a typical emotion when you find out that your ex is seeing someone. but maybe, once again, it wasn't a typical relationship. and maybe no relationship is.
today is also about not paying for things: my library fines were cleared (it's amnesty week), i'm getting money for research costs, i got a free slice of cake.
the woman said of the carrot cake: "because it's the 2nd last piece, you get 2 pieces". great. except it wasn't. she offered to heat it up. i said no. she insisted that she heat it up. the man insisted that it was only 3 degrees in the cake cabinet. he said it many times and eventually took out the temperature gauge to show me. he was right. i gave in. she heated my cake, icing and all. and actually, it was probably better heated as it wasn't so fresh. and it wasn't so great.
i ate it now, whilst typing this, and in no time it was eaten (bar a very dry corner). now i'm feeling heavy, overly-sugared, and anti-cake.
each time i do this i feel a sense of achievement. yet i suspect that what equates to 2 hours work for many people is a day's work for me. i haven't written a word of thesis.
but i did swim.
and i did have ex breakfast.
he's 'kind of seeing somebody'. up until this revelation the air was tense, the conversation stilted, and there was lots of pause in which to eat my strawberry crumble. i asked what he was doing for xmas. he couldn't tell me. he questioned whether it was worth us meeting like this. i said probably not if we're not allowed to talk about anything aside from our past. and then he released the elephant. i told him i suspected this from earlier conversations we'd had. i reminded him that he can't keep secrets.
anyway, i feel relieved. conversation was easier after this. i'm not sure if relief is a typical emotion when you find out that your ex is seeing someone. but maybe, once again, it wasn't a typical relationship. and maybe no relationship is.
today is also about not paying for things: my library fines were cleared (it's amnesty week), i'm getting money for research costs, i got a free slice of cake.
the woman said of the carrot cake: "because it's the 2nd last piece, you get 2 pieces". great. except it wasn't. she offered to heat it up. i said no. she insisted that she heat it up. the man insisted that it was only 3 degrees in the cake cabinet. he said it many times and eventually took out the temperature gauge to show me. he was right. i gave in. she heated my cake, icing and all. and actually, it was probably better heated as it wasn't so fresh. and it wasn't so great.
i ate it now, whilst typing this, and in no time it was eaten (bar a very dry corner). now i'm feeling heavy, overly-sugared, and anti-cake.
Monday, November 16, 2009
today and tomorrow (without beach)
today it's just me and lottie at home. she's good company. she puts herself in my periphery, makes sounds when i walk past her. shifts herself from bed to floorboards, all stretched out and hot. and i'm hot. and thoughts of the beach rise here and there. david bowie sings about modern love.
i'm contemplating my role as the keeper of secrets. another interview today. i'm excited and exhausted by this, depending upon how i think of the interviews. when it's 'data' (which it is) it's exciting. it's rich. it's the flesh and bone of a thesis. i get pangs of excitement at points of discussion that shimmer, revealing themselves as something important to this thesis and this argument, connecting to theory and the words of other participants.
but there's another side where i dig and unravel people's thoughts, words, feelings, and i'm exposed to some raw, fleshy material. and i feel an urge to apply bandages, to touch, to reassure. but i can't. and this makes me uneasy. i guess 'participants' may not want this anyway, and it probably does create a better environment for people to divulge and shed things. but i shed nothing, just take it all in.
these discussions aren't dissimilar to those i have with friends. yet they're exempt from my input and my stories. maybe this is part of my struggle. it's a onesided dialogue in which only they divulge. i'm left with secrets, both theirs and mine. friendship discussions of this nature can be exhausting too. but they form part of something larger, a continuum, another chapter in a book unfinished. the interview is finished. as is my relationship with the interviewee, in most cases (some are attached to broad social networks, so it's likely that we'll have further contact down the track).
anyway. i'm feeling hot and exhausted. i didn't sleep enough hours last night. i'm thinking about a few guys that currently intrigue me, and i don't know what to make of this. i think it's probably just a reaction to feeling lonely, and therefore imagining potential futures where i'm at the centre of someone's thoughts. i don't want a boyfriend, yet i do. i don't want to see my ex tomorrow, yet i do. and the thought of meeting him blurs my perspective on all of this stuff. i want celibacy, but i don't. i want intimacy, but i don't. i want to stop thinking about the words of interviewees and applying them to my own situation. i can't help feel that they're educating me in matters of sex, love, and desire, despite them being younger, and seemingly (but not) less sorted.
to do tomorrow:
i'm contemplating my role as the keeper of secrets. another interview today. i'm excited and exhausted by this, depending upon how i think of the interviews. when it's 'data' (which it is) it's exciting. it's rich. it's the flesh and bone of a thesis. i get pangs of excitement at points of discussion that shimmer, revealing themselves as something important to this thesis and this argument, connecting to theory and the words of other participants.
but there's another side where i dig and unravel people's thoughts, words, feelings, and i'm exposed to some raw, fleshy material. and i feel an urge to apply bandages, to touch, to reassure. but i can't. and this makes me uneasy. i guess 'participants' may not want this anyway, and it probably does create a better environment for people to divulge and shed things. but i shed nothing, just take it all in.
these discussions aren't dissimilar to those i have with friends. yet they're exempt from my input and my stories. maybe this is part of my struggle. it's a onesided dialogue in which only they divulge. i'm left with secrets, both theirs and mine. friendship discussions of this nature can be exhausting too. but they form part of something larger, a continuum, another chapter in a book unfinished. the interview is finished. as is my relationship with the interviewee, in most cases (some are attached to broad social networks, so it's likely that we'll have further contact down the track).
anyway. i'm feeling hot and exhausted. i didn't sleep enough hours last night. i'm thinking about a few guys that currently intrigue me, and i don't know what to make of this. i think it's probably just a reaction to feeling lonely, and therefore imagining potential futures where i'm at the centre of someone's thoughts. i don't want a boyfriend, yet i do. i don't want to see my ex tomorrow, yet i do. and the thought of meeting him blurs my perspective on all of this stuff. i want celibacy, but i don't. i want intimacy, but i don't. i want to stop thinking about the words of interviewees and applying them to my own situation. i can't help feel that they're educating me in matters of sex, love, and desire, despite them being younger, and seemingly (but not) less sorted.
to do tomorrow:
- breakfast with ex (i hope you're not reading this)
- return that overdue library book
- write several pages about condom technologies
- book tickets to xavier le roy
- swim
Thursday, October 15, 2009
queer discomfort
last night i saw a film at the red rattler about an intersex teenager living in uruguay.
then i went to the sly fox hotel.
a drag queen was performing on stage, but later revealed her breasts. and spoke about her 'plastic' vagina. a post-op trans woman performing drag, as a woman, to a crowd of mostly lesbians. it was a queer moment.
then she made a racist joke about young lebanese men stealing cars.
then a person from the audience took to the stage, and to the microphone, to highlight that this was a racist joke.
people cheered. a non-lebanese queer yells out "it's not only lebanese who steal cars", suggesting their own potential civil disobedience.
the drag performer gets defensive and slags off the rebuttal. she says that because she's greek she's not being 'racialist'. she makes a quip about it being like hey hey it's saturday.
a bunch of anarcho-queers line the front of the stage with their backs to her.
it's a bit hostile. and strange. and still very queer.
there are murmurings of a walk-out, hints of 'an action' being planned. someone tells someone who tells us about the walk-out. the queers leave, discretely, undefiantly. they probably had to finish their drinks.
today we're talking about nationalism in class and one student gets worked up about what 'we' give to aboriginal people - free education, housing, and everything. she suggests that black issues are still a problem in the US, but they're not here. it seems she's making a comparison between african-americans and aboriginal-australians. other students are looking uncomfortable. they're looking at me. i cut her off. another student starts asking her to justify her arguments. i cut him off too. i make a short statement about their being current and ongoing discrepancies in aboriginal health and... something, i can't remember exactly. a summation, in order to move back to where we were. i try and take the 'us/them' example to relate back to nationalism, and how this divide might be utilised in terms of race/gender and other difference. but she gets defensive. i assure her that i'm not referring to her, but to the ways in which we all speak (and indeed had been throughout the entire class) in terms of 'us' and 'them'.
she doesn't get it. it's uncomfortable. i'm losing my way. nobody has done the readings. i'm writing words on the whiteboard, but they may not make sense. a student jumps in and saves me, saying what i'm trying to, but with more clarity. but she still doesn't get it. she wants to talk about hey hey it's saturday.
i'm going now, to drink beer and play music trivia. if anyone mentions hey hey it's saturday, i might be compelled to slap them.
then i went to the sly fox hotel.
a drag queen was performing on stage, but later revealed her breasts. and spoke about her 'plastic' vagina. a post-op trans woman performing drag, as a woman, to a crowd of mostly lesbians. it was a queer moment.
then she made a racist joke about young lebanese men stealing cars.
then a person from the audience took to the stage, and to the microphone, to highlight that this was a racist joke.
people cheered. a non-lebanese queer yells out "it's not only lebanese who steal cars", suggesting their own potential civil disobedience.
the drag performer gets defensive and slags off the rebuttal. she says that because she's greek she's not being 'racialist'. she makes a quip about it being like hey hey it's saturday.
a bunch of anarcho-queers line the front of the stage with their backs to her.
it's a bit hostile. and strange. and still very queer.
there are murmurings of a walk-out, hints of 'an action' being planned. someone tells someone who tells us about the walk-out. the queers leave, discretely, undefiantly. they probably had to finish their drinks.
today we're talking about nationalism in class and one student gets worked up about what 'we' give to aboriginal people - free education, housing, and everything. she suggests that black issues are still a problem in the US, but they're not here. it seems she's making a comparison between african-americans and aboriginal-australians. other students are looking uncomfortable. they're looking at me. i cut her off. another student starts asking her to justify her arguments. i cut him off too. i make a short statement about their being current and ongoing discrepancies in aboriginal health and... something, i can't remember exactly. a summation, in order to move back to where we were. i try and take the 'us/them' example to relate back to nationalism, and how this divide might be utilised in terms of race/gender and other difference. but she gets defensive. i assure her that i'm not referring to her, but to the ways in which we all speak (and indeed had been throughout the entire class) in terms of 'us' and 'them'.
she doesn't get it. it's uncomfortable. i'm losing my way. nobody has done the readings. i'm writing words on the whiteboard, but they may not make sense. a student jumps in and saves me, saying what i'm trying to, but with more clarity. but she still doesn't get it. she wants to talk about hey hey it's saturday.
i'm going now, to drink beer and play music trivia. if anyone mentions hey hey it's saturday, i might be compelled to slap them.
Monday, October 12, 2009
swim therapy
the first few laps of the pool were awakening. my arms pushed forward, then down through the water, strenching along the length of my body. pursed lips push out air at a metered pace. unconsciously counting. my legs move up and down in a gentle sway. my head points downward, moving sideways every three strokes, to take in air. my body expands itself beyond itself.
towards the end of the swim i'm feeling my shoulders, as though heavy and water-logged. i'm hearing my breath. i'm slowing down, but ocassionally finding reserves of energy to push on. and i push on.
i sit in the steam room and my shoulders melt. my arms feel like they're no longer there. my lungs take in the heat. my pulse slows. sweat trickles down my chest, my face, my everything.
i walk back to the desk, some photocopying on the way, and the purchase of a sandwich. i feel upright, walking with ease, eyes meeting eyes. this feeling grants me departure from where i was this morning, when things seemed impossible, too much, as though another kick to my stomach.
it's late, but i think i can write something now. and mark some essays. and point myself towards tonight, my bed, and a nice long sleep.
towards the end of the swim i'm feeling my shoulders, as though heavy and water-logged. i'm hearing my breath. i'm slowing down, but ocassionally finding reserves of energy to push on. and i push on.
i sit in the steam room and my shoulders melt. my arms feel like they're no longer there. my lungs take in the heat. my pulse slows. sweat trickles down my chest, my face, my everything.
i walk back to the desk, some photocopying on the way, and the purchase of a sandwich. i feel upright, walking with ease, eyes meeting eyes. this feeling grants me departure from where i was this morning, when things seemed impossible, too much, as though another kick to my stomach.
it's late, but i think i can write something now. and mark some essays. and point myself towards tonight, my bed, and a nice long sleep.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
away then back
nice to be in my bed again. was hoping for an early night, but i've been reading in the bath, speaking on the phone, sending messages, and watching divinyls videos. like this one:
my family weekend left me disappointed. i don't want to talk about master chef. or football. or raising children and how boys are boys and girls are girls. "get. me out. of here".
then melbourne. it wasn't until day 3, my final day, that i felt happy. stupid of me to think i could leave my worries in sydney. i wear them in melbourne, like all places. my epidermis.
a week of seven virgos:
the 1st is my 1 year old nephew. upon meeting him, as though for the first time (given that we're now able to communicate), he puts his arms out, wanting to be held. strange, in comparison to his sister's ongoing suspicion and avoidance of me. so we bond on the first day. he points to things and i take him to those things. he picks leaves from trees and i discourage him from eating them. we like each other. my niece suggests that maybe he thinks that i'm his dad. he pulls funny faces to make people laugh. i like how my brother calls him a peanut.
2 virgos are people i sleep with. though their beds, their apartments, their bodies are not a comfortable fit. i'm still unsatisfied. i'm still not escaping.
2 virgos are present only in their absence. voids i fill with other men who are typically virgo.
virgo 6 is a friend with whom i confide in about most of the other virgos. we talk in small cafés, on the streets, and in a cinema foyer, where we discuss the politics of the power bottom whilst eating honeycomb choc-tops. later i watch him perform on stage.
virgo 7 presents himself as cheeky text messages asking for presents, feigning jealousy, joking about our marriage. on my last day, from a park bench at the state library, i speak with him for the first time.
i'm left with fond memories of the last day. the film and our shared laughter, conversations around food, coffee, wine. a dinner under fluorescent lighting. things that speak to me in ways that my family and rural victoria cannot. reminders that i have forged another world in which i'm comfortable. to an extent.
it seems there's an everlasting tension between my 2 worlds that render me bilingual. sometimes it feels good to speak with two tongues. but sometimes you're only reminded that some people can never understand certain aspects of you. so you don't even bother trying. instead, you present the half as the whole. within one realm i cannot speak freely of the other. arguably there are more than 2 realms. at this moment i'm aware of the two, their distinctions, and how they each have the power to render me incomprehensible.
my family weekend left me disappointed. i don't want to talk about master chef. or football. or raising children and how boys are boys and girls are girls. "get. me out. of here".
then melbourne. it wasn't until day 3, my final day, that i felt happy. stupid of me to think i could leave my worries in sydney. i wear them in melbourne, like all places. my epidermis.
a week of seven virgos:
the 1st is my 1 year old nephew. upon meeting him, as though for the first time (given that we're now able to communicate), he puts his arms out, wanting to be held. strange, in comparison to his sister's ongoing suspicion and avoidance of me. so we bond on the first day. he points to things and i take him to those things. he picks leaves from trees and i discourage him from eating them. we like each other. my niece suggests that maybe he thinks that i'm his dad. he pulls funny faces to make people laugh. i like how my brother calls him a peanut.
2 virgos are people i sleep with. though their beds, their apartments, their bodies are not a comfortable fit. i'm still unsatisfied. i'm still not escaping.
2 virgos are present only in their absence. voids i fill with other men who are typically virgo.
virgo 6 is a friend with whom i confide in about most of the other virgos. we talk in small cafés, on the streets, and in a cinema foyer, where we discuss the politics of the power bottom whilst eating honeycomb choc-tops. later i watch him perform on stage.
virgo 7 presents himself as cheeky text messages asking for presents, feigning jealousy, joking about our marriage. on my last day, from a park bench at the state library, i speak with him for the first time.
i'm left with fond memories of the last day. the film and our shared laughter, conversations around food, coffee, wine. a dinner under fluorescent lighting. things that speak to me in ways that my family and rural victoria cannot. reminders that i have forged another world in which i'm comfortable. to an extent.
it seems there's an everlasting tension between my 2 worlds that render me bilingual. sometimes it feels good to speak with two tongues. but sometimes you're only reminded that some people can never understand certain aspects of you. so you don't even bother trying. instead, you present the half as the whole. within one realm i cannot speak freely of the other. arguably there are more than 2 realms. at this moment i'm aware of the two, their distinctions, and how they each have the power to render me incomprehensible.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
being summonsed
after yesterday's emailing with supervisors, they want a face-to-face meeting as soon as i'm back from melbourne. hmm... i don't know what to make of this. i think it could one of the following:
a) they think i'm crazy / not coping
b) one of them wants to bow out
c) they want to make sure i will show up for my review
d) they want to counsel me through 'my issues'
e) all of the above
i think i'll do some more writing and reply later. the chapter is actually coming along okay, though will not be complete by thursday. i'm having fantasies of it being beyond brilliant and making them fall over themselves, realising that i do have a sense of what i'm doing. as usual, such fantasy keeps me going.
an excerpt from my email of yesterday (about as close as i got to saying 'fuck you'):
I'm tired and in need of a break, hence the trip to Melbourne where I can be with friends and family, refresh, and gain perspective. I'm not offering this as an excuse, but sharing it because this is where my priority lies (in my health and relationships, not my thesis), and therefore this impacts upon my 'output'...
can't wait til friday, victoria, the house by the beach.
a) they think i'm crazy / not coping
b) one of them wants to bow out
c) they want to make sure i will show up for my review
d) they want to counsel me through 'my issues'
e) all of the above
i think i'll do some more writing and reply later. the chapter is actually coming along okay, though will not be complete by thursday. i'm having fantasies of it being beyond brilliant and making them fall over themselves, realising that i do have a sense of what i'm doing. as usual, such fantasy keeps me going.
an excerpt from my email of yesterday (about as close as i got to saying 'fuck you'):
I'm tired and in need of a break, hence the trip to Melbourne where I can be with friends and family, refresh, and gain perspective. I'm not offering this as an excuse, but sharing it because this is where my priority lies (in my health and relationships, not my thesis), and therefore this impacts upon my 'output'...
can't wait til friday, victoria, the house by the beach.
Monday, September 28, 2009
i want a divorce
i feel kind kinda knotted at the moment. caffeinated, tired (exhausted even), and wanting to cry or scream or both.
my supervisors keep wanting me to write for them. i don't write for them, i write for me. i want to tell them to fuck off.
yesterday morning, in bed, i wrote a zine. see, i'm productive. but i don't produce for them. and that's the problem. they think i'm difficult. i am difficult. but they don't like that. fuck them.
grr... i had such plans today to write, to make headway into this chapter which is thus far only a bunch of notes and thoughts churning away inside me. and this is what they want. but now they've contributed to my angst. my paralysis set off by their guilt-inducing emails.
i just composed a response and read over it several times to tone down my angst. i told them i'm tired. i wanted to say "leave me the fuck alone".
supervision and me are incompatible. i make zines. and words. and things. and none of this needs supervision. well it hasn't so far. and i don't care if it's judged to be no good. if it makes me feel good then it's good. like my writings, my friends, the things i do.
this may not make sense. bah.
my supervisors keep wanting me to write for them. i don't write for them, i write for me. i want to tell them to fuck off.
yesterday morning, in bed, i wrote a zine. see, i'm productive. but i don't produce for them. and that's the problem. they think i'm difficult. i am difficult. but they don't like that. fuck them.
grr... i had such plans today to write, to make headway into this chapter which is thus far only a bunch of notes and thoughts churning away inside me. and this is what they want. but now they've contributed to my angst. my paralysis set off by their guilt-inducing emails.
i just composed a response and read over it several times to tone down my angst. i told them i'm tired. i wanted to say "leave me the fuck alone".
supervision and me are incompatible. i make zines. and words. and things. and none of this needs supervision. well it hasn't so far. and i don't care if it's judged to be no good. if it makes me feel good then it's good. like my writings, my friends, the things i do.
this may not make sense. bah.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
108 steps of boredom
thursday and i'm tired and it's dark. just finished teaching, feeling all abuzz, workshopping my performance in my head as i climb the stairs from the quad to the library. a guy next to me grumbles: "too many stairs. 108." i'm impressed that he has counted them - the stairs i climb on most days. he tells me it's due to boredom.
it's a nice interruption to my thoughts. we part ways. i climb more stairs towards my desk. i count 43. that's 151 steps on my journey to this desk, chair, computer, headspace.
is each one a step or a stair? it seems it's a step, a stair being the entire block of steps. well that's what one dictionary tells me. and now i can't remember if he said steps or stairs. i may have misquoted. ah, technicalities. it's been an afternoon of those.
we talked about religions: islamic, christian and jewish. too much time spent on clarifying distinctions between them. and then a slightly dodgy discussion on Islamic 'veiling' practices. and then time was up before i fully redeemed the conversation. or maybe that's not my job anyway. sigh. why the fuck am i teaching this, stressing about this, reading up on this? i sometimes forget i'm just a lowly tutor. give me my money so i can go and get pissed. oh yeah, i'm supposed to be writing a thesis. all the more reason to get pissed.
and now i have 2 weeks without classes and readings and marking. 2 weeks of thesis-only, of making up for the last 3 weeks of not writing very much. it all starts tomorrow. 151 steps a day.
it's a nice interruption to my thoughts. we part ways. i climb more stairs towards my desk. i count 43. that's 151 steps on my journey to this desk, chair, computer, headspace.
is each one a step or a stair? it seems it's a step, a stair being the entire block of steps. well that's what one dictionary tells me. and now i can't remember if he said steps or stairs. i may have misquoted. ah, technicalities. it's been an afternoon of those.
we talked about religions: islamic, christian and jewish. too much time spent on clarifying distinctions between them. and then a slightly dodgy discussion on Islamic 'veiling' practices. and then time was up before i fully redeemed the conversation. or maybe that's not my job anyway. sigh. why the fuck am i teaching this, stressing about this, reading up on this? i sometimes forget i'm just a lowly tutor. give me my money so i can go and get pissed. oh yeah, i'm supposed to be writing a thesis. all the more reason to get pissed.
and now i have 2 weeks without classes and readings and marking. 2 weeks of thesis-only, of making up for the last 3 weeks of not writing very much. it all starts tomorrow. 151 steps a day.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
creation everywhere blossoms
A quote to ponder. Or rather, a quote that I like and currently ponder.
A typewriter, some paper, and a little leisure: this little world would, for example, circumscribe the site in which art can be born. But housing, clothing, housework, cooking, and an infinite number of rural, urban, family, or amical activities, the multiple forms of professional work, are also the ground on which creation everywhere blossoms. Daily life is scattered with marvels, a froth on the long rhythms of language and history that is as dazzling as that of writers and artists. Lacking proper names, all kinds of language give birth to these ephemeral celebrations that surge up, disappear, and return.
Michel de Certeau, Culture in the Plural, p142
A typewriter, some paper, and a little leisure: this little world would, for example, circumscribe the site in which art can be born. But housing, clothing, housework, cooking, and an infinite number of rural, urban, family, or amical activities, the multiple forms of professional work, are also the ground on which creation everywhere blossoms. Daily life is scattered with marvels, a froth on the long rhythms of language and history that is as dazzling as that of writers and artists. Lacking proper names, all kinds of language give birth to these ephemeral celebrations that surge up, disappear, and return.
Michel de Certeau, Culture in the Plural, p142
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
melancholic, tired, uncertain
this morning i tidied my room. i turned over the mattress, changed the sheets, put away clothes, swept the floor, re-arranged a few things. it didn't make me feel much better.
friday fatigue has taken hold. i'm down on myself for not getting enough sleep, not taking care of myself, not being organised, not managing my time more efficiently. i forever chase my own tail.
i yearn for distraction. polish guy said he'd call today, so i wait for my phone to vibrate. and i try to resist seeking happiness through him or any other. i've been wondering what paris is doing today. tempted to message him, despite my concerns. but i can't really reign in these curious thoughts. i think i just want to feel like the centre of someone's world. even for just an hour or so, to tide me over.
sarah blasko's xanadu is on high rotation these past few days. seems to capture something in how i'm feeling. a bit lost. a bit hopeful.
last night i saw cheri. not a great film, but a great story. i'm sure i'd get more from the books. lea is quite an amazing character. she seems the perfect role model for me right now. a person who accepts and deals with the economies of love, passion, ageing. at the centre of her story (and her affair) is her resilience, her inability to ever slide into the role of victim, despite her losses. rather, she buys herself an emerald ring. she asks "is there anything in the world more wonderful than a bed all to yourself?"
on this point my cinema buddy agrees. but i cannot. i obviously have some way to go before finding my inner courtesan.
friday fatigue has taken hold. i'm down on myself for not getting enough sleep, not taking care of myself, not being organised, not managing my time more efficiently. i forever chase my own tail.
i yearn for distraction. polish guy said he'd call today, so i wait for my phone to vibrate. and i try to resist seeking happiness through him or any other. i've been wondering what paris is doing today. tempted to message him, despite my concerns. but i can't really reign in these curious thoughts. i think i just want to feel like the centre of someone's world. even for just an hour or so, to tide me over.
sarah blasko's xanadu is on high rotation these past few days. seems to capture something in how i'm feeling. a bit lost. a bit hopeful.
last night i saw cheri. not a great film, but a great story. i'm sure i'd get more from the books. lea is quite an amazing character. she seems the perfect role model for me right now. a person who accepts and deals with the economies of love, passion, ageing. at the centre of her story (and her affair) is her resilience, her inability to ever slide into the role of victim, despite her losses. rather, she buys herself an emerald ring. she asks "is there anything in the world more wonderful than a bed all to yourself?"
on this point my cinema buddy agrees. but i cannot. i obviously have some way to go before finding my inner courtesan.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
coffee break
between the lecture and the tutorial i post a birthday present to my niece, i make coffee, i eat cake, i check email, i read over the latest media sex scandal. i arrange my books and papers in a nice pile to take to the tute (because i know it will be 5 before i know it).
i spent almost a week in melbourne, returned yesterday, adjusting now to my 'real' life of home and study and teaching. melbourne's winter air cleared my head nicely. as did the pleasant food, conversation, and fun times. and the movies.
i was thinking of writing something about my newfound reluctance to date men. i still haven't been on that date (he got sick, then i went away) and was uncertain about contacting him right away. but just now my phone vibrates and i dash off to the soundproof room.
it's the polish man i gave my number to before i went away. he wants to meet up, 'take a walk' or have coffee/lunch. i now have a sunday afternoon commitment. i should stop giving my number to strange men. though who knows, it could be fun.
it's already 10 to 5. time to face students and pretend to be a competent tutor.
i spent almost a week in melbourne, returned yesterday, adjusting now to my 'real' life of home and study and teaching. melbourne's winter air cleared my head nicely. as did the pleasant food, conversation, and fun times. and the movies.
i was thinking of writing something about my newfound reluctance to date men. i still haven't been on that date (he got sick, then i went away) and was uncertain about contacting him right away. but just now my phone vibrates and i dash off to the soundproof room.
it's the polish man i gave my number to before i went away. he wants to meet up, 'take a walk' or have coffee/lunch. i now have a sunday afternoon commitment. i should stop giving my number to strange men. though who knows, it could be fun.
it's already 10 to 5. time to face students and pretend to be a competent tutor.
Friday, July 10, 2009
"my pillow is the cash register"
... is a comment i overheard today, walking from the library to the pool. i don't understand, but immediately i thought of sex. maybe because i spend my days writing about sex. and because i'm not having any.
yesterday i took a day off. i cooked and cleaned and listened to music loudly. it was nice. i'm starting to appreciate my need to slow down, take care, adjust to these recent changes.
i've been a bit of a recluse but i think that's okay. i made some attempts to see friends this week, though most people were busy. everything seemed to become a tentative plan for next week. i'm not sure i'll fit everything in.
jessie returns next week. jess comes up from melbourne to stay. one of my supervisors returns and wants to meet. oh, and i have a date. i'm not sure why i did that, but i guess i'm just testing the water or something. i partially blame winter loneliness. a stupid time of the year to break up (though i've done this twice now).
did a bit of thesis writing today and not feeling too lost in it all, after my day of respite. so will head home shortly with my books and papers and grand plans to make more words.
yesterday i took a day off. i cooked and cleaned and listened to music loudly. it was nice. i'm starting to appreciate my need to slow down, take care, adjust to these recent changes.
i've been a bit of a recluse but i think that's okay. i made some attempts to see friends this week, though most people were busy. everything seemed to become a tentative plan for next week. i'm not sure i'll fit everything in.
jessie returns next week. jess comes up from melbourne to stay. one of my supervisors returns and wants to meet. oh, and i have a date. i'm not sure why i did that, but i guess i'm just testing the water or something. i partially blame winter loneliness. a stupid time of the year to break up (though i've done this twice now).
did a bit of thesis writing today and not feeling too lost in it all, after my day of respite. so will head home shortly with my books and papers and grand plans to make more words.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
the break
once again i fall off the blog cart.
at times i get cynical, resentful and suspicious of this blogging practice. particularly in times of change, when i need to withdraw from this leaky, unrehearsed expression of self. and recently there have been changes.
i write now as a 'single' person. 'break-up' seems the wrong term to use for this. we're still friends. it was sad for a day or so, but now it's good. we like being friends. i guess our relationship (which continues despite 'breaking-up') has always been an exercise of transformation. and this is our 'friend' stage. not that this friendship is comparable to most others i enjoy. there's a history and an intimate bond that is as yet unbroken. it's nice. i'm comfortable.
the future feels more uncertain, which i like. i feel more involved in my role as student/researcher. having no need to feed back, touch base, rekindle, or check my performance as boyfriend, i have more time. it's a relief, for now. though i hope there's still opportunity to 'check-in' and see my self from another's perspective, from time to time. there's always a fear of insanity in doing what i'm doing. a caring voice from outside the machine seems necessary.
but for the moment it feels like i'm doing what i need to be doing. i find myself reading Lyotard on narratives, and distinctions between science and knowledge. according to Jean-Francois, knowledge (as know-how, knowing how to live, and knowing how to listen) is much more than science (finding truth statements). so scientific arguments for knowledge (in this case, young people's need for STI knowledge) do not stick. knowledge, as narrative, is about knowing how to get by in the culture/s you exist in.
and what better time to question knowledge than whilst ending a 4 year relationship. there's no evidence that this affair cannot last, and no measurability to this way of being. but there's a knowing of when to let go. a knowledge outside of certainty. a savoir-faire beyond the notion of 'risk'.
at times i get cynical, resentful and suspicious of this blogging practice. particularly in times of change, when i need to withdraw from this leaky, unrehearsed expression of self. and recently there have been changes.
i write now as a 'single' person. 'break-up' seems the wrong term to use for this. we're still friends. it was sad for a day or so, but now it's good. we like being friends. i guess our relationship (which continues despite 'breaking-up') has always been an exercise of transformation. and this is our 'friend' stage. not that this friendship is comparable to most others i enjoy. there's a history and an intimate bond that is as yet unbroken. it's nice. i'm comfortable.
the future feels more uncertain, which i like. i feel more involved in my role as student/researcher. having no need to feed back, touch base, rekindle, or check my performance as boyfriend, i have more time. it's a relief, for now. though i hope there's still opportunity to 'check-in' and see my self from another's perspective, from time to time. there's always a fear of insanity in doing what i'm doing. a caring voice from outside the machine seems necessary.
but for the moment it feels like i'm doing what i need to be doing. i find myself reading Lyotard on narratives, and distinctions between science and knowledge. according to Jean-Francois, knowledge (as know-how, knowing how to live, and knowing how to listen) is much more than science (finding truth statements). so scientific arguments for knowledge (in this case, young people's need for STI knowledge) do not stick. knowledge, as narrative, is about knowing how to get by in the culture/s you exist in.
and what better time to question knowledge than whilst ending a 4 year relationship. there's no evidence that this affair cannot last, and no measurability to this way of being. but there's a knowing of when to let go. a knowledge outside of certainty. a savoir-faire beyond the notion of 'risk'.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
shuffling through the drift of swine
another late-starter. breakfast and a few house chores and then i pack my bags, put my list in my left front pocket, press play to the yeah yeah yeahs, and leave the house.
first stop: the bread shop. a stick of sourdough for my lunch. they always ask me if i like their sourdough. it tires me. always so desperate for feedback. why? the more i contemplate it, the more it worries me. yes, i like your fucking bread and that's why i buy it. but really it's because you're the only bread shop around and that's your least offensive loaf. of course, i do not say this.
next stop: the book shop. looking for birthday presents. one for my mum, whose birthday was last week. i'm so slack. i end up getting a cd and dvd instead. lots of indecision. what does mum like?
then it's a take-away coffee from the black star bakery. as usual the barista is cute and the coffee is good.
then it's a bus to the city, where i have to exchange some syd film fest tickets. the queue is not long, but the wait is. i'm guessing everyone was selecting their entire flexi-pass tickets then and there, as they flipped through the program, taking up to 10 minutes at the ticket booth. frustrating. people queuing were on edge. staff were fixing lights and displays. it's busy, there's a lot of commotion, it's getting late, where has my day gone?
another bus trip to uni. recently on buses i can't help thinking about 'swine flu'. i get emails from my uni about it, there's posters everywhere, its the hot topic. i'm sharing many buses, buildings, streets, swimming pools, and trains with people. but i can't really care. i'm more offended by the warnings and fear-mongering than i would be if someone sneezed in my face. here is an excerpt from an email sent to all staff and students:
If you:
Have a fever, nasal congestion, runny nose, sore throat or cough;
Please stay at home and away from UNSW.
so harsh. "stay away from us you diseased fucking scum!" then it goes into more detail about the flu that's gonna wipe us all out.
The swine flu virus is spread by sneeze or cough droplets and the breath of
someone infected. Droplets can land directly on a person, and on surfaces such as
hands, pens, or money. They can survive on these surfaces and then be transferred
by hands to someone else.
You can decrease the spread of influenza in the community and workplace by
1 Hand washing for 10 seconds with soap and water or with an alcohol based cleaner until dry
2. Covering your cough or sneeze with a tissue and then putting it in the bin.
3. Avoid touching your face, eyes or nose unless you have just cleaned your hands.
4. Avoid contact with sick people.
5. Getting the seasonal flu vaccine. This vaccine does not prevent swine flu, but
preventing the season flu will decrease illness, anxiety and disruption in society.
my former colleagues in health promotion (disease preparedness) will be creaming themselves over this potential pandemic. they're probably manning those stupid hotlines.
incidentally, the hotline is 1802007, in case you've walked into a sneeze today. it really should be something that translates into a word. something like 794639 (as in swiney). i suspect the hotline was created in 2007 though, the year of the pandemic that never arrived.
i find point 5 very contentious though. does getting a flu shot really decrease anxiety and disruption in society? probably not as much as telling people that every time they handle pens or cash they are risking their lives.
anyway, enough ranting. lunch time is truly over. time to write something academic.
first stop: the bread shop. a stick of sourdough for my lunch. they always ask me if i like their sourdough. it tires me. always so desperate for feedback. why? the more i contemplate it, the more it worries me. yes, i like your fucking bread and that's why i buy it. but really it's because you're the only bread shop around and that's your least offensive loaf. of course, i do not say this.
next stop: the book shop. looking for birthday presents. one for my mum, whose birthday was last week. i'm so slack. i end up getting a cd and dvd instead. lots of indecision. what does mum like?
then it's a take-away coffee from the black star bakery. as usual the barista is cute and the coffee is good.
then it's a bus to the city, where i have to exchange some syd film fest tickets. the queue is not long, but the wait is. i'm guessing everyone was selecting their entire flexi-pass tickets then and there, as they flipped through the program, taking up to 10 minutes at the ticket booth. frustrating. people queuing were on edge. staff were fixing lights and displays. it's busy, there's a lot of commotion, it's getting late, where has my day gone?
another bus trip to uni. recently on buses i can't help thinking about 'swine flu'. i get emails from my uni about it, there's posters everywhere, its the hot topic. i'm sharing many buses, buildings, streets, swimming pools, and trains with people. but i can't really care. i'm more offended by the warnings and fear-mongering than i would be if someone sneezed in my face. here is an excerpt from an email sent to all staff and students:
If you:
Have a fever, nasal congestion, runny nose, sore throat or cough;
Please stay at home and away from UNSW.
so harsh. "stay away from us you diseased fucking scum!" then it goes into more detail about the flu that's gonna wipe us all out.
The swine flu virus is spread by sneeze or cough droplets and the breath of
someone infected. Droplets can land directly on a person, and on surfaces such as
hands, pens, or money. They can survive on these surfaces and then be transferred
by hands to someone else.
You can decrease the spread of influenza in the community and workplace by
1 Hand washing for 10 seconds with soap and water or with an alcohol based cleaner until dry
2. Covering your cough or sneeze with a tissue and then putting it in the bin.
3. Avoid touching your face, eyes or nose unless you have just cleaned your hands.
4. Avoid contact with sick people.
5. Getting the seasonal flu vaccine. This vaccine does not prevent swine flu, but
preventing the season flu will decrease illness, anxiety and disruption in society.
my former colleagues in health promotion (disease preparedness) will be creaming themselves over this potential pandemic. they're probably manning those stupid hotlines.
incidentally, the hotline is 1802007, in case you've walked into a sneeze today. it really should be something that translates into a word. something like 794639 (as in swiney). i suspect the hotline was created in 2007 though, the year of the pandemic that never arrived.
i find point 5 very contentious though. does getting a flu shot really decrease anxiety and disruption in society? probably not as much as telling people that every time they handle pens or cash they are risking their lives.
anyway, enough ranting. lunch time is truly over. time to write something academic.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
today was going well
i met with Paris and broke it off. i quit my job. the one that should have been over many weeks ago. i said i haven't the energy to continue.
i was also quitting him. this, he knew. it was strange. a break up despite there being no relationship. but he inserted that element. or at least, elements of possession and need, which might be some people's version of a relationship. he wanted more than i was willing to give.
so i said the words "i'm finishing". and he knew what that meant. no kiss today, and no smiles, but i did say sorry. and i was sorry. i refused his coffee. he was morose. professional about matters, but his eyes were sad. i felt cruel. suddenly all those things i said and thought about him made me feel sick with myself and my cruelty.
the talking, consulting and laughing about this affair with friends. he may have nobody with whom to talk about this.
i tidied my files, stacked up the paperwork, and burnt a CD of everything. my desk is bare and i'm gone.
i was also quitting him. this, he knew. it was strange. a break up despite there being no relationship. but he inserted that element. or at least, elements of possession and need, which might be some people's version of a relationship. he wanted more than i was willing to give.
so i said the words "i'm finishing". and he knew what that meant. no kiss today, and no smiles, but i did say sorry. and i was sorry. i refused his coffee. he was morose. professional about matters, but his eyes were sad. i felt cruel. suddenly all those things i said and thought about him made me feel sick with myself and my cruelty.
the talking, consulting and laughing about this affair with friends. he may have nobody with whom to talk about this.
i tidied my files, stacked up the paperwork, and burnt a CD of everything. my desk is bare and i'm gone.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
fucking with debord
i didn't get enough sleep. now that i'm mid-thirties i think i need more sleep. i think i struggle to form coherent sentences and thoughts without it. i'm old. i'm eating another crappy salad from other-university. you would think you can't fail a cous cous salad, but you can. you put it on a bed of lettuce and throw every scrap of vegetable you can into the mix. but no lemon, no salt, no flavour.
speaking of marxism, i was reading debord in the bath last night. maybe that's why i didn't get enough sleep. i've just come from a tutorial where we discussed 'society of the spectacle'. lots of blank stares today. but some of them found it interesting. i wish i had a class of fiesty argumentative types. i try to get arguments happening, but to no avail.
i pitched the idea that facebook (relating to previous tutorial discussion) is all about spectacle. they agreed without discussing. i noted that there were likely to be some good arguments against this, but nobody wanted to pitch any. they're tired and i'm tired.
after today, only one week of teaching left. i'll probably teach at my uni next semester, where the salads are good. what will the students be like?
in discussing the spectacle, i touched upon criticisms of the priviledge of spectacle/sight, that seeing is knowing and knowledge is obtained through observation. debord was about 'doing', thrusting the self into the world, experiencing. and i think this is what i respond to in his work. i want more doing, less contemplating. though i guess there's no hard division between the two, that contemplation is a form of doing. but i guess the goal (my goal) is for more embodied experiences, and accumulating perspectives and understandings through more than just seeing (as safe, distant, mediated).
which takes me back to the last time i fucked. where the collaboration of all my senses enhanced me. i exceeded myself through my body, beyond my body. i was transported through doing and being. there is no active or passive in a space such as this. i was doing sex and being sex. i was spectator and spectacle, but not at the exclusion of other sensory perceptions. i was tasted and i tasted. i was heard and i heard. felt and felt. said and spoken. i was folded into another whose hands were folded into mine. and the traces of his touch linger on/in me.
these are the moments where i don't need books. where i don't need to aim for 'intelligence'. where i don't situate my self-worth in the last sentence i wrote.
speaking of marxism, i was reading debord in the bath last night. maybe that's why i didn't get enough sleep. i've just come from a tutorial where we discussed 'society of the spectacle'. lots of blank stares today. but some of them found it interesting. i wish i had a class of fiesty argumentative types. i try to get arguments happening, but to no avail.
i pitched the idea that facebook (relating to previous tutorial discussion) is all about spectacle. they agreed without discussing. i noted that there were likely to be some good arguments against this, but nobody wanted to pitch any. they're tired and i'm tired.
after today, only one week of teaching left. i'll probably teach at my uni next semester, where the salads are good. what will the students be like?
in discussing the spectacle, i touched upon criticisms of the priviledge of spectacle/sight, that seeing is knowing and knowledge is obtained through observation. debord was about 'doing', thrusting the self into the world, experiencing. and i think this is what i respond to in his work. i want more doing, less contemplating. though i guess there's no hard division between the two, that contemplation is a form of doing. but i guess the goal (my goal) is for more embodied experiences, and accumulating perspectives and understandings through more than just seeing (as safe, distant, mediated).
which takes me back to the last time i fucked. where the collaboration of all my senses enhanced me. i exceeded myself through my body, beyond my body. i was transported through doing and being. there is no active or passive in a space such as this. i was doing sex and being sex. i was spectator and spectacle, but not at the exclusion of other sensory perceptions. i was tasted and i tasted. i was heard and i heard. felt and felt. said and spoken. i was folded into another whose hands were folded into mine. and the traces of his touch linger on/in me.
these are the moments where i don't need books. where i don't need to aim for 'intelligence'. where i don't situate my self-worth in the last sentence i wrote.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
pablo turns into an angry feminist and decapitates a class of students
i'm feeling grumpy about this university. it appears that there are only 3 coffee vendors on campus. the small quiet one was out of soy. 15 minutes before i had to teach i joined the queue at another. 4 minutes to the hour i was still about 6th in line. i left without coffee.
poor accessibility to coffee reignites all my other gripes with campus life at this 'other' university. the food is shit. i know now to avoid the salads. today i experimented with a wrap. it was not good. a blend of everything - aussie salad roll meets antipasto and throw in some tabouli and a fuckload of iceberg lettuce. it makes me appreciate the food at my uni.
yes, call me princess gourmand.
so i kept forgetting words in the tutorial, which made things difficult. the topic was feminism. or post-feminism. nobody was into it (the topic, or the reading). many thought feminism archaic and irrelevant. i tried to conceal my anger and hatred towards these middle-class suburban warriors. how can we talk about politics if people feel that they have none? one guy was particularly adamant that feminism was no longer useful. he continued to shoot his own foot by talking about why male sport is more popular than female sport (it's about men's pride and physicality it seems). i tried not to hate him, but it was really hard.
i thought this would be an interesting week, on account of everyone wanting to do the presentations and essays on this topic. but never have they been so disinterested.
the rage of all the world's radical feminists was rising within me. this on top of my caffeine cravings. i have no idea how i appeared to them, but it felt like i concealed most of it. i admitted to the coffee shortage but not the feminist rage.
many commented that today things are easy. uni and work are accessible to them, as young women. they only wanted to talk of equality feminism, despite my efforts to move beyond it. eventually i threw it back to them and asked if they thought that we, as a group, were representative of all - "where are we?" "uni?" (softly spoken by one student). "yes".
i tried to steer the discussion away from identity (feminist) to politics (feminism), but that was met with blank faces. i talked about the media's focus on feminism as representation (images) rather than materiality (bodies), but that didn't work either. so i beheaded them all.
poor accessibility to coffee reignites all my other gripes with campus life at this 'other' university. the food is shit. i know now to avoid the salads. today i experimented with a wrap. it was not good. a blend of everything - aussie salad roll meets antipasto and throw in some tabouli and a fuckload of iceberg lettuce. it makes me appreciate the food at my uni.
yes, call me princess gourmand.
so i kept forgetting words in the tutorial, which made things difficult. the topic was feminism. or post-feminism. nobody was into it (the topic, or the reading). many thought feminism archaic and irrelevant. i tried to conceal my anger and hatred towards these middle-class suburban warriors. how can we talk about politics if people feel that they have none? one guy was particularly adamant that feminism was no longer useful. he continued to shoot his own foot by talking about why male sport is more popular than female sport (it's about men's pride and physicality it seems). i tried not to hate him, but it was really hard.
i thought this would be an interesting week, on account of everyone wanting to do the presentations and essays on this topic. but never have they been so disinterested.
the rage of all the world's radical feminists was rising within me. this on top of my caffeine cravings. i have no idea how i appeared to them, but it felt like i concealed most of it. i admitted to the coffee shortage but not the feminist rage.
many commented that today things are easy. uni and work are accessible to them, as young women. they only wanted to talk of equality feminism, despite my efforts to move beyond it. eventually i threw it back to them and asked if they thought that we, as a group, were representative of all - "where are we?" "uni?" (softly spoken by one student). "yes".
i tried to steer the discussion away from identity (feminist) to politics (feminism), but that was met with blank faces. i talked about the media's focus on feminism as representation (images) rather than materiality (bodies), but that didn't work either. so i beheaded them all.
waking up in the wrong continent
wednesday waking isn't so easy. i slept better last night, but still so tired. i didn't dream too much about study, so my stress levels must be falling.
it all started a week ago when i had a supervision meeting. seems they're still unclear where i'm at, and whether i fully understand foucault's concepts of power and governmentality.
since then i have engaged in a process of sorting. tidying up my endnote reference database, my files, and doing a stocktake on the literature surrounding me. it's only 12 months too late. and i refined my chapter outline once again. but it feels like i'm almost there. next step is some targeted reading (much easier with my database) and then some writing.
i should be writing now. i said that i would be. i think the tidying is part procrastination, yet it's really necessary.
after 2 long days at my desk i'm exhausted. but that's coupled with sleeping poorly. but i'll keep going. it feels like this is the new disciplined me, and that with a routine of being at my desk, things might happen. being in a position of only working one day per week obviously has something to do with this. yes, i finally have time. time for some planning, and not just fumbling about.
i started swimming again this week, and that feels great. on monday i pushed myself to do a kilometre. it felt like i stretched my body back into shape. it was a nice buzz.
it's been autumn with a touch of winter. the crisp air and the crunch of leaves reminds me of paris. i think i dreamt that i was there again. too much reminds me of paris. i'm obviously always looking for signs. or things don't remind me of paris - like public transport. i keep catching buses where people have phone conversations for the entire journey. this bothers me. i like quiet reading time on the bus. in france i witnessed people telling fellow passengers to wind up their phone conversations. there was a general feeling that this was impolite. and i believe that it is. it's acknowledged that people read, work or sleep on trains there. maybe if people here were more into reading, things would be different. i'm training myself to read with earphones on, so i can drown out the noise. i suspect that i just need to be in france.
it all started a week ago when i had a supervision meeting. seems they're still unclear where i'm at, and whether i fully understand foucault's concepts of power and governmentality.
since then i have engaged in a process of sorting. tidying up my endnote reference database, my files, and doing a stocktake on the literature surrounding me. it's only 12 months too late. and i refined my chapter outline once again. but it feels like i'm almost there. next step is some targeted reading (much easier with my database) and then some writing.
i should be writing now. i said that i would be. i think the tidying is part procrastination, yet it's really necessary.
after 2 long days at my desk i'm exhausted. but that's coupled with sleeping poorly. but i'll keep going. it feels like this is the new disciplined me, and that with a routine of being at my desk, things might happen. being in a position of only working one day per week obviously has something to do with this. yes, i finally have time. time for some planning, and not just fumbling about.
i started swimming again this week, and that feels great. on monday i pushed myself to do a kilometre. it felt like i stretched my body back into shape. it was a nice buzz.
it's been autumn with a touch of winter. the crisp air and the crunch of leaves reminds me of paris. i think i dreamt that i was there again. too much reminds me of paris. i'm obviously always looking for signs. or things don't remind me of paris - like public transport. i keep catching buses where people have phone conversations for the entire journey. this bothers me. i like quiet reading time on the bus. in france i witnessed people telling fellow passengers to wind up their phone conversations. there was a general feeling that this was impolite. and i believe that it is. it's acknowledged that people read, work or sleep on trains there. maybe if people here were more into reading, things would be different. i'm training myself to read with earphones on, so i can drown out the noise. i suspect that i just need to be in france.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
tsiolkas, sisyphus, shane
i just finished reading the slap by christos tsiolkas. it only took a couple of weeks - unusual for me, but a lot of uni reading didn't happen as a result.
my connection was strong. i needed to keep reading, to think through these stories, to be challenged by these characters. i wanted to hate all of them at some point, but it was impossible. they were too present, all too real. it's like when you think you hate someone because you have them pegged, you associate them with that thing that bothers you (too stupid, too middle-class, too materialistic, too solipsist, too proud, too desperate...). and then you fall into a conversation with them and realise that with their words and expressions, their intimacy, the hatred can't survive. they are as vulnerable as me. they are flesh and pain and curiosity and fear. perhaps distance allows certain projections - a belief that they are not like me, and that therefore i must be okay. maybe this is what tsiolkas is showing us. how we hate and discredit others in our necessary struggles to be.
i caught the train home today. my newcastle stays get better each time. i recovered from this flu. i walked, slept, ate, and chatted with mark. we snuggled under blankets in the cool night air. i watched his new face, created by his new glasses. it was strange at first, but i loved it more and more. it's like this modification matches other changes in him. or at least, my version of him.
i read tsiolkas for most of the train trip. a woman sat next to me at gosford and kept apologising for her bags, or each time her leg or arm touched me. i wanted to explain that none of this warranted an apology. i imagined she was always apologising, always seeing herself as a nuisance. this time to the reading man on the train, other times to her husband, to her kids, to her friends. she smelt of nice perfume. it was comforting. i wish she could relax, melt into the seat, not care about me, her husband across the aisle, other commuters. she reads from a magazine. as we approach strathfield she asks if i can get past her suitcase and apologises once more.
at newtown station the sun is shining, i walk the stairs, i put on my broken sunglasses. i walk enmore road, my familiar path to home. a well trodden path. but after 3 days away it feels like a ceremonial walk in which i reconnect to everyday life. it's like that first lap of swimming where you're feeling the water, finding coordination, rehearsing for the next lap. the sun makes it more inviting. and the people... there are people!... and i feel their energy.
mum rang tonight. i knew there was a reason by the tone in her voice and because we chatted just last week. my cousin shane killed himself. a cousin i (and my parents) had little to do with. his parents divorced when he was about 10, so he moved away with his mother. but my parents are upset for his dad (dad's brother), for his family. he was 38. he gassed himself in queensland. he has a 13 year old son. these are the facts i'm told, but i know nothing of him or his life. i can't feel upset. though i feel a little sad for my uncle.
more tsiolkas, read in the bath. the water is too hot and made green from the bath salts. a character's suicide contemplation involves a dose of emerald liquid. i become aware of the bath, a seemingly common space for suicide. it would be a comfortable way to die. is it unusual to never contemplate suicide? i'm always shocked when people admit to thinking about it. maybe i don't value life enough to think about ending it. or maybe i have the right combination of laziness and curiosity. according to camus, it is only the absurb who don't kill themselves. but most of us are perverted enough to keep living. to keep rolling that stone up the hill, watching it roll down, and starting all over again.
my connection was strong. i needed to keep reading, to think through these stories, to be challenged by these characters. i wanted to hate all of them at some point, but it was impossible. they were too present, all too real. it's like when you think you hate someone because you have them pegged, you associate them with that thing that bothers you (too stupid, too middle-class, too materialistic, too solipsist, too proud, too desperate...). and then you fall into a conversation with them and realise that with their words and expressions, their intimacy, the hatred can't survive. they are as vulnerable as me. they are flesh and pain and curiosity and fear. perhaps distance allows certain projections - a belief that they are not like me, and that therefore i must be okay. maybe this is what tsiolkas is showing us. how we hate and discredit others in our necessary struggles to be.
i caught the train home today. my newcastle stays get better each time. i recovered from this flu. i walked, slept, ate, and chatted with mark. we snuggled under blankets in the cool night air. i watched his new face, created by his new glasses. it was strange at first, but i loved it more and more. it's like this modification matches other changes in him. or at least, my version of him.
i read tsiolkas for most of the train trip. a woman sat next to me at gosford and kept apologising for her bags, or each time her leg or arm touched me. i wanted to explain that none of this warranted an apology. i imagined she was always apologising, always seeing herself as a nuisance. this time to the reading man on the train, other times to her husband, to her kids, to her friends. she smelt of nice perfume. it was comforting. i wish she could relax, melt into the seat, not care about me, her husband across the aisle, other commuters. she reads from a magazine. as we approach strathfield she asks if i can get past her suitcase and apologises once more.
at newtown station the sun is shining, i walk the stairs, i put on my broken sunglasses. i walk enmore road, my familiar path to home. a well trodden path. but after 3 days away it feels like a ceremonial walk in which i reconnect to everyday life. it's like that first lap of swimming where you're feeling the water, finding coordination, rehearsing for the next lap. the sun makes it more inviting. and the people... there are people!... and i feel their energy.
mum rang tonight. i knew there was a reason by the tone in her voice and because we chatted just last week. my cousin shane killed himself. a cousin i (and my parents) had little to do with. his parents divorced when he was about 10, so he moved away with his mother. but my parents are upset for his dad (dad's brother), for his family. he was 38. he gassed himself in queensland. he has a 13 year old son. these are the facts i'm told, but i know nothing of him or his life. i can't feel upset. though i feel a little sad for my uncle.
more tsiolkas, read in the bath. the water is too hot and made green from the bath salts. a character's suicide contemplation involves a dose of emerald liquid. i become aware of the bath, a seemingly common space for suicide. it would be a comfortable way to die. is it unusual to never contemplate suicide? i'm always shocked when people admit to thinking about it. maybe i don't value life enough to think about ending it. or maybe i have the right combination of laziness and curiosity. according to camus, it is only the absurb who don't kill themselves. but most of us are perverted enough to keep living. to keep rolling that stone up the hill, watching it roll down, and starting all over again.
Friday, May 1, 2009
shake it, like a ladder to the sun*
so, i guess i won't get much work done today. soon i'll get a bus to a train to newcastle.
and i'll read the book i just picked up from the library, which i'm looking forward to. it's 'metaphors we live by' by Lakoff and Johnson. it could be the push i need to get interested in some old-fashioned discourse analysis, and psych myself up for interviews.
i'll also listen to new music. in the last few days i've felt the need for fresh itunes content. something of today - sounds of the present not the past. a little online research taught me that a lot of my favourite musicians have new stuff out, so i got me some. i guess i also feel the need to catch up after 2 months without the internet. maybe i should just listen to the radio occasionally.
anyway, in light of my week of marking essays, i will now grade my new songs accordingly.
HD=high distinction / D=distinction / C=credit / P=pass / F=fail
zero - yeah yeah yeahs
HD
this is an amazing track. it's on a par with the peaches remix of cheated hearts. love it to bits. karen o's voice is amazing, better than ever, and seems to reach orgasm throughout the song - "can you climb, climb, climb..."
talk to me - peaches
HD
also very wonderful. different to other peaches. a little bit less rough around the edges, but it works for me anyway. more of that pat benatar influence.
honey in the sun - camera obscura
P+
i wanted to love this, them being one of my favourites, but it was disappointing. too 'up', too 'even', too much music and not enough lovely vocal. grr...
halo - beyonce
D
i had written off this beyonce album with the songs i'd heard, but this is quite special. it's a ballad, but again, she defies my hatred of the pop ballad (as she did with irreplacable and listen). it could be rhianna (they seem to be merging) but it's not. and there's a musical hook there that hits the spot every time.
work - junior boys
F
this is not what i wanted. nothing like their last album. where's the subtle melancholy. too clubby. blah.
daniel - bat for lashes
D+
almost a HD, and maybe it will get there with a few more listens. very splendid. i was disappointed with the last album, so won't buy the new one on account of this. maybe i'll download it, though not a priority for now.
money babies - the dears
C
okay, but it doesn't transport me like their earlier stuff. maybe a few more listens? it's still above average though, so warrants a credit.
tape song - the kills
C+
i like it. but it's probably one that will fall to the bottom of the stack quite quickly. still not convinced that the kills are as wonderful as everyone says.
young adult friction - the pains of being pure at heart
D+
nice. really nice. i've never heard of this band, but i heard a sample on one of those hip-indie-music sites and loved it. very upbeat with a stars-esque feel. i want more of them.
gimme sympathy - metric
D
love it. but not a HD. i couldn't put it on the same level as yeah yeah yeahs (which i just keep wanting to hear again and again). but i will get this album. it will be good. metric always are.
wrong - depeche mode
C-
this is okay. impossible to rank higher than this though on account of all the good depeche mode that exists. but very good for an aging band who could have been very bad by now.
*from zero by yeah yeah yeahs
and i'll read the book i just picked up from the library, which i'm looking forward to. it's 'metaphors we live by' by Lakoff and Johnson. it could be the push i need to get interested in some old-fashioned discourse analysis, and psych myself up for interviews.
i'll also listen to new music. in the last few days i've felt the need for fresh itunes content. something of today - sounds of the present not the past. a little online research taught me that a lot of my favourite musicians have new stuff out, so i got me some. i guess i also feel the need to catch up after 2 months without the internet. maybe i should just listen to the radio occasionally.
anyway, in light of my week of marking essays, i will now grade my new songs accordingly.
HD=high distinction / D=distinction / C=credit / P=pass / F=fail
zero - yeah yeah yeahs
HD
this is an amazing track. it's on a par with the peaches remix of cheated hearts. love it to bits. karen o's voice is amazing, better than ever, and seems to reach orgasm throughout the song - "can you climb, climb, climb..."
talk to me - peaches
HD
also very wonderful. different to other peaches. a little bit less rough around the edges, but it works for me anyway. more of that pat benatar influence.
honey in the sun - camera obscura
P+
i wanted to love this, them being one of my favourites, but it was disappointing. too 'up', too 'even', too much music and not enough lovely vocal. grr...
halo - beyonce
D
i had written off this beyonce album with the songs i'd heard, but this is quite special. it's a ballad, but again, she defies my hatred of the pop ballad (as she did with irreplacable and listen). it could be rhianna (they seem to be merging) but it's not. and there's a musical hook there that hits the spot every time.
work - junior boys
F
this is not what i wanted. nothing like their last album. where's the subtle melancholy. too clubby. blah.
daniel - bat for lashes
D+
almost a HD, and maybe it will get there with a few more listens. very splendid. i was disappointed with the last album, so won't buy the new one on account of this. maybe i'll download it, though not a priority for now.
money babies - the dears
C
okay, but it doesn't transport me like their earlier stuff. maybe a few more listens? it's still above average though, so warrants a credit.
tape song - the kills
C+
i like it. but it's probably one that will fall to the bottom of the stack quite quickly. still not convinced that the kills are as wonderful as everyone says.
young adult friction - the pains of being pure at heart
D+
nice. really nice. i've never heard of this band, but i heard a sample on one of those hip-indie-music sites and loved it. very upbeat with a stars-esque feel. i want more of them.
gimme sympathy - metric
D
love it. but not a HD. i couldn't put it on the same level as yeah yeah yeahs (which i just keep wanting to hear again and again). but i will get this album. it will be good. metric always are.
wrong - depeche mode
C-
this is okay. impossible to rank higher than this though on account of all the good depeche mode that exists. but very good for an aging band who could have been very bad by now.
*from zero by yeah yeah yeahs
Thursday, April 30, 2009
from the island of my bed
work. followed by more work. a bit of study but then it's back to work. and then i forget where i'm at with study and i have to backtrack. and then i work some more.
that's been the pattern of my work/study life these past few months. oh, and there's all that other stuff around flirting and sex with the boss. but i think that's over now. and it's such a relief.
i had a birthday. i'm 34. sometimes i feel much younger than this, but other times i'm 40+. i guess it all evens out. i am what i am.
i cooked dinner for my friends, and it felt like a nice to thing to do, to experience, to share. i felt very satisfied in the circle of people around at this moment. i felt loved. and love.
and then i got sick. a mild flu that makes me want to curl up and sleep for days. with heavy blankets pushing me into the bed, experiencing great warmth. i've been having lots of baths, sweating beneath hot water, melting my muscles. then i climb into bed and sleep for what could be several years.
i've been reassessing my time. nothing new, i know this. but it feels like things are shifting, and maybe i'm becoming more aware of what i want. and what i don't want.
i don't want a boss who only wants to sleep with me. i would rather a boss who is a friend. i thought we had a friendship, but lately the signs tell me otherwise. he likes me, but i'm little more than an ego device for him. someone to feed his needs. and when i don't, he tries his hand at emotional blackmail. i don't need this. i don't even like him sexually. if he wasn't french i probably would never have gone there. or would i?
but i stopped replying to his message and now he seems angry and upset and told me not to come to work today, on his last day, where we were meant to settle things with the project. it all seems very odd. what has he done with my project, my work? and why can't we discuss it like colleagues and not jilted lovers? mostly i can't care. so i won't go into work. i'll just do some study, have a nap, repair myself from this flu.
but a part of me wonders what he's telling others, such as his partner (our boss). potentially i'm being blamed for things. but still, i've not enough energy to care. at least not today.
he's messaging me now on gmail. i'll get to that later.
i've been considering taking a semester off study. stressing about time and that which i've lost already. maybe i need an extra 6 months. although, going back to it this morning, working on my introduction, i'm starting to think that maybe i am selling myself short. i have done quite a bit. though it feels so small. if i count the months and days i've been involved in this project, there seems to be very little to show. but maybe it's not all about the text i have created, but the shifts in thinking i've been undergoing, the reading, the contemplating, the application of theory throughout daily life. maybe the consideration of such things suggests that i have been immersed from day one, and i haven't paused once.
working with theory is strange like that. i feel as though i need a decade to swim in what i want to familiarise myself with, engage in, utilise, build upon. but there is no decade. there is no time. there is work and more work. there's relationships and birthdays and sickness and sex with your boss and ensuing emotional blackmail and a host of other factors that i must contend with on any given day. and maybe to lock myself away from this will make me unable to write anyway, for i will have nothing to fight for or against.
maybe. but i think i might just stick with it for now. i think i just need to contend with my confidence issues and put more trust into my academic abilities. to stop feeling like a fraud would be nice. and this morning, in reading through stuff i've written, there was a glimmer of something. maybe i'm good after all.
that's been the pattern of my work/study life these past few months. oh, and there's all that other stuff around flirting and sex with the boss. but i think that's over now. and it's such a relief.
i had a birthday. i'm 34. sometimes i feel much younger than this, but other times i'm 40+. i guess it all evens out. i am what i am.
i cooked dinner for my friends, and it felt like a nice to thing to do, to experience, to share. i felt very satisfied in the circle of people around at this moment. i felt loved. and love.
and then i got sick. a mild flu that makes me want to curl up and sleep for days. with heavy blankets pushing me into the bed, experiencing great warmth. i've been having lots of baths, sweating beneath hot water, melting my muscles. then i climb into bed and sleep for what could be several years.
i've been reassessing my time. nothing new, i know this. but it feels like things are shifting, and maybe i'm becoming more aware of what i want. and what i don't want.
i don't want a boss who only wants to sleep with me. i would rather a boss who is a friend. i thought we had a friendship, but lately the signs tell me otherwise. he likes me, but i'm little more than an ego device for him. someone to feed his needs. and when i don't, he tries his hand at emotional blackmail. i don't need this. i don't even like him sexually. if he wasn't french i probably would never have gone there. or would i?
but i stopped replying to his message and now he seems angry and upset and told me not to come to work today, on his last day, where we were meant to settle things with the project. it all seems very odd. what has he done with my project, my work? and why can't we discuss it like colleagues and not jilted lovers? mostly i can't care. so i won't go into work. i'll just do some study, have a nap, repair myself from this flu.
but a part of me wonders what he's telling others, such as his partner (our boss). potentially i'm being blamed for things. but still, i've not enough energy to care. at least not today.
he's messaging me now on gmail. i'll get to that later.
i've been considering taking a semester off study. stressing about time and that which i've lost already. maybe i need an extra 6 months. although, going back to it this morning, working on my introduction, i'm starting to think that maybe i am selling myself short. i have done quite a bit. though it feels so small. if i count the months and days i've been involved in this project, there seems to be very little to show. but maybe it's not all about the text i have created, but the shifts in thinking i've been undergoing, the reading, the contemplating, the application of theory throughout daily life. maybe the consideration of such things suggests that i have been immersed from day one, and i haven't paused once.
working with theory is strange like that. i feel as though i need a decade to swim in what i want to familiarise myself with, engage in, utilise, build upon. but there is no decade. there is no time. there is work and more work. there's relationships and birthdays and sickness and sex with your boss and ensuing emotional blackmail and a host of other factors that i must contend with on any given day. and maybe to lock myself away from this will make me unable to write anyway, for i will have nothing to fight for or against.
maybe. but i think i might just stick with it for now. i think i just need to contend with my confidence issues and put more trust into my academic abilities. to stop feeling like a fraud would be nice. and this morning, in reading through stuff i've written, there was a glimmer of something. maybe i'm good after all.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
quietly active
blogging, like most of my online activities, has all but stopped.
today, someone somewhere connected a cable that will give us home internet again. by next week we'll be online i suppose.
that will be good.
i've saved a lot of time from this. though there has been a slow-building frustration in not being able to access maps, timetables, phone numbers, and the kinds of things that make navigation a little easier.
if i had a connection today i would have emailed work to say i'm working from home. but there's no email, and no access to stuff i might need online. so i came to work.
today was my latest-ever-arrival - i got here after 4pm. it would have been sooner than 4 had my bus not been very very late. instead i arrived when all the decent coffee-venders were shut. so i turned to sugar.
i now share an office with 3 others, one of whom has an assortment of lolly jars on her desk. she proudly services the sugar needs of all staff. my teeth are tingling.
and now, a couple of hours in, it's time to go home.
today, someone somewhere connected a cable that will give us home internet again. by next week we'll be online i suppose.
that will be good.
i've saved a lot of time from this. though there has been a slow-building frustration in not being able to access maps, timetables, phone numbers, and the kinds of things that make navigation a little easier.
if i had a connection today i would have emailed work to say i'm working from home. but there's no email, and no access to stuff i might need online. so i came to work.
today was my latest-ever-arrival - i got here after 4pm. it would have been sooner than 4 had my bus not been very very late. instead i arrived when all the decent coffee-venders were shut. so i turned to sugar.
i now share an office with 3 others, one of whom has an assortment of lolly jars on her desk. she proudly services the sugar needs of all staff. my teeth are tingling.
and now, a couple of hours in, it's time to go home.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
badness is goodness
pablo is a bad student. he's about to go to lunch. and then he's going shopping. and then he's going for a sexual health check up.
no time for writing today. but maybe, over lunch, he will make a few words. he will go to that sandwich shop in randwick. and then he's likely to eat an almond croissant at the bus stop.
and the breeze will catch in his billowing hair as the bus speeds away.
no time for writing today. but maybe, over lunch, he will make a few words. he will go to that sandwich shop in randwick. and then he's likely to eat an almond croissant at the bus stop.
and the breeze will catch in his billowing hair as the bus speeds away.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
retreat
i think this is stress. this is not wanting to leave the house, not wanting to go to work, not wanting to engage.
this is wanting to spend a day alone, reading, tidying, contemplating, being.
at uni now, but i'm at my library desk. it's a 'work' day, but i'm considering not going to work. wondering how long it'll be before i get a text message asking if i'm coming in today. feeling under pressure. and so i retreat. to this desk, to this blog.
and everything presents itself as a barrier. last night we lost our electricity. just our building, not the neighbourhood. it's nothing serious, i know this, but i feel that it's another hurdle to deal with. like work, and Paris, and everything.
perhaps my phd supervisor will want to speak to me today, to go over the chapter outline. but i don't want to engage with her either. maybe i'll feel like crying, like on tuesday, when Paris was talking about quantitative research methodologies and i could not comprehend anything. a foreign language that made me feel stupid, made me question why i'm doing this work and whether i'm at all capable. is it only because he wants to fuck me? i feel so stupid.
so i want to concentrate on my phd, where i feel less stupid. i want to put myself back where i'm comfortable. but there's no time.
except maybe there is. maybe i can do some writing now to feel like a student again. to feel somewhat competent and capable. to remind myself that all is okay.
this is wanting to spend a day alone, reading, tidying, contemplating, being.
at uni now, but i'm at my library desk. it's a 'work' day, but i'm considering not going to work. wondering how long it'll be before i get a text message asking if i'm coming in today. feeling under pressure. and so i retreat. to this desk, to this blog.
and everything presents itself as a barrier. last night we lost our electricity. just our building, not the neighbourhood. it's nothing serious, i know this, but i feel that it's another hurdle to deal with. like work, and Paris, and everything.
perhaps my phd supervisor will want to speak to me today, to go over the chapter outline. but i don't want to engage with her either. maybe i'll feel like crying, like on tuesday, when Paris was talking about quantitative research methodologies and i could not comprehend anything. a foreign language that made me feel stupid, made me question why i'm doing this work and whether i'm at all capable. is it only because he wants to fuck me? i feel so stupid.
so i want to concentrate on my phd, where i feel less stupid. i want to put myself back where i'm comfortable. but there's no time.
except maybe there is. maybe i can do some writing now to feel like a student again. to feel somewhat competent and capable. to remind myself that all is okay.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
offline but no time
it's very hot here at my once-a-week faraway uni. my pants are sticking to the backs of my legs. my shoes want to be taken off. as does my t-shirt. i need a beach.
the working day is almost done. one more tutorial. the one that was difficult last week, when people weren't speaking, were looking down. hopefully my chatty students are back.
i lost my monday (my study day) this week, so have felt a bit stressed and scrambled. will i manage to study this week? and it's been a week since i had a swim? what's going on? where are my hours?
the weekend was lost to Newie. but it was a good loss. i spent time with my faraway boyfriend. i stayed, for the first time, in his new temporary home. it's an unusual space to be in, as us. we were both a bit whingey. but we made some special moments too. we watched Shortbus again. we (over)indulged in good food. we said goodbye to Bull St.
yesterday was a bad mood. Paris wanted my attention and cooperation, but he didn't get it. he later said i was shy. not shy, but stressed. and today i'm staying offline so as not to chat with him. i'm tired of him. i'm uncertain. i'm wanting a slice of spare time to work on my thesis. so i'm avoiding the difficult stuff. yet i'm filling my evenings with everything except him.
tonight is my only free night. but it's not, because i plan to hire dvds from the video library i joined on friday. it's $1 weekly dvds night. this makes me a little excited. no talking, no thinking about the difficult stuff, just me before the screen. a replacement screen perhaps, now that the interweb is available at home. but this too is a good loss. i'm liking my newfound inaccessibility. i'm liking my new prioritisation of offline communication.
in today's tute we talked about online chatting as a form of communication (a thing of my past). we spoke of how 'chat' has informed speech. some students admitted to saying ROFL and OMG (as in oh-em-gee) in everyday speech. weird. i guess i am an old man after all.
the working day is almost done. one more tutorial. the one that was difficult last week, when people weren't speaking, were looking down. hopefully my chatty students are back.
i lost my monday (my study day) this week, so have felt a bit stressed and scrambled. will i manage to study this week? and it's been a week since i had a swim? what's going on? where are my hours?
the weekend was lost to Newie. but it was a good loss. i spent time with my faraway boyfriend. i stayed, for the first time, in his new temporary home. it's an unusual space to be in, as us. we were both a bit whingey. but we made some special moments too. we watched Shortbus again. we (over)indulged in good food. we said goodbye to Bull St.
yesterday was a bad mood. Paris wanted my attention and cooperation, but he didn't get it. he later said i was shy. not shy, but stressed. and today i'm staying offline so as not to chat with him. i'm tired of him. i'm uncertain. i'm wanting a slice of spare time to work on my thesis. so i'm avoiding the difficult stuff. yet i'm filling my evenings with everything except him.
tonight is my only free night. but it's not, because i plan to hire dvds from the video library i joined on friday. it's $1 weekly dvds night. this makes me a little excited. no talking, no thinking about the difficult stuff, just me before the screen. a replacement screen perhaps, now that the interweb is available at home. but this too is a good loss. i'm liking my newfound inaccessibility. i'm liking my new prioritisation of offline communication.
in today's tute we talked about online chatting as a form of communication (a thing of my past). we spoke of how 'chat' has informed speech. some students admitted to saying ROFL and OMG (as in oh-em-gee) in everyday speech. weird. i guess i am an old man after all.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
quiet office sushi
this sushi is overpriced and tastes like shit.
the office is empty today. everyone is out at an all-day strategic planning meeting. though Paris just messaged me to say he's on the bus heading here. what does this mean?
our conversations are getting more and more explicit. about fantasies and bodies and where they might fit together. but no sex. this week he bought me a book. when i question this he tells me i'm making things complicated. and this pissed me off. things are complicated. if i'm risking my employment and candidature then i think it's a valid concern. so i continue to sway in my affections. it's mostly in his company that my desire swells. but away from him i lose interest. i find myself affected by his presence, even though i know he's playing his seduction cards. but they are nice cards to be dealt.
they charge extra for wasabi. and i didn't get enough soy sauce. they probably charge for that too.
just met with supervisor (VK). got some positive reinforcement that i'm on track, that good advances have been made. i like our meetings. they mostly involve her telling me stories of friends, colleagues, events - all relating to Foucault, power, governmentality, etc. i will miss her next semester. currently feeling inspired to work on my chapter drafts so that she can praise me some more (though i can never be sure of this outcome).
i probably should act like i'm working when Paris arrives. not that he really cares. he joked that i could take forever to do this job and he wouldn't mind. because he likes me around. he likes daily contact. i wonder if his husband suspects anything. we agreed that this is an affair without fucking. lots of sly messaging and touching. it would have gone further of course, but for me being 'complicated'.
but i quite like this space. i feel i'm in quite a powerful situation. i give him enough to keep him wanting. he gives me work. and now it seems he is buying me things. like nouvelles orientales.
he's here now. probably reading my last email. time to work.
the office is empty today. everyone is out at an all-day strategic planning meeting. though Paris just messaged me to say he's on the bus heading here. what does this mean?
our conversations are getting more and more explicit. about fantasies and bodies and where they might fit together. but no sex. this week he bought me a book. when i question this he tells me i'm making things complicated. and this pissed me off. things are complicated. if i'm risking my employment and candidature then i think it's a valid concern. so i continue to sway in my affections. it's mostly in his company that my desire swells. but away from him i lose interest. i find myself affected by his presence, even though i know he's playing his seduction cards. but they are nice cards to be dealt.
they charge extra for wasabi. and i didn't get enough soy sauce. they probably charge for that too.
just met with supervisor (VK). got some positive reinforcement that i'm on track, that good advances have been made. i like our meetings. they mostly involve her telling me stories of friends, colleagues, events - all relating to Foucault, power, governmentality, etc. i will miss her next semester. currently feeling inspired to work on my chapter drafts so that she can praise me some more (though i can never be sure of this outcome).
i probably should act like i'm working when Paris arrives. not that he really cares. he joked that i could take forever to do this job and he wouldn't mind. because he likes me around. he likes daily contact. i wonder if his husband suspects anything. we agreed that this is an affair without fucking. lots of sly messaging and touching. it would have gone further of course, but for me being 'complicated'.
but i quite like this space. i feel i'm in quite a powerful situation. i give him enough to keep him wanting. he gives me work. and now it seems he is buying me things. like nouvelles orientales.
he's here now. probably reading my last email. time to work.
Monday, March 16, 2009
simple is best
i've decided to restructure my communication techniques, my time, my relationships. i'm taking myself off facebook, gaydar and other sites where i can meet, message, chat, and waste hours of time. i'm deleting unused email accounts. i'm renegotiating my availability. it's what i've been blabbering about for a long time, but now is crunch time.
it's also about prioritising relationships. i never phone people anymore. the online people tend to get the most of me, because they're easy to manage. they're boxes of text that come and go. they're quick ways to say hey, i still exist and so do you. they're temporary ego devices where people can say nice things without having to look into your eyes.
i want more verbal and physical relations with bodies and gestures. i want more non-digital, uninterrupted conversation. i want more time to study.
my time offline has been a struggle. but one week in and i'm feeling good about it. it's like losing an arm to remember that you have legs. and this weekend i spent a lot of time walking. leaving the house, being social, chatting to new people.
like the boy who was seeing the dj, but also had a boyfriend. he told me how he intends to leave his boyfriend soon, he will relocate, he will find a new home for his dog. he spoke of his job in surry hills. he showed me photos of the dog he will soon give up.
like him, the other boy on the couch had taken acid and had much to say about the nature documentary that was in its 6th screening that night. he liked the part where the bat was dying. he had his sister's 10th birthday to go to in the morning. he was studying some kind of medical science, and moving back to the inner west soon. we kissed on the couch. he was 22. i felt naughty. but he kissed nicely. he showed me photos of his cat.
there were other chats. and there was a lot of annoying stuff too. like my friend who seems to want more than i can give. demanding and potentially lustful. it scares me.
he, like Paris, makes me turn towards mark. after text messages from each of them on this morning's bus ride, i decide that 'simple is best'. a phrase on a badge, a slogan of MonokuRo pig, a personal joke, a sydneybuses epiphany.
ipod shuffle gave me that final song from shortbus. i thought of mark, our conversations about that film, our weeping in verona cinema darkness. 'we all get it in the end...' is followed by patsy cline's crazy. another film, another time, another mark and me moment. i reach my desk, i transfer money for his broken tooth, i go back out for coffee on the grass with Paris.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
dreaming is free
a busy week of work and study and starting my teaching job. no days off.
Paris has been well behaved as promised. late last week there was still touching and flirtation, but this died down to bland professionalism. in an email i read last night he said he hoped i wasn't uncomfortable working with him. i messaged him to say it's fine, that there is no discomfort, that i was tempted by his proposition but concerned about the possible outcome. he couldn't talk because husband was there. it seems husband is unaware after all. today we will meet for lunch.
i don't need this. i'm moving between wanting him and wanting to run away. i'm not interested in a secret affair which looks like it's the only option. other than nothing. so i'm leaning towards nothing.
but alone with him at lunch i don't know if i can trust myself to say and do the 'right' things. and i'm perplexed as to why this has to be difficult. surely it's a simple matter of yes or no.
all is clouded by my slight exhaustion. my yesterday. my today. my not really knowing where i'm at, but craving some sense of order and quiet.
i've been neglecting my own husband this week, being preoccupied with work, Paris, studies. supervisor tells me i should consider going part-time as i'm only studying half time. this isn't the first time she's said so. but i need the money. and all my jobs are temporary.
other supervisor is taking a break next semester so i'll be left with one mum. today i'm reading the last chapter in the history of sexuality, which she keeps talking about. i'm waiting for something to click as to how i can use this, as to how this rumination of power is appropriate to my study. where does it fit? so i'm reading it on this morning's bus to surry hills. the bus arrives late. the driver appears to be in training. a smelly shampoo woman sits in front of me. a stale tobacco man behind me. then someone watching a noisy phone sits across from me. the 20 minute bus trip takes 40 minutes. mark is waiting. i'm always keeping people waiting. and i'm reading foucault, about power and sex and the vectors through which sexuality became anchored to one's life, or one's right to life. and it's relevant. but it's massive. and i'm not sure where it fits. i suspect it's a pre-cursor to my thesis. i'm yet to finish the chapter.
yesterday i was late to dinner with malcolm. kept him waiting. we had a performance to go to at 8.30pm. kept them waiting also. flustered and angry with myself. feeling like a failure. today's lateness adds another layer to these feelings.
maybe i need to disconnect for a while. relationships are difficult. i want to be at home, reading the paper, laughing at the paper with housemates, fixing food and coffee and making big plans that will never eventuate because they would involve leaving the house.
deborah harry says it best:
Paris has been well behaved as promised. late last week there was still touching and flirtation, but this died down to bland professionalism. in an email i read last night he said he hoped i wasn't uncomfortable working with him. i messaged him to say it's fine, that there is no discomfort, that i was tempted by his proposition but concerned about the possible outcome. he couldn't talk because husband was there. it seems husband is unaware after all. today we will meet for lunch.
i don't need this. i'm moving between wanting him and wanting to run away. i'm not interested in a secret affair which looks like it's the only option. other than nothing. so i'm leaning towards nothing.
but alone with him at lunch i don't know if i can trust myself to say and do the 'right' things. and i'm perplexed as to why this has to be difficult. surely it's a simple matter of yes or no.
all is clouded by my slight exhaustion. my yesterday. my today. my not really knowing where i'm at, but craving some sense of order and quiet.
i've been neglecting my own husband this week, being preoccupied with work, Paris, studies. supervisor tells me i should consider going part-time as i'm only studying half time. this isn't the first time she's said so. but i need the money. and all my jobs are temporary.
other supervisor is taking a break next semester so i'll be left with one mum. today i'm reading the last chapter in the history of sexuality, which she keeps talking about. i'm waiting for something to click as to how i can use this, as to how this rumination of power is appropriate to my study. where does it fit? so i'm reading it on this morning's bus to surry hills. the bus arrives late. the driver appears to be in training. a smelly shampoo woman sits in front of me. a stale tobacco man behind me. then someone watching a noisy phone sits across from me. the 20 minute bus trip takes 40 minutes. mark is waiting. i'm always keeping people waiting. and i'm reading foucault, about power and sex and the vectors through which sexuality became anchored to one's life, or one's right to life. and it's relevant. but it's massive. and i'm not sure where it fits. i suspect it's a pre-cursor to my thesis. i'm yet to finish the chapter.
yesterday i was late to dinner with malcolm. kept him waiting. we had a performance to go to at 8.30pm. kept them waiting also. flustered and angry with myself. feeling like a failure. today's lateness adds another layer to these feelings.
maybe i need to disconnect for a while. relationships are difficult. i want to be at home, reading the paper, laughing at the paper with housemates, fixing food and coffee and making big plans that will never eventuate because they would involve leaving the house.
deborah harry says it best:
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
neon danger
so tired. i'm going to eat toast then nap. later i'm heading out to see Amanda Palmer and the Danger Ensemble.
today i went to Macquarie where i'll start tutoring next week. i sat in on the lecture, i ate good salad (spinach, pear and goats cheese), i signed paperwork. i caught 3 trains there and 3 trains back. i walked a lot. i thought a lot about last night's text messages.
Paris sent me a text about our tentative meeting today, which now happens tomorrow. he was being flirtatious. this i liked, so i offered a flirtatious response. he asked if i'm looking forward to working with him. i said of course. he was in bed, playing with his iphone. i was making dessert (butterscotch self-saucing pudding). he said he'd like to try my dessert. i said maybe i'll bake for him one day. and then there was the proposition: 'dessert' on thursday. a midday trip to his house.
i showed jessie, confirmed that it was a proposition. i didn't know how to respond. i said we could talk about it thursday. tomorrow.
i've been having fantasies about him for some months, but all of a sudden i'm seeing a big red flashing Danger sign. he's married to my boss. he's technically my supervisor (though only for a month or so). these things make the fantasy more fantastic. but now that it's there for the taking, i'm trying to re-think. i want it but i don't. i know it's likely to have a bad outcome. what if the sex is bad? what about his partner? does he know? what about our colleagues, if they find out? i have two more years at the centre, so i'd rather not sour my relationships there.
i've decided that there'll be no sex tomorrow. maybe when my work for him is complete. that's the sensible thing to do. maybe it'll never happen, which would be even more sensible.
but i hate sensible. i want my body to lead me where it will, experience things, take risks, discard any notion of what's proper or sensible or in the best interests of all involved. thinking about it on the train brought arousal. a slight erection, a quickened pulse, heat. a song on my ipod is all bang and clatter. i want it. and because it's so wrong, i want it more.
i try to imagine sex with him, and i really can't. as a fantasy, there has been no contemplation of his body pressed into mine. his body beneath clothes forms the outline of my desire. as do his touches, his smile, and the brush of his face against mine as we kiss cheeks. beyond this, i cannot imagine. to think of him naked is not arousing. nor is the image of us fucking. maybe all i need is his touch, his subtle affections. moments from which to project my fantasies, which of course, do not involve his participation.
and then what? after fucking, where would i take this? the fantasy would die. maybe that's a good thing. but it will be missed.
today i went to Macquarie where i'll start tutoring next week. i sat in on the lecture, i ate good salad (spinach, pear and goats cheese), i signed paperwork. i caught 3 trains there and 3 trains back. i walked a lot. i thought a lot about last night's text messages.
Paris sent me a text about our tentative meeting today, which now happens tomorrow. he was being flirtatious. this i liked, so i offered a flirtatious response. he asked if i'm looking forward to working with him. i said of course. he was in bed, playing with his iphone. i was making dessert (butterscotch self-saucing pudding). he said he'd like to try my dessert. i said maybe i'll bake for him one day. and then there was the proposition: 'dessert' on thursday. a midday trip to his house.
i showed jessie, confirmed that it was a proposition. i didn't know how to respond. i said we could talk about it thursday. tomorrow.
i've been having fantasies about him for some months, but all of a sudden i'm seeing a big red flashing Danger sign. he's married to my boss. he's technically my supervisor (though only for a month or so). these things make the fantasy more fantastic. but now that it's there for the taking, i'm trying to re-think. i want it but i don't. i know it's likely to have a bad outcome. what if the sex is bad? what about his partner? does he know? what about our colleagues, if they find out? i have two more years at the centre, so i'd rather not sour my relationships there.
i've decided that there'll be no sex tomorrow. maybe when my work for him is complete. that's the sensible thing to do. maybe it'll never happen, which would be even more sensible.
but i hate sensible. i want my body to lead me where it will, experience things, take risks, discard any notion of what's proper or sensible or in the best interests of all involved. thinking about it on the train brought arousal. a slight erection, a quickened pulse, heat. a song on my ipod is all bang and clatter. i want it. and because it's so wrong, i want it more.
i try to imagine sex with him, and i really can't. as a fantasy, there has been no contemplation of his body pressed into mine. his body beneath clothes forms the outline of my desire. as do his touches, his smile, and the brush of his face against mine as we kiss cheeks. beyond this, i cannot imagine. to think of him naked is not arousing. nor is the image of us fucking. maybe all i need is his touch, his subtle affections. moments from which to project my fantasies, which of course, do not involve his participation.
and then what? after fucking, where would i take this? the fantasy would die. maybe that's a good thing. but it will be missed.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
yesterday's train
It’s 7.30am on the train to Sydney. To home. I’m still not used to thinking of Sydney as home. Particularly when I’m on riding this line that for many years has been a visit to the city.
Contemplating the week ahead. And the weekend just gone. Some good times and some bad.
Thinking of C again. I was just listening to Aimee Mann. I wish I could get beyond that. But he introduced me to her, and also, she sounds like us. Songs about good things turned sour. Pain, discomfort, loss. I feel that we’re not yet over. I feel that there may be another chapter. But this scares me and I don’t want it. Except I do. But I know it will end as another Aimee Mann narrative. And I’ll forever be singing our song in mournful tones.
Now I listen to Bananarama’s True Confessions. My music. Still wistful songs, but these belong to me, my past, my current train ride on the early morning Central Coast.
I finally got confirmation of my PhD upgrade. I forgot to tell anybody. But most people think I’m doing a PhD anyway. Myself included. It’s just nice to have that in writing though.
Another two years on my project is both comforting and frightening. I need this time to get where I want to go. But already there are so many temptations to stray. There are more zines I can make, more stories to tell, more places to travel, more fun to be had. I find it hard to focus on one thing. I always want more.
Contemplating the week ahead. And the weekend just gone. Some good times and some bad.
Thinking of C again. I was just listening to Aimee Mann. I wish I could get beyond that. But he introduced me to her, and also, she sounds like us. Songs about good things turned sour. Pain, discomfort, loss. I feel that we’re not yet over. I feel that there may be another chapter. But this scares me and I don’t want it. Except I do. But I know it will end as another Aimee Mann narrative. And I’ll forever be singing our song in mournful tones.
Now I listen to Bananarama’s True Confessions. My music. Still wistful songs, but these belong to me, my past, my current train ride on the early morning Central Coast.
I finally got confirmation of my PhD upgrade. I forgot to tell anybody. But most people think I’m doing a PhD anyway. Myself included. It’s just nice to have that in writing though.
Another two years on my project is both comforting and frightening. I need this time to get where I want to go. But already there are so many temptations to stray. There are more zines I can make, more stories to tell, more places to travel, more fun to be had. I find it hard to focus on one thing. I always want more.
Friday, February 20, 2009
being blah
i'm having one of those mini meltdowns. when it's all too hard to orchestrate.
the couch is being delivered today. i don't know when. i may not be here. i may not have anyone to help me lift it up the stairs. i don't have a phone number to call the delivery people.
i have to go to work.
i feel as though i need to study. in fact, i told A i'd have something to send her by today.
i have to find the course coordinator who potentially has tutorial work for me. she's vague and won't call me, always says she's busy, makes it my job to find her. i'm starting to hate her already.
i have to get to newcastle. it's so far away.
i'd like to swim. in fact, i need to swim. i felt so good early in the week - was it about the swimming, or all the studying i did? probably both.
my hard-drive appears not to be working. i have no idea why.
maybe the couch can wait til monday.
i've spent a few nights alone in the house, feeling a bit down and friendless - undoubtably resulting in my current state. i know i have friends, but too much time alone can make me question this. though i need alone-time too, so the opposite scenario (a busy schedule) stresses me out as well. people are busy, schedules don't match up, and here i am, feeling the dreaded pinch of solitude (as opposed to the glorious embrace of solitude). though there's some of that mixed in there too.
and at these moments i self-blame - why haven't i done a better job of maintaining friendships? why did i arrive at this point, again? why can't i be a better friend, with better organisational skills and foresight?
it will pass.
newcastle will be good. time with mark and V and others will be good. a swim in salt water will refresh me.
the couch is being delivered today. i don't know when. i may not be here. i may not have anyone to help me lift it up the stairs. i don't have a phone number to call the delivery people.
i have to go to work.
i feel as though i need to study. in fact, i told A i'd have something to send her by today.
i have to find the course coordinator who potentially has tutorial work for me. she's vague and won't call me, always says she's busy, makes it my job to find her. i'm starting to hate her already.
i have to get to newcastle. it's so far away.
i'd like to swim. in fact, i need to swim. i felt so good early in the week - was it about the swimming, or all the studying i did? probably both.
my hard-drive appears not to be working. i have no idea why.
maybe the couch can wait til monday.
i've spent a few nights alone in the house, feeling a bit down and friendless - undoubtably resulting in my current state. i know i have friends, but too much time alone can make me question this. though i need alone-time too, so the opposite scenario (a busy schedule) stresses me out as well. people are busy, schedules don't match up, and here i am, feeling the dreaded pinch of solitude (as opposed to the glorious embrace of solitude). though there's some of that mixed in there too.
and at these moments i self-blame - why haven't i done a better job of maintaining friendships? why did i arrive at this point, again? why can't i be a better friend, with better organisational skills and foresight?
it will pass.
newcastle will be good. time with mark and V and others will be good. a swim in salt water will refresh me.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
three coffee day
This morning I sipped latté in a Newtown side street with Jessie. Neither of us could figure out today's 9-letter word.
I rode the bus past uni, got off in Randwick, got another coffee at Bar Coluzzi. This time espresso, with a muffin, while I continued reading Foucault's The Use of Pleasure. I'm taking my supervisor's advise and burying myself in a key text, so reading about the concept of enkrateia (self-mastery) in Greek antiquity. I make notes in purple ink, from a chewed pen that somehow fell into my possession.
I walk to uni and type up my notes, redrafting my sketchy beginnings of chapter two. I feel like things are happening. Construction is beginning. It's nice.
I chat with my study neighbour about being a disciplined reader, my instructions to stop slutting my way through secondary texts. She can relate to the joys (and frustrations) of losing yourself in multiple theories.
But now it's Foucault. All week. And probably next week too.
I meet with Paris (not his real name). He says he may have some research work for me. Just a little. I'm not keen on the project. However, I'm keen on him. So I have an urge to say yes. It's only a small role after all. And I could listen to his accent for days. We come from different academic pages though, and I feel that I shouldn't like him. A stupid fantasy tied to my dreams of that place. He kisses me hello and buys me coffee. He orders two soy lattés
Me: Do you have soy?
He: No, but I thought I would try it.
And so my crush remains.
On the way home I read from Jessie's copy of Strange Museums, by Fiona McGregor. I'm falling into the text with ease. It's a beautiful glide through stories from Poland - a Poland of her travels, and a Poland of her now (her memories, connections, and ongoing research). This is her Poland, and doesn't try to be anyone else's. But it's a place I can connect with nonetheless. It seems to be about violence, in a broad sense, both historical and personal. I got off the bus and bought my own copy. The woman in the bookshop scanned it, said it looked interesting, smiled and made eye contact, said goodbye.
The man in the next shop didn't know what I meant when I asked for the Bruce La Bruce box set in the window. He went and looked, recognised that it was kept behind the counter, emphatically said 'Bruce La Bruce!', and found me a copy. He told me that he'd now learnt something new today. He congratulated me on not needing a bag, gave a pleasant goodbye.
Shopkeepers are my friends today. Perhaps I'm giving off nice vibes.
I rode the bus past uni, got off in Randwick, got another coffee at Bar Coluzzi. This time espresso, with a muffin, while I continued reading Foucault's The Use of Pleasure. I'm taking my supervisor's advise and burying myself in a key text, so reading about the concept of enkrateia (self-mastery) in Greek antiquity. I make notes in purple ink, from a chewed pen that somehow fell into my possession.
I walk to uni and type up my notes, redrafting my sketchy beginnings of chapter two. I feel like things are happening. Construction is beginning. It's nice.
I chat with my study neighbour about being a disciplined reader, my instructions to stop slutting my way through secondary texts. She can relate to the joys (and frustrations) of losing yourself in multiple theories.
But now it's Foucault. All week. And probably next week too.
I meet with Paris (not his real name). He says he may have some research work for me. Just a little. I'm not keen on the project. However, I'm keen on him. So I have an urge to say yes. It's only a small role after all. And I could listen to his accent for days. We come from different academic pages though, and I feel that I shouldn't like him. A stupid fantasy tied to my dreams of that place. He kisses me hello and buys me coffee. He orders two soy lattés
Me: Do you have soy?
He: No, but I thought I would try it.
And so my crush remains.
On the way home I read from Jessie's copy of Strange Museums, by Fiona McGregor. I'm falling into the text with ease. It's a beautiful glide through stories from Poland - a Poland of her travels, and a Poland of her now (her memories, connections, and ongoing research). This is her Poland, and doesn't try to be anyone else's. But it's a place I can connect with nonetheless. It seems to be about violence, in a broad sense, both historical and personal. I got off the bus and bought my own copy. The woman in the bookshop scanned it, said it looked interesting, smiled and made eye contact, said goodbye.
The man in the next shop didn't know what I meant when I asked for the Bruce La Bruce box set in the window. He went and looked, recognised that it was kept behind the counter, emphatically said 'Bruce La Bruce!', and found me a copy. He told me that he'd now learnt something new today. He congratulated me on not needing a bag, gave a pleasant goodbye.
Shopkeepers are my friends today. Perhaps I'm giving off nice vibes.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
fair day
yesterday was fair day. i was tempted to go as i've not been before. but it rained, so i chose not to.
J said she drove past and felt very un-gay. S ended up going - said it was a nice crowd. i asked P if he went and he didn't even know what it is. he's not out, lives in the outer suburbs with his parents. he's one of my internet friends.
last night i chatted to A from istanbul. another person i'm yet to meet. but we chatted on cam, and i was a bit smitten by his beauty. dark features and a cheeky smile. he was in a net cafe. he wants me to find him a job in australia. he is currently jobless and computerless and therefore living at home. he's 25.
we flirted and he said he wished he was lying in the bed next to me. but i suspect my attraction is entwined with my location, my wealth, my ability to do many things that he cannot.
J said she drove past and felt very un-gay. S ended up going - said it was a nice crowd. i asked P if he went and he didn't even know what it is. he's not out, lives in the outer suburbs with his parents. he's one of my internet friends.
last night i chatted to A from istanbul. another person i'm yet to meet. but we chatted on cam, and i was a bit smitten by his beauty. dark features and a cheeky smile. he was in a net cafe. he wants me to find him a job in australia. he is currently jobless and computerless and therefore living at home. he's 25.
we flirted and he said he wished he was lying in the bed next to me. but i suspect my attraction is entwined with my location, my wealth, my ability to do many things that he cannot.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
i love a sunburnt narrative
sydney people are pretending to be from melbourne. the weather drops below 20 degrees (but only just, it's currently 18) and people wear heavy coats and scarves. well, some people. and it's ridiculous. it's warm in my 2 layers of thin cotton.
the sydney morning herald is pornographic in its coverage of the victorian fires. it makes me feel ill. it makes me wish i still believed in objective journalism.
the language is loaded with nationalistic rhetoric of fighting for survival against the 'hellfire'. yes, the anzac spirit lives on. in journalism at least. and perhaps everywhere, if people are getting off on this reportage. which i think maybe they are. otherwise there'd be alternative narratives and more criticism, right? though maybe there's not much space for criticism these days.
the fire is not a fire, but a hellfire. journalists are ranting about how much we love our country despite it being so cruel and relentless. it's all very dorothea mackellar:
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me.
the facts are sad without all this idealogical porn that seems more interested in projecting certain nationalist fantasies than informing people about what's happening.
The names make the enormity of the loss all the more real to an uncomprehending nation.
SMH recounts the names, ages, occupations, and family situations of the dead. SMH is writing the first draft of the inevitable miniseries. and a gripping tale it will be:
TOWNS have been declared crime scenes, and the death toll in Victoria's bushfires could top 200 as the grisly search for bodies continues in communities that were wiped out.
the metaphor of crime scene, like that of terrorism, bombing and war zones are present on every page and by-line, pointing to the 'cruel injustice' of it all. the 'unfathomable' events resulting in the loss of 'innocent lives'.
what the fuck is an innocent victim anyway? argh. shut the fuck up!
just now, wading through the SMH files (i feel so dirty) i found this story opening with:
AUSTRALIANS have watched in disbelieving horror as nature stripped away the nation's clothing of civilisation, leaving great swathes of this wide brown land a blackened ground zero.
This was Australia's greatest natural disaster, and the date on which the fires raged into an inferno - February 7, 2009 - will be marked on the nation's calendar of grief, perhaps like April 25.
i feel nauseous. and angry. when i should be feeling sad.
the sydney morning herald is pornographic in its coverage of the victorian fires. it makes me feel ill. it makes me wish i still believed in objective journalism.
the language is loaded with nationalistic rhetoric of fighting for survival against the 'hellfire'. yes, the anzac spirit lives on. in journalism at least. and perhaps everywhere, if people are getting off on this reportage. which i think maybe they are. otherwise there'd be alternative narratives and more criticism, right? though maybe there's not much space for criticism these days.
the fire is not a fire, but a hellfire. journalists are ranting about how much we love our country despite it being so cruel and relentless. it's all very dorothea mackellar:
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me.
the facts are sad without all this idealogical porn that seems more interested in projecting certain nationalist fantasies than informing people about what's happening.
The names make the enormity of the loss all the more real to an uncomprehending nation.
SMH recounts the names, ages, occupations, and family situations of the dead. SMH is writing the first draft of the inevitable miniseries. and a gripping tale it will be:
TOWNS have been declared crime scenes, and the death toll in Victoria's bushfires could top 200 as the grisly search for bodies continues in communities that were wiped out.
the metaphor of crime scene, like that of terrorism, bombing and war zones are present on every page and by-line, pointing to the 'cruel injustice' of it all. the 'unfathomable' events resulting in the loss of 'innocent lives'.
what the fuck is an innocent victim anyway? argh. shut the fuck up!
just now, wading through the SMH files (i feel so dirty) i found this story opening with:
AUSTRALIANS have watched in disbelieving horror as nature stripped away the nation's clothing of civilisation, leaving great swathes of this wide brown land a blackened ground zero.
This was Australia's greatest natural disaster, and the date on which the fires raged into an inferno - February 7, 2009 - will be marked on the nation's calendar of grief, perhaps like April 25.
i feel nauseous. and angry. when i should be feeling sad.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
i'm here
these vita-wheat grain snacks are quite addictive. my tongue prickles with pepper. certainly not as tasty as the falafel roll i had from man-oosh a little earlier. the best one since marseille. even without secret 'sauce blanche'.
a beautiful weekend was had. now mark's on the train home. and i'm on the couch. we watched impressive films (the wrestler, the class), ate good food, swam with fishes, climbed rocky cliffs, sweated, and more.
now i listen to the new natacha atlas album to help decide if i go to melbourne to see her. i'm not yet convinced. but it's my first listen, track 3, ana hina (i'm here).
it's strange for this house to be so quiet. i look forward to it being peopled again. though a little quiet was nice for a few days. now i'm feeling uncertain about tonight and what to do. watch a film? go to bed early? waste hours online? i probably should read.
someone told me i seemed really settled in my new home. and it's true. i am.
this week we talk to prospective housemates. i'm uncomfortable that so many people i know are interested in the room, and that we'll have some sort of interview process whereby we meet them, then discuss and select, telling the non-chosen that we don't want them. just as well it's not my decision alone. rejection is bad, even if it's not actually rejection, and even if i'm not the rejected.
song 6 is nice. la vida callada. the quiet life.
a beautiful weekend was had. now mark's on the train home. and i'm on the couch. we watched impressive films (the wrestler, the class), ate good food, swam with fishes, climbed rocky cliffs, sweated, and more.
now i listen to the new natacha atlas album to help decide if i go to melbourne to see her. i'm not yet convinced. but it's my first listen, track 3, ana hina (i'm here).
it's strange for this house to be so quiet. i look forward to it being peopled again. though a little quiet was nice for a few days. now i'm feeling uncertain about tonight and what to do. watch a film? go to bed early? waste hours online? i probably should read.
someone told me i seemed really settled in my new home. and it's true. i am.
this week we talk to prospective housemates. i'm uncomfortable that so many people i know are interested in the room, and that we'll have some sort of interview process whereby we meet them, then discuss and select, telling the non-chosen that we don't want them. just as well it's not my decision alone. rejection is bad, even if it's not actually rejection, and even if i'm not the rejected.
song 6 is nice. la vida callada. the quiet life.
Friday, February 6, 2009
past me
i was going to continue my last post, but i'm past that now.
i was going to talk more about my blog hiatus, but that's gone too.
interesting that i discussed a me of the past, when yesterday i should receive an email from one such me. a message posted to Future Me one year ago:
When you wrote this you were waiting for Mark to get home from work so you could start cooking dinner. You were hungry. And bored. You didn't swim today because it was too rainy. But you confirmed your second supervisor. You'll probably meet her in a week from now. Hopefully things are going well there. Did you make the right choice? Will you upgrade?
i was also at Thorn St. i guess i didn't feel the need to talk about that because at the time Thorn St felt like it would always exist. yes, things are going well 'there', i feel as though i made the right choice. i upgraded.
Hopefully you're in a new city when you read this. You've been a bit down about this place and wanting to leave. Hopefully you're happy and focussed and still very much in love.
Happy: Yes. Focused: Kind of. In love: Yes.
How was France? Are you going back? When?
I hope you're wasting less time online. Focus focus focus. You always were a bit down on yourself for lacking discipline and focus. Hopefully things are okay there.
hmm... i guess my obsession with being focused and disciplined is not such a new thing. i'm always chastising myself about being disciplined. i constantly attempt new routines and 'healthy' gestures to be a better student/researcher. never satisfied. probably very boring for those around me.
Still swimming? If not, go for a swim today. You love it. It makes you feel great, keeps you balanced. Or maybe you have a new technique for this now. Do you?
no new technique. i still swim. and i did swim yesterday after i read this. and it did make me feel good. though a little sore as well, because i'm out of practice.
Do you still drink coffee in the morning, with a book and toast with jam?
indeed i do. but the coffee is shorter. and the bread is different.
i guess not a lot changes in a year. except it does.
i was also going to write about the old lady falling over at the bus stop today. but maybe that can wait til next time. i'm at work. i want to go to the beach. or home. or somewhere to buy a coffee.
i was going to talk more about my blog hiatus, but that's gone too.
interesting that i discussed a me of the past, when yesterday i should receive an email from one such me. a message posted to Future Me one year ago:
When you wrote this you were waiting for Mark to get home from work so you could start cooking dinner. You were hungry. And bored. You didn't swim today because it was too rainy. But you confirmed your second supervisor. You'll probably meet her in a week from now. Hopefully things are going well there. Did you make the right choice? Will you upgrade?
i was also at Thorn St. i guess i didn't feel the need to talk about that because at the time Thorn St felt like it would always exist. yes, things are going well 'there', i feel as though i made the right choice. i upgraded.
Hopefully you're in a new city when you read this. You've been a bit down about this place and wanting to leave. Hopefully you're happy and focussed and still very much in love.
Happy: Yes. Focused: Kind of. In love: Yes.
How was France? Are you going back? When?
I hope you're wasting less time online. Focus focus focus. You always were a bit down on yourself for lacking discipline and focus. Hopefully things are okay there.
hmm... i guess my obsession with being focused and disciplined is not such a new thing. i'm always chastising myself about being disciplined. i constantly attempt new routines and 'healthy' gestures to be a better student/researcher. never satisfied. probably very boring for those around me.
Still swimming? If not, go for a swim today. You love it. It makes you feel great, keeps you balanced. Or maybe you have a new technique for this now. Do you?
no new technique. i still swim. and i did swim yesterday after i read this. and it did make me feel good. though a little sore as well, because i'm out of practice.
Do you still drink coffee in the morning, with a book and toast with jam?
indeed i do. but the coffee is shorter. and the bread is different.
i guess not a lot changes in a year. except it does.
i was also going to write about the old lady falling over at the bus stop today. but maybe that can wait til next time. i'm at work. i want to go to the beach. or home. or somewhere to buy a coffee.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
imperceptibility
i didn't go to work today. but the guilt didn't last long. i started to read deleuze (on foucault). i think i'm becoming a deleuzian. or a deleuzian kristevan. or maybe my allegiance need not be defined in such a way. maybe i'm just a fan with multiple allegiances.
my blog hiatus was a result of multiple changes and re-thinkings.
one concern involves my availability of self to others - in the sense that i'm uncertain i want to be available through my fleeting words placed into zines and blogs. i've read things about myself that seem odd. i don't know how to feel. the easiest option is to retreat and become 'private'. not that i have such a public presence. but when i re-read my words of 10 years ago in something published yesterday, it's uncomfortable. those words were not meant for now. the tension that enabled them is no longer with me. i'm not that person. and that person has my name. my full name there on the page. i'm reduced to a person knowable through texts that i thought were long gone, discarded, the product of another world.
time to run. more later.
my blog hiatus was a result of multiple changes and re-thinkings.
one concern involves my availability of self to others - in the sense that i'm uncertain i want to be available through my fleeting words placed into zines and blogs. i've read things about myself that seem odd. i don't know how to feel. the easiest option is to retreat and become 'private'. not that i have such a public presence. but when i re-read my words of 10 years ago in something published yesterday, it's uncomfortable. those words were not meant for now. the tension that enabled them is no longer with me. i'm not that person. and that person has my name. my full name there on the page. i'm reduced to a person knowable through texts that i thought were long gone, discarded, the product of another world.
time to run. more later.
Monday, January 5, 2009
no explanation
can't sleep. thinking about how fucked up things are at the moment. that's what happens when i spend a good portion of my day reading about the conflict going on in the Gaza Strip.
i had an urge to read my xmas present - David Carroll's Albert Camus the Algerian: Terrorism, Colonialism, Justice - but opted for something slightly removed from such themes so that i might at some point sleep. I pick up The Myth of Sisyphus by Camus.
yesterday i saw i've loved you so long at the cinema. it was quite amazing, though i agree with the linked review that it stumbled towards the end. but i can overlook this for what it gave me, which includes some nice insight into my own issues of late. Claudel seems to draw from the works of Dostoyevsky (this is made explicit) and Camus through his exploration of the isolated hero, the stranger. Juliette is isolated, but so are other characters, and so are viewers, like me, shedding tears for what is not said or known. i cried at this woman's silence, not needing to know why. i cried for me. i extracted many symbols of, and references to, isolation, imprisonment, and being stuck. the film suggests to me that such things might be self-imposed. the knots can be our own doing.
as with Crime and Punishment, the reader is detached from the protagonist, as are the surrounding characters. and motives are (for the most part) unclear. there's a beautiful line in there about the futility of giving explanation for one's actions. it seems to be suggested here that explanations are not only unnecessary but impossible. can we really explain why we do what we do? whether these involve crimes, self-punishments, or tears? surely once the moment has passed, it is gone, and no clear and true explanation can be found in the past.
the same might be said of wars. we tend to speak of and analyse them as relics of the past. but through explanation we can never get to the now - to a current spilling of blood still warm. we contemplate bloodshed in past tense. afterthought and explanation. and so it seems likely to happen again.
so i pick up my copy of The Myth of Sisyphus and backtrack a few pages to recall the thread of where i'm up to. i discover the following words underlined:
For the absurd man it is not a matter of explaining and solving, but of experiencing and describing. Everything begins with lucid indifference.
i can contemplate yesterday's tears, but i can't explain them. my contemplations are muddied with afterthought, and with all the ideas and conversations and texts i've since grappled with. and so i end up here, blogging. patching together the yesterday of today, the today of many hours ago, the now which is already past.
i had an urge to read my xmas present - David Carroll's Albert Camus the Algerian: Terrorism, Colonialism, Justice - but opted for something slightly removed from such themes so that i might at some point sleep. I pick up The Myth of Sisyphus by Camus.
yesterday i saw i've loved you so long at the cinema. it was quite amazing, though i agree with the linked review that it stumbled towards the end. but i can overlook this for what it gave me, which includes some nice insight into my own issues of late. Claudel seems to draw from the works of Dostoyevsky (this is made explicit) and Camus through his exploration of the isolated hero, the stranger. Juliette is isolated, but so are other characters, and so are viewers, like me, shedding tears for what is not said or known. i cried at this woman's silence, not needing to know why. i cried for me. i extracted many symbols of, and references to, isolation, imprisonment, and being stuck. the film suggests to me that such things might be self-imposed. the knots can be our own doing.
as with Crime and Punishment, the reader is detached from the protagonist, as are the surrounding characters. and motives are (for the most part) unclear. there's a beautiful line in there about the futility of giving explanation for one's actions. it seems to be suggested here that explanations are not only unnecessary but impossible. can we really explain why we do what we do? whether these involve crimes, self-punishments, or tears? surely once the moment has passed, it is gone, and no clear and true explanation can be found in the past.
the same might be said of wars. we tend to speak of and analyse them as relics of the past. but through explanation we can never get to the now - to a current spilling of blood still warm. we contemplate bloodshed in past tense. afterthought and explanation. and so it seems likely to happen again.
so i pick up my copy of The Myth of Sisyphus and backtrack a few pages to recall the thread of where i'm up to. i discover the following words underlined:
For the absurd man it is not a matter of explaining and solving, but of experiencing and describing. Everything begins with lucid indifference.
i can contemplate yesterday's tears, but i can't explain them. my contemplations are muddied with afterthought, and with all the ideas and conversations and texts i've since grappled with. and so i end up here, blogging. patching together the yesterday of today, the today of many hours ago, the now which is already past.
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